The Story of a Penpalship

Julia Whitefield

Pediatric Emergency Medicine Physician

ICON Medical Network

I grew up six miles South of Frankfurt on the Main River, a tributary of the Rhine River, West Germany, in 1956 in a small town called Neu-Isenburg, founded by Huguenots, or Calvinists. There were many French names around us. The main church was of course protestant, because of those Huguenots but my family was Roman Catholic. I grew up by definition in a Roman Catholic diaspora. The land was given to them by the count of Ysenburg in the County of Hessen or Hesse as people say in the US. By far my family was not wealthy, I grew up under rather modest circumstances. My father had a 9^th grade education and ended up attending secondary school to become an industrial businessman creating rules and policies for an insurance company comparable to AT&T and was quite gifted at it. He was not happy about not having been promoted the way he thought he deserved because he had not completed Highschool and had not earned a college degree. My mother had a 10^th grade education and became a stenographer and worked as such until I was born. She made sure my sister and I learned how to type! To this day and up to now, this skill has never left nor hurt me! My parents met in Thuringia, former East Germany, the neighboring county to Hesse. They fled after the end of WWII and married in 1952 when my mother was 19 years old and my father was 24 years old. I have one sister, 2 ½ years younger than myself. Both, my sister and I lacked really nothing considering those times I can retrospectively readily admit, and we were plentifully loved and very much wanted.

In our neighborhood also lived my beloved grandmother, she was my hero. She was French, to be even more exact, half French as her father Theodor had been a German lieutenant during WW I when he met my great-grandmother Clementine having been stationed in Lorraine. Her father, Pierre Leininger was originally a vintner from Alsace and when he came back in the late 19th century after having fought during the war in Northern Africa as a Chasseur d’Afrique, his crop had all dried up and was dead which caused him to move to neighboring Lorraine to marry and start an orchard and vineyard with my great-great grandmother, a woman from there.

When my sister was born, my grandmother was put in charge of me. There was not one sharp edge on my grandmother, everything was round. My grandmother never had trouble dealing with me despite the issues my mother had with me. What my sister lacked in will power, I had ample of and still do to this day and sometimes I think my parents were a little bit afraid of me! My father, however, always felt, that I should get ample education, and he made sure of it.

When I turned 11 years of age, so for 5^th grade, I started Highschool.

Every Saturday evening after supper my mother would do her ironing in my parents’ bedroom and then she would do her fingernails and thereafter retrieving herself to that room, away from household chores; however, my father and I would watch Western movies. That was a quite pleasant routine for me. Oh, that John Wayne and the Rio Bravo… it took me a while to realize when I ended up living in El Paso, TX, along the Rio Bravo, which is the Rio Grande, that I had actually fulfilled by dad’s dreams from those Saturday nights! I had become a very studious reader. In Germany classic Western books were written by Karl May. They were all fictitious about Winnetou, the Apache Chieftain, and Old Shatterhand, the cowboy, who were best friends. I have to admit, I was also quite bored with our elementary school, and I was hoping for better lands in Highschool to satisfy my insatiable appetite for knowledge. My mother and my grandmother did not want for me to go to Highschool, they thought that was not a good thing for girls, more for boys, however my father and my teacher thought that I was obligated to go to Highschool in order to develop my full potential and to serve my intellect as ‘education was power’!

With entering Highschool we were given books and since schools are mostly public schools, they were given to us. With a slew of books to study from on hand I was also given my first English book. Hooray! I still have that English book as I brought it with me when I immigrated into the USA. After watching Western movies and reading my books about the ‘Wild West’ my future became clearer and clearer to me and my dream started to form. I actually HAD a dream! I was going to go to America! And nobody was going to stop me! And it was my secret! It was very obvious to me: I had to leave my overregulated homeland; I just had to be a little bit patient. The other problem was I realized, I was only 11 years old, I had no money and most of all: I spoke NO English. Consequentially a plan started to shape inside my head. No matter what the price, I was going to have to learn English, as fast as I could, as best as I could, but where and how?? I needed a pen pal, now that I had a book from which I could learn and I had to milk my mother for more information. Knowing other languages was a given in my family. My grandfather Walter, my mother’s father, who never returned home as a prisoner-of-war in Russia, had known seven languages, two of which had been Portuguese and Russian. My grandmother was the German-French translator for my hometown, also working for the city in the theme of reparation between two countries after the war. My mother had always told stories of once having had a pen pal when she was still in Thuringia, I for sure could have the same and I was going to have the same! Every day I studied after the English teacher had taught us the basics and so I self-taught myself more and my mother helped with the deciphering of the phonetic script in my beloved English book. I made myself little square pieces of paper with German on one side and the English translation on the other, which was not expensive, only time consuming and tedious work; and then I asked my mother, who was a housewife at that time, to question me. She spoke English and she helped me initially significantly until I could help myself. Then I started to give auxiliary lessons to other students with the help of the referrals by my teachers over the next few years once the teachers realized that I had aced all their classes. Like that I became better and I could also make money! Every day I developed a routine: I ate supper, did my homework, brushed my teeth, cleaned up and went to bed really quickly so I could study English, and sometimes I would do it under the cover with a flashlight so my parents would not detect me, but eventually they did! And I was told it was too late and I had to go to sleep as school started early the next morning! Now that made me very upset. I just had to be more careful I told myself and outwit them. But luck was on my side, nonetheless my English book remained my bed mate.

My father belonged to a bowling club. Every Monday he would meet his buddies and they would have fun, drink a couple of beers and return home. One of his friends was a Middle school teacher. He taught English and one day he announced his absence for the next few weeks because of his trip to England, to Hemel Hempstead in Hertfordshire. My father jokingly asked him if he would just take me with him and he said ‘yes’! I was in 7^th heaven! And I got to stay with the Thompson family. Mr. Thompson was a panhandler and Mrs. Thompson was a housewife. They barely had enough money to live, but they were very nice and paid for keeping a student. Their daughter and I were pen pals for a while and she stayed with us for a fortnight, also. She was kind of weird and at least bulimic. So that went nowhere, although I was initially more than happy. The classmates from that Middle school I was introduced to were a lot of fun. Interestingly, although one year older, I was in 8^th grade then, my English was already better than theirs. All those late nights, ‘undercover’ so to speak – perhaps they did pay off, especially in Stratford-upon-Avon as we went to the Shakespeare-Memorial-Theater! My English studies continued so did my parents’ measly financial situation. I decided to go to work at age 14. This made my dad very upset. He exclaimed he could not support ‘child labor’ (it was really not and I had obtained permission from my mother) and I told him I could not support never having enough for myself which happened, since we were not given enough pocket money! Well, I wanted to be sure from early on that I was clearly understood! And he could clearly not argue with me as I had even found the rules on Child Labor. I was resolute already then! The real reason was, in his defense, that he had been forced to work at a much younger age by his parents, who were truly at poverty level during the war and post-depression era and he did not want that for HIS child, he just did not know, how to express his feelings, ever. Meanwhile my dream grew in dimensions. I continued watching my Western movies with my father and I continued to work.

An opportunity arose at my Highschool. We could apply for one month at Walbottle Grammar School in Newcastle-upon-Tyne in Northern England and stay with a family for a month, it just cost money and yet was also heavily supported by grants through the county of Hesse. I can still hear my parents discussing the hardship to our family if I was chosen, they wanted to give me the chance though, just hoping I would not pass. We had to take a test and above a certain percentage score, we were chosen. I was chosen to the hardship of my parents, I think my grandmother gave them something also to support me and I had my own pocket money from my work, and off I went. The family I stayed with was lovely, the girl not so but her friend from school, Debbie, became my friend to this day and we remain pen pals, even after now 56 years. It was the most beautiful experience to visit and learn English and a dream! Debbie shaped my English and became my confidante. Her and my experience will be materials for another story at another time. We are still in regular contact, although writing has become more texting and we still see each other, too and she remains my consultant to this day still and often when it comes to ‘proper’ English!

