The Alternate Adult and the Pain of Sadness

Day 9

Berlin, Germany

My husband says I’m the Adult on this trip, and Aunt Terrye is the Alternate Adult. But then she was worried about fulfilling her duties after she broke her arm. I encouraged her to still use her words, and so far she’s doing fine. Plus I haven’t required her services lately.

Mom and Aunt Janet seem totally on board with leaving us to do the adulting, and are quite bouncy in their carefree existence.

We were worried about riding a train with a bunch of commuters. I dare a pick pocket to try to get anything out of my bag, Mom said. I can’t even find anything there. But it turned out that for $18,000 euros, Viking hired the entire train to take us all into Berlin from port. 

We found an area where four seats were facing each other but a couple was already sitting there. They wouldn’t give up their seats so the four of us could sit together. Can’t sit backwards on a train, they said. Very important.

So we sat across from them in seats all facing the same way and turned around to talk to each other and it wasn’t ideal but it wasn’t a big deal. And those people promptly fell asleep and the coffee area was between their feet so we couldn’t get access to it but…First World Problems. So even if we didn’t get a cup of coffee, mom didn’t have to dare any pick pocketers and I didn’t have to really adult and neither did Aunt Terrye.

Massive wind turbines and huge fields where crops were already cleared for winter. Other fields where maybe winter wheat was just coming up. Brown and white cows happily cruising around. I did my best to picture tanks and military plaguing this beautiful area. It was painful and unbelievable and so hard to wrap my head around.

It looked a lot like the Midwest, and it was easy to imagine why so many folks from around here left just to end up in places like Michigan. Cleared areas and crops and dark forests in between.

Our family came from here. Well, around here somewhere. My Mom and the Aunts chitted and chatted about the dirt they have on our ancestors. Like when a rich young relative made off with the coachman, and oh the scandal!

I wish we had volumes of dirt, Mom said, it makes for such great stories.

We fell silent as hunting blinds outside made us sad. And grain silos made us happy and curious. And the deep dark woods made us think of what it would’ve been like to meet Robin Hood and how great would it be to ride a horse right through that spot there? And if I was going to ride a horse through there, I’d want a long riding robe – red with a trim of black maybe. Or maybe a second one with white for winter time. With a wide brass circle and a long pin holding it on. And a hood. A Game of Thrones/Red Riding Hood clothing mash-up. It all felt so practical.

Sparkling blue lakes with mystery fish swishing their little tails around. Community gardens – each plot with its own shed. New and old houses mixed up with red and black roofs.

My family made lots of happy chattering noises and giggle fits and bouts of belly laughs and my heart swelled all up with fondness for them all.

Then we came into Berlin and there were hills made just from the rubble from bombed buildings. Though the city is over 800 years old, many buildings stood up from the streets, all sad and new and still mourning the decimation of their predecessors.

We tried not to get run over by the cargo bikes everywhere. The cyclists stop for no one, and I’m not used to watching for them. Mom saved me several times from serious bodily damage. Even though she was not the designated adult.

No sense going to the hospital twice on vacation, she said.

We walked around Brandenburg Gate. A triumph arch copied from Athens. The last thing existing anywhere nearby after WWII. I could imagine the people dancing here in 1989 when people were finally allowed to travel from East Berlin to West Berlin. To freedom.

And then we were at the Berlin Wall. A protected section still standing. My mom solemnly leaned over the railing and touched The Wall. We followed suit. I remember when The Wall came down. I remember watching it on TV. I remember the tears rolling down my mom’s face, and she never cries. I drew in the emotions from the decades. The death here. The sadness. The joy when it came down. I was overwhelmed, and every tourist there was silent.

It was a beautiful Fall day. It was still 70+ degrees, but I could smell the change coming. The sharpness in the air. The lazy heat of summer anxious to become a memory.

Some teens walked by the wall, laughing loudly. An older woman nearby was sniffing back her tears – overcome by emotion. I stood on a low wall and yelled at the teens.

Hey, I yelled. No laughing.

What? the teens yelled back.

No laughing. Have respect.

I was the loudest person in the area.

They stopped laughing.

The old woman kept crying.

The crowd stayed silent.

We kept reading and feeling the feelings and poring over photos until two hours had disappeared and we had sunburns and we kind of couldn’t take the Pain of Sadness anymore. Our blood was thick and sticky in our veins and our minds couldn’t make sense of the hatred and vileness and murder.

We left and hugged and said we loved each other and wiped away some tears. We watched as people crossed Checkpoint Charlie and passed the little shack in the middle of the road – the delineation between the East and the West. Their children strapped into their cargo bicycles or being pushed along in buggies. Enjoying the baby steps of Fall in a way that was so impossible just so recently. We ate some cake and drank diet soda, because somehow that was the only thing that made sense.

The train took us back. Past buildings that were formerly East Berlin. Buildings whose windows facing the West had been bricked up to keep anyone from trying to jump to freedom. Past the site where they’re building the biggest cruise ship in the world. It will hold ten thousand people. Past very stylish women in crisp outfits. Bright reds and clingy dresses and white shirts with ruffles at their necks below sharp navy blue blazers. With perfect hair.

And big old genuine smiles.