The woman I am referring to was the mother of my friend Chris. Chris and I came to know each other when I worked for League City United Methodist Church. For over seven years Chris and I had casual conversations, did lunch every now and then, and I had fun doing the occasional alteration or addition to her daughter's prom gowns. We did not really get to be close friends back then, but there was something about our relationship that gave me the knowledge she was a trusted confidant and someone I would like to be much closer to someday. However, life with my mother stepped in the way, but not before I had a chance to meet Chris' mother.
A few years ago, Chris and her family were due for a vacation just about the time her mother, Maria, was having problems with her eyes. I volunteered to step in and help. It was a simple task.......just go over during my lunch hour and put drops in her eyes. I went with Chris to meet her so Maria would feel more comfortable about having a stranger come in her home. We spoke a bit. I learned a little of her history. She was a WWII bride from Germany. She had this lyric tone to her voice. I learned she read magazines in German and still spoke her native language to her friends in the home country. She was fascinating to meet. I spent a few extra minutes when I dropped in, selfishly enjoying the sound and the vibe of this woman. I now know I was barely scratching the surface of her life, while her daughter never uttered a word of the past that shaped this interesting person.
I recently attended a retreat for women sponsored by the church where I am employed. I played the piano, met new people and learned about things that can make us strong. One of the speaker's presentations involved a bunch of cards of artwork. She instructed us to choose a card that made us feel poor and one that made us feel rich. For my poor card I chose a print of a painting by the French artist Paul Cezanne. It is a rough painting of a viaduct in the French hills. The landscape is harsh with rocky outcrops and dirt streets. It was a grim reminder of growing up in an unfinished house with hardly any amenities. For my rich card I chose a 19th Century artwork titled A Stolen Rose. I grew up with visions of being a girl in a castle wearing elegant gowns, and boy, would I have loved to have been wooed by a handsome gentleman on an elegant steed ready to whisk me away to fairyland heaven! Yeah, that didn't happen.
On Valentine's Day of 2014, Maria Schiessel Connor left this earth. She had lived at home, with some assistance at the end, spending the last couple of years blind, but capable and determined to stay in her own home. I voiced my concern to Chris about her being alone, but Chris assured me she was okay and managing. Chris took her lunch every day and checked on her and spent time with her in the evenings and weekends. I had no clue why Chris was so sure of her mother's ability to be strong enough to be left at home. I say that because I was clueless until I attended Maria's visitation service at the funeral home. This was no helpless little old lady who had been some cosseted stay at home mother. This was an amazingly resourceful woman. Let me just cut to the chase and type her obituary. If you don't go WOW at the end of it when you realize what she risked, what she did and what transpired, then you are just dumber than a box of rocks.
Her story read: "Maria Schiessel Connor passed away peacefully after a brief illness, surrounded by her loving family and caregivers. Maria is survived by her daughter Christel (and then it lists all the other family members, all of whom I have not contacted to gain permission to print names, but I think Chris will forgive me for putting her name out on the internet)......
Maria was born in Hassfurt, Germany, the second of eight siblings. She met her first husband, Erich Esche, in a bomb shelter in Berlin during the height of World War II. They married shortly thereafter. Unfortunately, Erich died six months later in the war. After escaping from a Russian prison camp Maria made her way to the American military base in Frankfurt where she worked as a seamstress in the tailor shop, and because they offered a free daily meal. There she learned to speak English by reading American comic books. She met many soldiers and officers but only Elmer Connor caught her eye. She married her tall Texan in 1953 and they moved to the States. She became Aunt Maria in the Connor family and during their 28 years together reared two children. After her children were grown she would babysit for Clear Lake United Methodist Church. She found much joy in the young children, and kept in touch with them over the years."
Hello?!? Meet your husband in a bomb shelter, then lose him in the worst war ever? Escape from a Russian prison camp while not knowing what happened to those left behind? Leave the world you know and learn a new language and take a chance on life after your heart was just broken? How dare I bemoan my lot in life! How do I compare the life-lessons I've learned compared to this powerful story of a young woman who faced things I could not dream of being strong enough to face. Standing in that chapel as I read those words in that program - I literally stopped breathing.
And, oh, to have known her better. What I could have learned from her life. The world had someone to look up to and only a handful of people knew. . . Those postcards of the paintings I posted above, chosen to symbolize my life and my dreams, cannot compare to the larger than life mural that would have illustrated Maria Schiessel Connor.
