Telling My Opa's Story

It was with great sadness that my family and I said goodbye to our Opa, Ludwig Eck, on Saturday, February 13th. Planning a funeral from a distance was difficult, and not being able to be together with our family in Germany was even harder. But we thank God for his life and that he passed away peacefully in his own home with his daughter (my mother) by his side.

The COVID-19 pandemic has made the grieving process much more difficult. So many of us know how hard it is to find closure when we can’t grieve in the ways that we’re used to. Our Opa’s passing probably won’t really hit me until the next time I go to Germany. Maybe then I’ll fully realize that the only blood-related grandparent I ever got to know won’t be there to visit with anymore.

Five days after his passing, we held a memorial service on Zoom, gathering some of our Opa’s family and friends to celebrate his life together. As we shared about him, one constant memory stood out - his stories. After nearly 94 years of life, it’s impossible to sum up all the joys, challenges, sorrows, and adventures that he lived through. But the most important parts for me are found in the stories which he himself told us over and over again. 

Our Opa at his confirmation.

Opa knew poverty and the joys of simplicity. He was born in a small town in northern Bavaria in 1927. Growing up in the wake of WWI, he often recalled how he would be overjoyed to get a pastry or cookie as a reward for helping his mother deliver baked goods to neighbouring villages. It was a luxury to be able to buy butter and a privilege to have free passage on the train because of his father’s employment on the railroad.

Like so many Germans, Opa got swept up in the Nazi propaganda that claimed Hitler to be the answer to Germany’s problems. He often recalled how he was taught that his race was the only pure one and that all other people groups were second-class humans. By 17, Opa voluntarily enrolled into the German army and prepared to fight for his country, following his older brother’s footsteps, who had already joined the army.

One of Opa’s most memorable stories (that I still can’t quite fathom) took place on the warfront. Opa witnessed his whole regiment getting mercilessly shot down while in a forest. Only he and one other soldier survived. It was this, and a few other experiences, that convinced him that God was holding His hand of protection over him throughout his life. Very soon thereafter, he was captured by the Russian army and taken to a prisoner of war camp in Siberia. While telling us about his time in the camp, Opa always made sure to mention that he “celebrated” his 18th birthday in captivity. 

It was here that Opa made a startling discovery. Some of the Russians, who he was taught to see as enemies, treated him with kindness and mercy. Local women, and even some of the guards, shared bread with him when he had nothing to eat. He also saw how much they were suffering and began to realize that the Russians were people just like him. Not second-class, but fully human. 

After four difficult years, Opa was released and sent back to Germany. As he came to the gate of his childhood home, he saw his mother feeding the family’s rabbits. She looked him up and down but didn’t know who he was because the years of malnourishment made him unrecognizable. Opa always laughed when telling this story, reenacting his mother’s reaction when she finally realized who he was. But he would be the only son to return. His older brother (and only sibling) never came home.

Our Opa on the road to recovery after the war.

After a few years spent recovering from malnutrition and frostbite, Opa began to build a life for himself in the small village of Niederlamitz. He got married, bought and renovated a house - the basement of which he dug out by hand over a five-year period - and opened a salon in the storefront connected to the house. While our Oma ran the store, Opa became a travelling salesperson of barber equipment, working hard to provide for his family. 

Opa and Oma had two daughters. The younger one (my mother) spent time in Africa as a nurse, after training in Germany and Canada. Opa told us about the time he visited our mom in Africa, always making sure to share that the locals welcomed him warmly into their community. He saw how much they loved his daughter, which further confirmed his new understanding of the equality of all people. This continued to be cemented in him through his many travels outside of Germany - and especially when he welcomed of a Filipino son-in-law into his family.

When I was a young child, our family lived in Germany for four years. I remember spending a lot of time with Opa, eating together or going on trips. I remember climbing all over him and how he always had candy in his shirt pocket for us to find. I also remember all his funny sayings and the way he would poke fun at people. When we moved back to Canada, things changed, but as our only living grandparent, we kept in close contact.

Opa’s life was not without sorrow - including the early passing of our Oma and our Aunt. As he aged and dementia took hold, Opa’s life was stripped of adventure and became very simple once again. Over the years, we got more and more involved in his personal care, taking turns visiting and spending quality time with him. Even to the end, he never lost his positivity, often exclaiming that he was the happiest man on Earth. 

The older Opa got, the more he would add to his stories by saying “Ich habe die Unterlagen noch irgenwo liegen,” which means “I still have the documents lying around somewhere.” It’s almost as if he thought his stories were so unbelievable that he needed to prove them to us. I still don’t know what documents he was talking about or where they could possibly be, but he didn’t require documents to prove his happiness in life or gratitude to God. He lived that out everyday. He himself was the proof of what God had done in his life.

Dear Opa, as those who are left behind, we now become the living documents that will continue to tell the story of your life. Thank you for teaching us about contentment, perseverance, strength, gratitude, faith, and love. Thank you for teaching us that change is possible and that enemies can one day become friends. Thank you for always joking and laughing with us. We knew you loved us and we hope you knew we love you too. May you eternally rest in God’s gracious and abundant care.