At about age 13 my parents decided to put me into dance classes, and I became a ballroom dancer. That was a very common thing to do in Germany and people from my generation know how to dance Rumbas, Sambas, Foxtrot, Waltz and the like! That was for two reasons: one, to teach me manners (that never worked as I was hard to tame) and two, to introduce me to a social life as up to then, I was mainly studying and probably socially a bit awkward! But then, as the hormones started kicking in, my dating life began. Yes, the boys were of interest to me, but most of them were rather boring. Most of them were also too short as out of a sudden I had shot up in height. My paternal grandmother was a tall woman for her generation, probably about 1.72m, but I had grown to about 1.75m and I had not even reached my full height yet, which would end up being 1.78m. My dating history continued with my watchful parents at hand. By now I had now entered 11^th grade. In Germany Highschool consists of 13 grades. I guess they wanted to be sure we were really prepared for university. And we don’t have college either, only secondary school, and trade school, that is where the bachelor’s and master’s degrees come from, a principle from the Middle Ages. Then my dating became more serious, and Karl entered into the picture and into my life. For the first time I was deeply in love. Karl was tall, 1.92m, not necessarily handsome, but cute and to me he was beautiful and his English was fantastic. His family through his stepfather, who was an oil engineer, had lived in South Africa for some time. His stepfather had not always been good to him, as a matter of fact quite abusive, so he took very well to my mild-mannered, tender and very intelligent father. My parents loved him also, even when I got mad at him, as did my grandmother, which was very important! Karl was very intelligent and interesting. He could fix anything and everywhere and he was industrious and not lazy! And had it not been for his snake-mother, I would have married him. He would ride along on his little 50cc Hercules motorcycle, pick me up and we’d go anywhere with me on the back of his seat with my helmet on - to me he was just like Hercules! I was happy! One day in July 1973 Karl announced that the Pueblo Symphony Choir from Pueblo, Colorado was coming to Neu-Isenburg. His mother’s family was from Vienna and her friend from youth was the choir leader. He had emigrated many years ago to the US. The choir leader had left the choir on its own for some personal business (it was a mixture of adults, and adolescent males and six females). He had told them if there were any problems to connect with Gertrud, Karl’s mother and she would know to help. Boy oh boy! And trouble there was! They had booked themselves into the Red-Light District on Kaiserstraße in Frankfurt and needed help, subito! So, Gertrud promptly came to their rescue and booked them room and board at the pension on the main street in my little hometown. The six girls of the choir were exactly the same age I was, all born in 1956. One afternoon, and I still see his face, Karl came to me, and seriously opened up the conversation: You know, he proceeded, they have come from far away and we should be very nice to them! I still remember that I became quite upset and said: Now, Karl, I have been traveling with my grandmother ever since I was before 3 years old! Don’t you think I know that?! You’re crazy! (While I loved him, I hated his mother or anything that had to do with or around her) But, of course and out of curiosity, we invited the girls from the Pueblo Symphony Choir. My mother and my grandmother were elated, both of them spoke English, French and German anyway, and my sister spoke some English at that time already, also. They prepared the most beautiful and colorful meal. My grandmother was a wonderful cook and as was my mother. Filled tomatoes with meat salad and the rest I don’t remember but then to top it all off, they made a ‘Strawberry Punch Bowl’, a German specialty. It is prepared typically in a glass bowl holding about one gallon of liquid with various types of fruit. This one was strawberries, slightly dusted with confectioner’s sugar, some people add cognac, and then filled to the brim is a mixture of 50/50 white wine and champagne. One drinks it out of matching glasses to the bowl. These bowls are made from specialty glass, often hand carved crystal. I still have that bowl and brought it with me; it survived my move when I emigrated from Germany unbroken together with the glasses. My mother ‘gave it up’ for my sake. Since the drinking age then was 14 years, this was not a problem for us 16- to 17-year-olds. We had a mini upright piano (I started playing the piano with lessons at age six, sponsored by my grandmother) and the girls were from a choir. So, they sang for us with the accompaniment of our piano. We were all, but in particular my mother and grandmother (meanwhile my father had arrived from work) elated and enamored. And with the help of that strawberry punch served out of that glass-bowl they sang like little larks! “How gifted”, my grandmother exclaimed! The girls themselves were quite colorful. One of them looked like straight out of a movie, she came from a very wealthy family, she also wore plaid pants and stood out with her blonde hair, Denise who played the piano was of Hispanic background and very loving, and then there was the tiniest of them all by the name of Linda, who walked with a limp. The others I only remember as very nice and extremely gracious, all were very smiley and funny and laughed a lot. What I did not know until later was, that the Pueblo Symphony Choir, on tour through Europe, was a Baptist Choir, strictly against alcohol! So of course, they loved that strawberry punch! But one of the last songs they played, and here Denise accompanied Linda, was Roberta Flack’s “Killing me softly”. I will never forget it as it did not even leave in particular my grandmother dry-eyed. Linda, despite her small size, had a powerful and beautiful soprano voice. I later learned that church singing does that to you! And that song I have never forgotten and that song, to this day is very difficult for me to listen to. At the end of the evening, we embraced and exchanged names and addresses. Now with Debbie in Northumberland, UK, William in Accra North, Ghana, and them, I out of a sudden had eight (8) penpals. I was penpal rich! My prayers had been heard! At last! And six of them out of America! How much better could it get, I thought!

School went on, and I kept on writing, buying stamps and airmail envelopes. I was fully supported by my parents and my beloved grandmother. Finally. I kept on writing… William from Ghana kind of disappeared and out of the six girls from Pueblo, Colorado, only one continued to write to me religiously, and that was Linda. I really got to know her and to trust her and we started sharing everything. And we fought and reconciled, like good friends do. But the nice thing was, I could count on receiving her letters predictably every 3 weeks. That was the turnaround time. We did not have computers or texting. And to ring somebody on the telephone would have eaten up my almost non-existent pocket money. She started college in Greeley, Colorado, and she started studying music, her major which included dance. I did not know anything about majors and minors; we did not have that in Germany. I was still in Highschool. Karl’s mother had seen to it, since he was a year older than I was, that she could send him as far away as possible from me to go to medical school, to Vienna. That is where his grandparents lived. Medical school was for free except for the books and room and board, so it would not have mattered to keep him around closer. It was purposeful. For the first time he had new clothes, which I had hoped for, for so long. I was not happy and there was a big rift in our relationship, and heartbreak and everything that comes with it. With it all, I did not notice that Linda’s regular letters had not come.

