C.C.O Image from http://www.pixabay.com free to use!
This is a fictionalized account of a true event, Rachel may be a figment of my imagination but the Holocaust was real and I ask that you not comment links I will find offensive thank you. This is something I am currently working on so bare with me, it's only a rough draft!
I reached for the journals, trying to grab, them tears filling my eyes, when all I could do.
Mother finally came back from the cafeteria after being assured it was okay that I have juice, and saw the tears in my eyes.
"I can't even reach for my books." I said. “How am I supposed to get through this?”
“Sweetie, you are going to get through it with the help of your family.” Mother said, handing me the journals. You aren't alone.” She looked at the journals. “Bobe’s journals.”
I nodded confirming what she already knew.
“You will see for yourself as soon as you are strong enough.” Mother said.
I nodded, as she walked out the door to go and find my father.
I opened the first journal and watched a note fluttering out onto my bed.
My Little Rachel:
You are going through something hard right now, but you are strong, and you are only going to get stronger. I am not going to lie and tell you that you will walk again one day, because I do not know, but you will live, and you will make a life for yourself sitting down, or walking.
It's okay to be afraid Rachel, to be angry or hurt, but don't let it turn you bitter, or into something you are not. Your spinal cord was damaged Grandoter, don't let your spirit be.
When you were just seven years old I started telling you about Kristelnacht, the night of broken glass. And I had managed to salvage those journals due to a Christian friend who hid them for me, risking her own life, after we were taken first to the ghetto's then to the camps. The memories are still so real, the stench of the cattle cars, the smell of death all of it, but I lived just as you are.
Rachel my sweet girl, your emotions are very real and you are allowed to have them, and don't feel that your pain is not as great as mine was, because you lost something too, but now it's up to you to find out what you are going to do with that.
I love you Grandoter, never forget that.
Love Bobe Rachel.
It's so noisy, and so scary. Mame tells me everything will be okay, but it sounds so scary. Tate has gone to see what is happening, but I am scared for him. Scared the mean men will come to arrest him and take him away forever.
Mame teaches us at home, even school is to dangerous, and everyday new rules for Jews. I do not know why someone has so much hate in their heart. Tote used to scream at the radio, but even our radios have been taken away.
I am seven years old now, and want to play with friends, go to the park but even that is to dangerous.
Mame says journaling is important that we should let those who come after us, what is happening. I just want to forget it all. I want to play in the park, go to school, go to Picture shows with my friends.
We are leaving again, being smuggled into Amsterdam, but will we be safe anywhere? I know Munich, is no longer safe, but are we safe anywhere. I have so many questions, but no answers the adults, they grow sadder by the day. Do they think we can not hear the fear in their voice. I may only be seven but I know the sound of fear.
I closed the journal, and placed it under my pillow. Admiring Bobe more than ever. She was truly a strong woman.
Physical therapy began almost immediately. I had to relearn to do the most basic things differently. Even sitting up with only half of your body working proved challenging.
Rachel you come from a strong people, you must not give up. Fight.
What if I never walk again?
Then you will sit, but live Rachel, be strong, live for those who were not given the chance.
"Is Heather really okay?" I asked Mother.
"You will see for yourself sweetie. You are being moved to a regular room. We arranged for you to share rooms." I smiled grateful that my Father worked in this hospital, thankful that he had arranged for me to share rooms with my best friend."
"She was hurt too." It was a statement more than a question.
“Yes, but she will be okay. You will see for yourself soon.”
“Your welcome sweetheart.” Mother said.