I believe I was on summer break, my mother was home and I had slept in. My mother was working for a friend of the family, an internist. She did everything for the practice from typing (of course) and then she learned to be a medical assistant. My sister had travelled to Peru with a boyfriend. I had just woken up and my dear mother had made me my usual cup of filtered coffee. The mail carrier had already delivered the daily mail and she had just emptied the mailbox. I was going to slurp my coffee in peace in bed and read something and then get up and do my daily chores and also have some fun with my mother. Excitedly she came into my little room and brought me my mail. “You have a letter from America”, she announced, “but it is not Linda’s handwriting!” I did not know the handwriting either, but the letter came from Pueblo, Colorado, same last name as hers. Who could that be? And what would it be? I opened it carefully and in it the person introduced herself as Linda’s mother and proceeded to tell me, that Linda had been diagnosed with osteosarcoma, a true bone cancer and that she was very ill at Children’s Hospital in Denver. I should be praying for her, and it would be a while before she could write to me. There were some other explanations, too, that I cannot remember, but it shattered my spirit for the day. Tears started welling up and I started calling out to my mother, my support, and I read the letter to her. And then we both cried for a while. Then we made a plan. My mother was going to speak to her boss to see if he knew of any alternative therapy beyond chemotherapy, get information about her medications that her mother had cited and tell us more about osteosarcoma and so on. I also tried to get information about that ugly disease as her mother described it to me and learn as much as I could so I could be of better support. I was going to help her heal and oh, so little did I know. I was going to help heal my best friend forever, because this is what we had become to each other over those past years. I had never had a best friend before and I was not going to allow anybody to let somebody like that be taken away from me and besides she was also my penpal forever. So little did I know then and with the naïveté of an adolescent I began my fight.

I wrote to her in the beginning every day to bring and give her hope. She was highly intelligent, so after she felt better, she sent me lots of information and an explanation of what had happened to her. I studied everything to a ‘t’. When she was 14, she was diagnosed with an aneurysmal bone cyst in her left upper femur. These are initially very benign. Then nobody knew how dangerous radiation could be and so they started to radiate her leg with γ-rays. Predictably, exactly five years later, it became malignant. And those γ-ray created tumors are exceptionally malignant and hardly ever treatable. During her first semester in 1974 she noted increasing worsening pain during dance classes and that was excruciating bony pain. Initially put on crutches, she limped along until she could no longer stand it and she was properly examined and evaluated and diagnosed as having a (malignant) osteosarcoma. The first letter she wrote to me was after she had been sitting in this clinic at Children’s Hospital for hours and she noted the name of the clinic as also being ‘amputee’ clinic and it dawned on her, that is she came to full realization, that they were going to amputate her leg. But because of the closeness to the hip joint and the destruction that had occurred by the tumor, they had to amputate part of the pelvic bone also, which made sitting very difficult in the beginning and difficult from heron even after some healing.

I continued to write with my ink pen, persistently more than twice a week as the letters started to cross over. We learned to number them, so we could properly refer, like real students with best intentions! I learned more and more about osteosarcoma, also with the help of the internist. Meanwhile (1975) I had graduated from Highschool, and I had applied to Medical School at Johannes-Gutenberg-Universität in Mainz. It was quite prestigious and founded in 1477, and let it be known, older than Yale or any other American university! Johannes Gutenberg was from Mainz. Despite my GPA, it took until 1976 for me to get accepted. I had to wait almost one year, not unusual and probably good, as I could make more money and mature some! I started working for the internist, our neighbor and friend, and then I rode my bicycle eight miles to and eight miles from to our 420-bed County Hospital in Langen, one of the neighboring towns, and I worked as a nursing assistant. Needless to say, I did not have any dietary restrictions or weight issues. Because I did such a fine job, they let me handle whole wards by myself. 31 geriatric patients at age 19 by myself and they gave them laxatives at 4 p.m. when I worked the nightshift; I don’t know, if that was purposeful or thoughtless or both! I more or less ended up typically showering those patients garbed in my rubber apron in the middle of the night, when they ‘could no longer hold it’. It was hard, hard work! But then, I never minded hard work, I had a goal! I treated them all as if they were my own grandmother or grandfather, so I got lots of good tips. That was good because I had a plan. I was going to visit my best friend, who was very sick in America and that was going to cost a lot of money and I definitely could not be a financial burden. She had told me how expensive her therapy was and maybe I could help her. I had no idea and so little did I know.

Karl continued to be in and out of my life. Poor Linda, she had to live with me through all of this and my heartaches, too. I guess that is what besties do.

In 1976 I started medical school. I finally felt free. They were all like me! Everybody had the same goal; our IQs were about the same and I no longer had to hide my goals in life. I also went to the administrative director; Dr. König and I arranged for Karl to be able to transfer from Vienna to Mainz disregarding his mother. If we were going to be together forever, we had to be together so I could test him and experience him and figure it out, right? No more longing! I was done with that! We were so excited we could hardly stand it.

I also applied for a nursing assistant position within the university to make some proper money. I was the first in my family with an upcoming college degree, but my parents did not understand that paying for my room and board and my grandmother’s support for some book money and being mighty proud, did not buy me food. They also did not understand that studying and retaining the materials needed rest and sleep. But I was young with a lot of will power and I kept on telling myself: there has to be a solution. So, I worked many nights and weekends. One time I worked 11 nights in a row, 12-hour shifts. Even today I would say that is totally insane. My colleague, another medical student, was the one I complained to that I could no longer sleep during the day. I must have been overtired.

Meanwhile trouble was lurking and coming from the West. One day I received a letter from Linda: metastases to her lungs. She was, of course, heartbroken. The letter she wrote was to me as the first person, she told me this to during the drive home while sitting in her parents’ car, which took four hours. Nobody else, she told me, she could tell the truth about her sorrow, her worries. They decided to treat her differently and more aggressively. Many trips to Denver to Children’s Hospital, which was TCH then, after a prolonged stay on the ward and radiation again, but differently this time. And letters came, one after the other, stories about her constant nausea, that she could not eat, or drink and worst yet, she could not do her homework. The dosing of the medications was, in comparison today, pretty unsophisticated, the protocols new. I remember learning all about them. Which Oncology Group, like the Southwest Oncology Group or the like her protocols belonged to, I learned it all by heart. Then she got better. During one of those times Karl and I took public transport to Frankfurt Airport, it almost felt as if we were travelling to America; it almost felt good and exciting and with the little bit of money I had, we called her at the hospital to bring her courage. Roberta, the operator, answered. I had forgotten that it was eight hours earlier in the Wild West, but nonetheless, she was elated to hear from us wishing her the best and by the end of the conversation she was awake! It made me feel a little bit better, too.

And I wrote and wrote, religiously and predictably trying to bring her hope and telling her, that shared sorrow was half the sorrow, shared joy twice the joy, the way my mother always said. Supporting her in telling me anything that she wanted to. I was not even 20 years old, and those letters were not happy letters to me, but she was my best friend and I loved her. I signed all letter with ‘Always, love Julia’. Now I wished I had said more and could have said more but I am not sure I dared emotionally. I had never loved another female friend like that before.

In August of 1976 I turned 20 years old. My parents had gone on vacation and I gave one of my famous parties at my parents’ apartment with Karl. It was lovely. I was also really proud as I had a record player with an LP by John Denver. We put on the song by him ‘Colorado Rocky Mountain High’ and called Linda, probably at her house, minding the time difference this time and the time it took, as I did not want to hurt my parents too much and I let it play a little bit telling her what we were thinking of! She was doing better and going back to school/college.

The weeks went by and I returned back to Mainz. The semester began in September. I started my second semester. Premedical and Medical School in Germany belong together, it is an eight-year program, although you do have to pass all premedical classes. There are no undergraduate studies, the premedical classes for us are kind of like it. Linda was doing ‘o.k.’ going back to school with intermittent trips for prophylaxis and check-ups at TCH in Denver. Great, we were going to make plans for my visit. She was excited as I was. But I needed some serious money!

I had a small living room and board fully furnished with this lovely family in Mainz. My Landlady reminded me a little bit of my grandmother; she was the kindest human being one can imagine and there were no sharp edges around her either! She was the one that actually taught me, how to cook. They rented me two rooms, one being a kitchenette with two hotplates, refrigerator and a sink and a table with a lamp and chair where I could study, the other one was a living room with a couch, that turned into my bed at night, a chair, wardrobe and a cabinet and a couple of little stands. I also had a big bathroom with a bathtub. It was a wonderful atmosphere. Boyfriends were allowed in opposite to that previous nasty inhumane being who I had fled from! There was a lot of love in that house while I was there and they became very important people in my life, the life of a developing woman, a doctor-to-be. The previous renter, who still visited, had been a medical student also, so they knew what that meant. They had a handsome tall son, Norbert, who cared to borrow my letter scale quite frequently. Mind you, I had to weigh my airmail letters to various penpals, and this was a job to be done carefully. I had this little scale from which you could free-hang a letter from a little clamp. I still have it! What I think today is that he really weighed his Cannabis! Well, it doesn’t matter: all legal now!

I overlooked a lush green garden amidst the Rhine River Valley in Mainz-Mombach out of my two windows and it was more or less very quiet in this Cul-de-Sac, but not always, certainly not during those 11 nights. So, my fellow student recommended that I would take a Valium tablet. I never took any medication. Certainly not benzodiazepines! How much shall I take? I asked him. I was as skinny as a rail, by now 5’10” and he, the non-doctor, recommended 10mg! I would not even recommend that to somebody heavier than myself now! And so, I did! I took 10mg! For 3-4 days I had to make myself get up as I no longer cared and I walked around as if in a daze! Well yes! I had completely knocked out my limbic system in my brain! But what was of significance and fate bringing was the conversation I had with the visiting radiologist that one evening. We did not have a pyxis system, and like my fellow student, people helped themselves to medicines out of the ‘big bowl’ to treat the patients, which was then recorded and physicians covered floors not necessarily their specialty. This radiologist was covering the internal medicine floor and ‘helping out’ a colleague. I knew him, I had been his patient once before and he remembered me also. I liked and trusted him. He was sporty, dynamic, graying, mid-forties and I felt he knew his stuff. I thought he was a good start concerning my matters. My fellow student knew about Linda, and he covered my back while I asked for some private minutes for a second opinion. The time was moving forward, and I had to make my decision when to fly out to Denver and coordinate it with Linda’s and my spring vacation times. I understood that vacation times and time-off in the USA was much more serious than in Germany. Should I, should I not, wait for the summer? What should I do?

Meanwhile I had received another glooming letter from Linda. Her second time of metastases to the lungs, only this time they were going to remove part of her lung and again treat her with chemotherapy and radiation. She was sad beyond belief. The letters that followed did not sound right to me. And then came her mother’s letter: I should consider not coming. Linda was too ill, she was very depressed and they could not even get her out of bed. It would probably take a long time for her to heal, if at all. That was the gist of it. I sat for a while, read it a couple of times, cried a little bit and somewhere in there was a note, I don’t remember if it was through her mother or by her father, but it mentioned that I, Julia, would be exactly the right thing that she would need and to not cancel my trip as per her father.

This is when I decided I needed a second opinion. I was young, inexperienced in life. This was about my best friend; I loved her so much! But it was also a lot of money, and I did not want to feel unwelcome. My parents were of no help; I could not trust them with the feelings I had for Linda anyway – as if they did not know that I cared so much about her that she was my best friend forever! I had actually quite sensitive parents and a grandmother who knew me better than I myself! As if they wouldn’t know those things!

So that night I asked that radiologist what to do after I told him tediously and thoroughly about Linda’s past medical history and current history. I remember to today what he recommended to me. He did not say much he had mainly listened as he could tell my serious soul turmoil, he only said: “You do not have much time, you should go!” And so, I went. With my full-size suitcase packed to the brim, I left. I had this red pair of leather ankle boots; I can still picture them and a lamb fur leather mid length coat. It was actually quite chic! I had heard it was going to be cold in Colorado in March. When I arrived at the airport they, her father, her sister Barbara, who was 2 years younger, and Linda picked me up. I did not even recognize Linda, but I recognized her by her sister who almost looked like her. I did not recognize her because she wore this ridiculous wig! They had come to Denver much earlier to fix her prosthesis. She explained to me that it was called a Canadian Hip Artech. She was 4’10’ or 5’ tall and I over-towered her literally by almost one foot. That prosthesis weighed just about as much as she did and was monstrous. She had just about shrunk to nothing, my beloved Linda. What had they done to her. Her sister Barbara was instantly great. I am sure they figured that this would be awkward for me. It really actually wasn’t, it was more that I was jetlagged! But I had so many things to say to Linda – alone, and I was not going to be alone with her for a while! Her dad was sheer awesome. He overbridged everything! He told me that I was exactly what his girl needed and he was so happy I was there and welcome and so on and so forth. He was just like my dad in a way. Her mother was also very welcoming although I think she was always a bit jealous and uneasy around me and could just never be her natural self. I could have never said that of my mother; she, my mother, was the opposite! There was also a grandmother. She was almost blind and she was half American Indian and very distant. Linda explained to me that her family on her mother’s side was of significant degree Cheyenne Indian. I was too inexperienced, were I to be introduced again, I would I have asked this grandmother until the next day at least if not until we left about her upbringing as I am to this day fascinated and intrigued by the ‘Wild West’ and Germans love American Indians. Linda actually made me a liquid silver with turquoise necklace, my first Indian jewelry ever and another bone and horn necklace that I had restrung, and I was told was very valuable! To me, however, it is priceless. Then one morning during the initial stay at her parents’ house I woke up and came to the kitchen and there was Linda without her weird wig getting breakfast ready. Her hair had started to regrow and was short, black and curly. I remember saying to her, and my directness has not changed much (!), why are you wearing this ugly wig, you look much prettier this way without it!’ – “Really? “She asked and I answered: ‘Yes! ‘Then I bent the truth a little bit, also, to boost her ego and I added: ‘And you know, in Europe, those hairdos are very modern!’ - And that was the last time she ever wore that ugly rug-wig again. Her parents gave me a lovely guestroom, they had a huge house, and I went to church with her and I was surprised that everybody there knew of me. How could that be? I felt quite flattered. My Linda…

Her family had many cars; my family had only had one. Her mother had one, she worked for ‘Good Will’, she was an accountant, her father was a preacher in a Baptist church, he had another one, her sister had one, she also was a college student for informatics and Linda had a green metallic Dodge Demon. I was fascinated by that thing, but her parents made her promise that only she was the only one that would drive it and not let me drive it. That was too bad, I would have loved to have driven an American car. I understand now that it was for insurance purposes, but I also don’t understand because she was actually too sick to drive, especially that long drive back from Pueblo to Greeley, Colorado. What they should have done, especially with my wonderful relations to her dad was, take me on a ride and let me drive that thing and teach me that in America the stop lights are behind the street crossings and that you can turn to the right, even when the stoplights are red and the rule at the stop signs with four corners about who turns first, second, third and forth. Her father also mixed us cocktail drinks. I was fascinated! He joked that in the Baptist church people don’t drink ‘with others! It still makes me laugh even as I am writing about it. He mixed me a drink – and I, the ‘good’ European girl, only knew about beers and wines but not much about cocktail drinks in particular when in regard to Triple Sec, especially coming from the Rhine-Main River area with vines growing through your ears! After I returned home, I excitedly told my mother about it and she was all ears. She wanted me to teach her. We just could not figure out that Triple Sec. For some time, we tried to mix something with Champagne (demi sec and the like) – thinking about it amuses me to this day. It’s really like Cointreau, and that would have sufficed! Linda’s family drove us around and they showed me beautiful things in Southern Colorado around Pueblo and Canyon City and Lake Isabel near it and they saw Linda smile again and gain weight. I loved every moment of it, I had never before seen such beauty, the beauty of the Rocky Mountains and they were the first ones to introduce me to America. Her mom made pancakes with bacon and sausage the first weekend for breakfast when I was there and I got to taste Maple Syrup. I had never had that before. But I was also hungry. I really liked it and do, to this day. But out of a sudden Linda put her knife and fork aside and watched me eat. Had I done something wrong? And she said: “I have never seen anybody eat that way!” And when I asked her what she meant, she explained that I never put my knife out of my hand and lay it aside, the way Americans do and switch hands for the fork, that is actually a ‘no-no’ in Europe. The journey of mutual fascination continued. We shared and we shared. She showed me her scars, the one of her mutilated hips and to her chest and I sat on her bed with her and listened to her stories with all of my compassion and she listened to mine and my complaints about Karl, my love for medical school and my new friends and studies. Just like two teenage girls, two best friends in admiration of each other. And so, our connection deepened and deepened and became quite intertwined. She was sharp and witty and very funny. She would make fun of ‘the Germans’ mispronouncing the English ‘Ws’ for ‘Vs, like we do in German, ‘Ws’ are pronounced like ‘Vs’ in English. I did not. I hated that in particular and I had had a lot of language lab education, and an iron will to make sure I’d work on my accent and make sure I WOULD NOT mispronounce. One of the things she would tease me with was her saying to me: ‘Vell darlink’! That remained her theme! We were very young, but I do think that we realized that this was a very serious matter, my trip and my commitment and the shape and turn to the even better our friendship had taken.

One day, she started feeling a lot better, she certainly was no longer depressed; how could you be that around me! Besides, I was meant to make her happier! We started the trip back to Greeley. I was watching over her and somewhere towards the latter part of the journey, I think in Boulder, Colorado, we stopped and we got us a salad. I was not used to ordering salad sauces separately, in Germany, strict, regulated Germany, everything came premixed! I thought it was fascinating! So, I quickly said to the waitress when asked, not knowing any better when offered the different choices from Italian to Ranch and Russian dressing and then some: ‘Same as hers!’ So many things I had to learn as they were so different to my homeland, but I was in America and I was impressed.

In Europe we had always teased about women going to the store in their jammies or the like with curling rollers in their hair. Linda got kind of annoyed when I told her about that prejudice. Well, it wasn’t any different to thinking that every German mispronounced ‘Ws’ like ‘Vs’! For the first time in my life she took me to Taco Bell and the first thing we saw when we opened the doors was a lady with curling rollers in her hair in a bathrobe! We had us a good laugh. While Linda was at school, I did the ‘household’ and cooked. But I was not alone! Her roommate was Jane. Her family was originally from Czechoslovakia, unfortunately no longer in existence. She was very funny also. There were many parties and much music and liquor. I was fascinated. I asked Linda, if I could come and visit her at school and if there was a piano that I could play! Of course, everything was in walking distance for me. Where I came from, we walked everywhere, that is why we had good walking shoes. The only thing I found odd about Greeley was that the air smelled like cow dung, kind of like in El Paso where I ended up living these last ten years before I moved back to Albuquerque, where I have my house! I played the piano and I could practice the pieces I had brought that I never travelled without including that fateful song: ‘Killing me Softly’. I asked Linda, if I accompanied her, would she sing it for me, and make it like 1973? Of course she did…. But what I did not expect was the crude judgment! She could not sing it with me playing, she explained, because I did not play it ‘jazzy’ enough. Well of course! And that was the truth! I am a classical pianist and have been ever since my sixth year of birth! I guess I got voted out and that was the end of that. But she asked ME, if I would make the strawberry punch bowl again, like then, that would be HER wish. Thank goodness there is no jazzy strawberry punch bowl! Of course, I said, with pleasure, just that I was not 21 years old yet, she just would have to buy the liquor, and I would pay for it. Well, that was fine, because she was going to ask me anyway, if I was going to come to the liquor store with her and make that assistant ‘feel bad’ as he had been really ugly to them many times before. And I responded that would be easy for me to do; we would just test his knowledge! In other terms she had a bone to pick with him.

So, with Jane, the roommate in tow, also to help us carry the loot, we drove to the liquor store not far from the rental house the two of them had. I loved that place. I was amazed. I could even have my own bedroom for the short time I was there. We did not have such luxury in Germany. Everything in America was just so much bigger and then, in America there was ample parking and even handicapped parking! And there the three of us came and Linda started ordering as I had instructed her (we made great teammates) and then she asked that guy to help us. As practiced, I then asked him some merely simple questions about the Mosel River wines and the Nahe River wines, all contributories of the Rhine River and the Rhine-Hessen wines and difference in the color of the bottles. He, of course, knew none of it, overall, he really had no clue. And then I lectured him, how that was unforgivable in such a big liquor store that somebody would not know the even basics…. In retrospect I feel kind of sorry for the poor guy, but I only did what my BFF asked me to do and nobody was ever going to hurt her especially in my absence. I still remember her standing there leaning on her Canadian crutches and just having the biggest grin of complete satisfaction and completion of task on her face as I was performing my ‘friendly’ service. The strawberries we bought were delicious, so was the punch. I just wished they would have stopped with the liquor, but she had invited so many people, also to show me off, I think, there was not enough and then thereafter they started drinking hard liquor (Rum) with peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches which made me really sick. For this reason, to this day, I cannot stand peanut-butter-jelly sandwiches. I did not throw up but I remember Linda looking for me and she found me passed out on her bed. They moved me to my bed in the guestroom and the rest I don’t remember. We did a lot of sunbathing and Jane taught me how to spray water onto myself to tan faster and brown oneself – well, I also burnt like a Bratwurst, but when I returned to Germany, I was with a wonderful suntan from the Colorado sun.

In between I went with Linda to THE Children’s Hospital in Denver for her chemotherapy. That made her feel really bad, more guilty I believe, as I had made it all the way from Germany for that. I reassured her that I had been prepared to spend all my time sitting by her bedside and holding her hand. I had my lamb fur coat which would serve as my cover-blanket while resting in the rocking chair watching over her. One of her chores for that visit was supposed to be a collection of a 24-hour urine. I did not know what that all meant then, but she spilled it. Had she handed it to me, rather than trying to close that screen door by herself on crutches with her Canadian Hip Artech as we were leaving the rental house that would have not happened! But she was too stubborn and too proud to let me help her. I guess one knows the other! When we got there, it needed to be recollected. As it turned out all of this was very fateful to me as I got to meet her nurses and her doctors. Had I known better I would have said, let’s stay in a hotel rather than your hospital where you pay thousands of dollars a night, but I did not know, how that all worked, in comparison to Germany; so rightfully so, her parents became very upset with her. To me everything was exciting. Every minute I got to spend with her no matter where or how, was wonderful. I just did not want her to get sick. We did not have Zofran then, against nausea, nor were the central lines as permanent and easier to maintain as they are now and, of course, there were many things I medically did not know yet. I had barely started premedical school. And my love for her unfortunately did not augment my knowledge, only my will to learn, I was like a sponge, when it came to that. I told her that I had applied for a Fulbright scholarship and she wisely said, that the American colleges would not know what to do with me, a premedical student, if I was an English major student, that would be a different story. I even offered to study that, if it meant I could be with her. I told her that I was certain that there ‘had to be a solution’, because if I was close to her, I could be sure that nothing worse would happen to her and that it would keep her alive and take care of her. The naïve optimism of youth, that is all I would say today!

I was fascinated by the modernity of that hospital and how little stuffy they were in comparison to the German hospitals and their overdone rules and regulations, which has not changed much to this day. But even more so, I was fascinated by their friendliness, in particular towards me, the German pen pal. It was unbelievable to them that an ‘only’ pen pal would come from that far, 6,000 miles (or 9,000km) to visit somebody undergoing chemotherapy. I told them I was a premedical student and that all of it was very interesting to me and that I had a significant bond to Linda, that we were very good friends. So, I got to meet her nurses and even her doctors. I was questioned about my interests and my goals and since I was not particularly shy, only very polite (thanks to those dance lessons after all), I am sure I left an impression. Furthermore, when she got really sick, and nauseous, one of the nurses pulled me out of that hospital room (I did not need to stay in there, she said) and invited me to stay at her house for a couple of nights. I think they liked me and looking back, I am sure they figured out what was going on regarding friendship between Linda and I, how could one not? She took me to the record store, I bought Firefall’s LP ‘Firefall’, the debut album, I remember, to the mall, I was so impressed by it all and then she even took me to the movies. They all loved Linda because of her intelligence, her personality and her bravery and she spoke with me about her disease. I also met her other nurses at the movie theater. In the end, I had it quite good, much better than Linda for sure. When Linda was feeling better, we drove back to Greeley.

But soon my departure day came. I think she had to go to school in the morning, and we barely made it to the then Denver Stapleton Airport. Oh, and I would have just wished I could have missed that stupid airplane. We had plenty of time to talk though and it was not superficial by any means. That was the thing about our friendship from the start. It was never superficial and never boring, and we could also sit with each other quietly. I could be with her, and she could study and I would do my own thing, also, always. Before I left, we promised each other loyalty forever and she was going to come and visit me next and always write to me as always. I thanked her for an absolutely beautiful stay, and we hugged and off I went. It was very hard and very sad but not the end of the world I told myself. We had made plans together and my heart was filled with beautiful emotions, my thirst for mutuality in friendship had been satiated. She had started having a boyfriend then and she told me once he was gone, if I came to America, we were going to live together. Today that sounds to me like teenage talk but perhaps it was more mature in its depth than I could have ever imagined.

I arrived back home and one of my parents picked me up. They were very happy with me. I could not tell them enough about my trip and my experiences. Neither one of them had ever been to America, it was my dad’s dream, so it was very interesting, so were the pictures I was about to get developed. My grandmother was just as happy with me. School went on I had entered the third semester; I worked at the University Hospital and at home at the County Hospital, I had a dance partner! He was a fellow medical student. Martin and I went to dance school regularly and started competing. We became show dancers in Latin American ballroom dancing. That is like tournament dancing. We were actually quite good together, so much so, that at some point the dance teacher pointed out that we were at the highest level and we were always winning and we had to make a decision to either continue on and become professionals or to dance for joy. We looked each other in the eye and decided we should better become Doctors of Medicine! My writings to Linda continued. More intense than ever. Her intermittent chemotherapy continued and I received the regular updates. She had now been diagnosed with metastases to her lungs the third time, but this time she, at age 21, had decided to discontinue any further chemotherapy or surgery. She was heartbroken, worried but yet relieved, I was the first one she let know of that judgment by the doctors. Uugghh, another glooming letter from America. She also complained that she really had nobody she could speak with about all of that including death. Everybody was always so afraid of the truth but me. Of course, that was one of her worries.

I was devastated. My beloved Linda, my best friend! And really, I could not share my sorrow with anybody but her because I could not trust anybody to tell how much I really loved her. I am not sure I ever really told HER. I would have to open up my heart and soul, and I had never done that before. I remember I wrote to her this long epistle about support and love forever and whatever she wanted and if I could do, I would do. But then I asked her what her most secret wish from me might be.

I also looked up the book by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross: On Death and Dying. I quickly read it and I made comments in it and I mailed it to her. I did not know how to help her any other way. I was so far away, I couldn’t just call her all the time, I had no money, I couldn’t ‘zoom’ her, then we did not have all of those things we have now; that would have been so helpful. All I could do was write. I was desperate. I was only 21 years old and I had no money. I became very, very sad. I also still have this original version of our book that we shared ‘On Death and Dying’. How did I have the idea? I think somebody must have recommended it to me, probably on one of the hematology-oncology wards where I ended up working, perhaps I looked it up on one of the university computers in the library and ordered it in English. It is amazing what love will do for us and with what wonderful tools gifts us, when needed.

I had returned back to Mainz from Neu-Isenburg, but my sister was home, I don’t know if it was from her studies or travels, but it was for a bit. My sister was not nearly as tidy and precise as I was then. But apparently there had been a letter from Linda sent to my parents’ address that she, my sister, had forwarded to my address at my Landlady’s house. Today we would alert somebody to that, but I had no phone, that was not usual, so I did not know. She was not as careful as she could have been in filling out the forwarding address, and her handwriting was not as legible as mine. I never received the letter. It could have been very tragic, except I was so predictable in my promptness of always answering Linda’s letters, that it startled her when she did not receive my answer to her to this very particularly significant letter within my typical time frame. And mind you, then we had nothing but the postal service and it was very punctual. Nothing in comparison to what is now on either side of the ocean, both, German and American alike! Smartly enough she sent off a second letter that contained the same information. The gist of it was, again, that she needed to speak to somebody about death and dying, she was in dire straits and that she was concerned that I had never answered her letter and that this was ‘just not like me’. She was certain I had not received it. Her wish was to spend her last Christmas with me in Germany. But she had to meet a deadline within the next few days of the arrival of her second letter, if she were to book the flight to come and make it on time for Christmas 1977 and see me. I received this letter at 11:30 a.m. that particular day and the post office closed at 12 noon that day, it was a Friday for the rest of the week. I definitely did not have much time and I said to myself, ‘there has to be a solution’: I could not call her, because of the time difference, we did not have the computers we have today, nor could I text her, we did not have the technology yet, but what we did have then, were: telegrams! However, I lived at the top of the hill. The post office in Mombach was in old town, all cobble stones, hard to even walk on and it was at the bottom of the hill. It would have taken me at least 20 minutes to get there and then I would have had to fill out all the paperwork, gone to the counter, explain everything again and so on. In punctual overregulated Germany with all its policies and rules there was no way the lunch hungry and over-punctual postal clerk would have let me do that. I quickly thought to put on my best shoes, I had dance but not running shoes and I said to myself, that was the good reason for my 36” inseam and I ran. I ran and I ran as fast as I could as I was going to outrun the system. Being mad at my sister at the same time, (I figured her involvement as the cause of the first letter’s non-arrival) helped it a little bit, too! Ha! And I got there in less than 15 minutes. I quickly composed the telegram on paper (I had the luxury of those 15-minute run time to think about its contents after all!) and with the help of the postal clerk explaining the good cause, it was received in plenty of time and the telegram I received in return is seen as a copy of the original in the collage of pictures I created for my photo album in 1978. Success! And the preparations began for this most important visit of my best friend Linda for Christmas 1977, the return visit.

I had plenty of time to figure out where to take her beyond the Christmas market in Nuremberg, which was an instant and natural obvious target point; but most importantly, I had to earn a bunch of money. She told me she had money, but I was going to be darned to let my very sick friend spend her money on her flight and then on many things in Germany. She was going to be my guest as I was going to be her hostess, and that is how it was going to be, she just did not know it yet. My family was being ‘forewarned’, including that sister of mine, and all my friends from medical school were informed of Linda’s arrival. All in all, everybody was very happy with me. She was going to get a regal welcoming. My Landlord and Landlady needed to approve of her stay in my room in Mainz. They knew about Linda, her illness and the progression thereof and, of course, that was not going to be a problem at all. Everybody’s involvement and participation gave me one of the most significant gifts in my life.

Needless to say, the following next 2-3 months, that is how long in advance one had to book these flights then, I was very busy. I was studying my studies and I was earning money, lots of it. I also had created a travel plan, I had made an agenda list, little things hither and yonder we were going to see and visit. In addition, from the County Hospital where I also worked, I borrowed a pair of regular crutches, the ones that don’t hurt your armpits. I figured that we could have one pair upstairs in Mainz in my room and one in the car. My dad had generously agreed to loan me his car for most of the time Linda was in Germany and for the days I did not have it, Martin and Jens my two closest study ‘Kumpels’, loaned me theirs. By now, Karl was permanently out of my life. That was one arrangement I could make in advance but the bigger one that came to my mind was the airport arrangement. I had made one of my many ‘to-do’ lists and one of the things prior to her arrival had to do with the airport. I thought to myself, how is she going to carry her suitcase (they had no rollers then), her bag (they had no rollers then) or anything else through customs with her ridiculous crutches, jetlagged, and wearing her Canadian Hip Artech? She could not carry anything, and she was this very sick cancer ridden tiny little thing and she was telling me, how worried her mother was as she was constantly losing weight. So, I thought to myself: ’There has to be a solution!’ I mentioned it to my parents. They did not dare to say much or even an inkling of opposing, as they weren’t going to stop me anyway. This was the time during the Baader-Meinhof Gang, kind of like the Manson Cult, in the USA, also known as the Red Army Fraction (RAF) in Germany and Frankfurt Main Flughafen was on lockdown. But I thought I was harmless! I put on my good clothes and on a weekday, always avoiding coffee breaks in the morning, lunch breaks and coffee klatsch break (in the afternoon between 3p and 4p when people have their next cup of coffee and a piece of cake) I went to the airport. I had figured out beforehand somehow where to find the security administration office. I had probably called them. Local phone calls were only 20 pennies then. I paid them a visit. I was very tidy in appearance and well groomed, well I was a ballroom dancer! What do you expect? And in good clothes and tall. I asked to speak to the person in charge and introduced myself. I told them I was a medical student (they did not understand premedical anyway) and that I had a penpal arriving from America. I told them how sick Linda was and that this was her last visit to me because of her lung metastases and that she had already lost her leg and that she was on crutches with a prosthesis and that there was NO WAY she could carry anything by herself. (There were no wheelchairs or any help to anybody with a handicap then and it is not much better today) I was asking for special permission to pick her up from the gate, that is as she was coming out of the airplane so I could assist her. I did not know of any other way to get her to me safely and I figured this was the way it should be and I was not going to leave until we could find a good way for my friend. We were both very harmless. Would they please grant me permission. And so, they did! When Linda arrived that December 15^th, 1977, I was awaiting her as she was stepping off the airplane. Mind you, I was the only one receiving any passenger! The days that followed are almost too emotionally incredible to describe but maybe I will finally come to some peace within my soul and mind.

After the initial greetings and hugs we went to see my mother for a light supper, I believe. That was the warmest welcome, of course. Then onward to my ‘dwellings’ in Mainz-Mombach. I had the second set of crutches in my dad’s blue Opel and we had loaded her suitcase into the trunk. The thing with Germany is, there are always staircases. In America you can easily find ground level buildings because of the lack of space. It was quite the ‘treat’ for her to always climb up and down. How she managed was amazing. It must have been so difficult. But there were rails to hold on to and, of course, I helped. My mother was lovely, as was the rest of my family. They made her part of my family for the just about three weeks she stayed. My sister was home from her studies in Marburg and she was absolutely lovely! Long forgiven the mishap with that letter! She accompanied us on many of our travels. We put Linda up front on the passenger seat and my sister was in back and entertaining us. Since she did not drive, I was always the driver. She took the beautiful picture of Linda and I. I remember still exactly when it was created. It was this parking lot on a sunny wintery day along the freeway, the A1, in Germany. And so, I showed Linda my country, the way she had shown me hers and we ‘lived it up’.   

My sister Ilo and I along the Autobahn December 1977

Please note my famous lamb fur coat! 😊

Taken by Linda

Linda and I along the Autobahn December 1977

Taken by my sister Ilo

And for the first time I really looked at her. She had the most beautiful dark eyes and I could lose myself in them, especially when I looked deep into them. Now, today, I would say she probably had the wisdom of a dying human being, and she knew it and she let me see her soul as I let her see mine. I think we fell in love with each other. It was by no means a romantic relationship, but it was such a deep, deep connection, it was as if we had finally closed the circle of friendship and, of course, she had matured a great deal. We were no longer worried about commitment to each other in emotion, also, because we somehow knew that we were running out of time. I had never been able to do this in my life before. I was a little bit aloof and certainly easy to cut people off, a little bit with the arrogance of ‘the gifted child’, I guess. It is just that I did not know any better. I did not know that to be loved, you needed to make yourself vulnerable because you needed to let the other person “see” you. I also truly believe that it had been so important that we had done all this writing as it forced us to take down our walls and we had to think. In what she wrote to me, I had to come to grips and write with depth and think, she demanded my true presence in my proper responses, otherwise I would have been worthless as a penpal. She was in serious trouble with all these decisions to make, horrible diagnoses given, she needed help. Being thought-lazy to this day is not my thing not even then, not now. And in her I had found my match.

Linda in Old-Town Mainz 1977

Taken by me

I politely offered Linda her space and I gave her my bedroom all to herself. (Not) Surprisingly, that is not what she wanted. She wanted for me to stay in the same room with her on my stretcher. I think she wanted closeness in space, not physically. So, I made us our beds at night and after supper we laid down.

I had prepared everything, the refrigerator was filled to the gills, and I had recipes in mind that I could easily fix. Mind you, I only had two hot plates, which felt a little bit like camping, really, but it is amazing what a loving, creative mind can concoct! And I hosted guests! Linda was telling me, how her mother was so concerned of her weight as she could not gain weight. Well, of course! Her body was cancer ridden, her lungs were being eaten up by those osteosarcoma cells, and she was supposed to cook for herself. That was not a project to be crowned by success! So, I took over. I told her she needed more ‘carbs’ and I explained that German white bread, actually the French baguettes were much better, and I took her to the little bakery down the road – again up the staircase and down the staircase, but she managed and we got many delicious baked goods. In the end she gained three pounds, the three pounds I lost because of all my worries and running around trying to protect her! By the way, nobody was ever going to get too close to my friend on these crutches! I took her to Old Town Mainz and we met up with Martin and with Jens, my two boyfriends from medical school, Martin my dance partner, Jens my better friend. They were absolutely lovely. They had been instructed by me to not speak much about illness, unless she wanted to. So, they acted like male friends, and we played around and she lived her life and had fun. I had never seen her drink so much wine! I could not, I was the driver. We laughed and we giggled! She met my other friends from medical school, and we had a party for her. There were laughter and music, and we celebrated her and life and we did not talk about illness and she loved it.

At night, she took off her Canadian Hip Artech. That thing started to get in the way. So, I put it up on top of the wardrobe. A wardrobe is like an armoire and since I did not have a walk-in closet, that is where I hung up my clothes and then hers. It also had shelves for sweaters and other clothing. We also had to put her suitcase somewhere and up it went. So as one can imagine my room was full. With that prosthesis on top, out of the corner of my eye it always felt as if there was somebody else in the room. If the whole situation hadn’t been so sad, it would have been almost funny. We both felt the same way. And when the lights went off, she started talking and talking and I started asking questions and listening. A little bit in the beginning, then a little bit more, so she would feel like she had a conversational partner. What we really did, if one thinks about it, is that we gave each other therapy. It was pretty ingenious. I just did not feel that way at that moment. It felt natural and intuitive. She was my friend and I spoke with her rather than always having to write. How did she feel? Was she scared? Was she sad? Every night that we spent together we talked and talked. The window was open to let in some air, it was quiet otherwise, it was very, very sweet. I will never forget. While I don’t remember the exact contents of those endless nights, I do remember the gist of it and the feeling I had... We did not cry, she did not cry. She did not thank me, she did not say ‘good-bye’ and she did not make departing statements. We actually just lived. I have never had conversations with anybody that way again, not even close to it... Perhaps with my mother, towards her end, but then I willfully said ‘good-bye’ to her. With her I did not, I just let her speak and tell me about her feelings and I just let it flow. We were very young, we were only 21 years old, how did we do it? I think it was conversation without boundaries and without fear, without fear to love and without fear of death in her case and without fear to live. But I was not sad, I was just happy that she was with me, that is why I can say, conversation without fear of love. In the end she gave me the biggest gift on earth, and perhaps I did, too to her, that was her secret wish.

She did not look ill when she came to see me, not yet did she have that certain triangle of death around her nose that I knew from my geriatric patients. She was just so full of life and just happy and she sang! She only brought this one medicine, a syrup I did not know, that her oncology doctors had prescribed and she did not have enough of it... When she ran out, I went to our County Hospital’s pharmacy with her and asked the pharmacist if it could maybe be refilled. It was called ‘Prompton’s Cocktail’. Nobody knew what it was. Idiots! Didn’t they know anything?! She never told me in how much pain she was, if any, she never complained. Sometimes she coughed a little bit. What I later learned was, that this ‘Prompton’s Cocktail’ was named after Dr. Daniel Prompton, a doctor from New York and really just simple Tylenol #3 and basically used in her case being opioid with Acetaminophen as cough syrup and pain medication. This made sense as one time, as we were picking up my sister, she took it on an empty stomach and on the way to my parents’ apartment she became very nauseous and I had to stop on the freeway to Neu-Isenburg, right next to the airport, which was under construction and she vomited, also to the side of my dad’s precious car. I had to stop the car on the narrowed side stripe which took quite a bit of finesse and, of course, I had nothing in the car to help her. But my parents did not scold me, they figured that something like that had happened. Everybody ‘behaved’, my Landlord and Landlady never complained when we would come home ‘late’ and her prosthesis would hit the wooden stairs with a thud and then they would hear us mumble to the wee hours of the morning. They figured out what was going on. Everybody was so, so very sweet and everybody knew it was not going to last forever, it was a dream visit and nobody interfered or ruined it for me. My German people behaved, for once!

“Vell Darlink” – Two friends finally together teasing each other,

Before we burst into laughter.

My dad catching the moment!

Neu-Isenburg, Germany, Christmas 1977 

We traveled to the mountains around Frankfurt and I showed her the typical half-timbered German villages, we traveled to the Rhine River and I showed her the castles and the river, of course I showed her around Frankfurt, Frankfurt-Sachsenhausen, the old part of Frankfurt, where I was born, a block away from Goethe’s birthplace and Mainz, the campus and the old city. The Christmas decorations were all out and she could enjoy them in their typical way.

Then came the big trip to Nuremberg and the Christmas market. That took quite the drive. The Christkindlsmarkt in Nuremberg is the biggest Christmas market in Germany and the most beautiful. Nuremberg is along the Romantic Road. There are certain roads in Germany that were used during the Middle Ages for commerce and that were also named, like the Camino Real here in the Southwest in the US for instance. Nuremberg has a huge castle and city walls, all still intact. It was Hitler’s favorite town but despite that it is truly beautiful. It is known for its Lebkuchen. These gingerbreads were originally made by the nuns to send home to their families to let them know that they were still alive, they could not write. There is argument whether it was to show them that they were alive (Leben) or to send love (Liebe) and you can also find a lot of almond paste. The smell of different wares and cooking's and the Nuremberger Brats is absolutely delicious. It is one of my favorite places to visit. Albrecht Dürer, the German painter, is from Nuremberg. We walked along the market and with all the lights, the candles on the big Christmas tree in the center, the wood carved pyramids with turning blades, stars on top, the blades are turned by the heat from the candles; her dark eyes never stopped sparkling. Then I took her to the mall. There were no wheelchairs, nor would she have allowed me to wheel her around! And I said: “We are going to take an elevator when we can, Linda, and if we cannot, since it is so customary we will take an escalator. And since I am so much taller, this is what we are going to do, when the escalator goes upward, you will step on it first and I will be right behind you with my arms all stretched out, so if you were to fall, you will fall onto me and I will catch you and protect you; if the escalator goes downward, I will go first, arms folded out and holding on to the rail, so if you fall, you will fall onto me!” She was very obedient and nothing bad happened!! Parking wherever we went was a challenge! There was no ‘handicapped parking’, nor could I get a sticker. It is to this day horrible in Germany. It is not like in America. And parking in Germany remains to be of challenge anyway. But then, now almost 50 years ago it was even worse. When I complained about the situation to my mother at some point, she agreed and she said: ‘Juli, in Germany there is a saying and we are known for it’ – “Only the strong knight has a right to live!” I find this to this day to be a bunch of nonsense. So, I parked in the handicapped parking wherever I could and as close as I could to any entrance. Whenever I had to pay to make it comfortable I would. I did not care, I had worked and I had some money, for exactly that! But I was lucky, I never got a ticket! I guess the gods smiled upon us.

Along the Romantic Road is also the town Rothenburg-ob-der-Tauber (Rothenburg on the River Tauber, a contributory of the Main River). It also has many cobblestones, and a city wall that is still intact. It is one of the most romantic cities in the world. My grandparents spent their honeymoon there. What it is also notorious for, despite its romantic buildings and cute little cobble stone roads, is its ‘torture museum’. Now, that is well worth visiting. It is amazing what those people during the Middle Ages all thought of to punish their own. Linda was amazed. To this day, whoever I go there with, we figure out who we know to dislike, would have deserved what, the same when I went there with Linda! But on the way along the pilgrimage road to Rothenberg, there is St. Jakobskirche (St. Jakob’s Church) and inside it is this world-famous wood carved altar. That work was done by the famous master woodcarver Tilman Riemenschneider between 1499 and 1505. Another stop and good reason to get out of the car, perhaps a little potty break as the car drive was a good four hours. For my religious hungry pious friend that was just right and actually the same for me, the not so pious, and to this day the church is indeed beautiful to see. I have no idea how we got all of this done. The drives were lengthy, then there were the walks, we had lunches, I most likely also bought supper and she was not well. And I had to do all the driving and then talk all night long. To me to this date it is unbelievable. I think she wanted so badly to see as much as she could, to not be a burden and to give me something, too. And that she did.

I even took her to Trier, along the Mosel River, an arm off the Rhine River. It is absolutely beautiful, but these are all long drives. I guess we had nothing else to do. Trier is where the Romans went 2,000 years ago, the Porta Nigra (the Black Gate) being the most famous, it decorated my Latin book’s title page. Lots of old ruins and baths and I had a classmate there with his girlfriend. And everybody is Roman Catholic! There were even more churches. My friends were all plentifully instructed and wonderful. Lunches and suppers and then our drive back with her resting and then tons of time to talk. I took endless pictures. As I am sitting here now writing about it, it comes to my mind that perhaps this would be the impetus to have them all digitalized. Maybe now I could bear to look at them again.

My French grandmother, my mother’s mother, Anny, came through for us, too. Linda was Baptist by birth but had always been drawn to the Catholic church. Of course, I took her to St. Joseph’s church in my hometown, where I had been baptized. My parents belonged to the church choir. Linda was very religious and since she had become ill, she prayed even more. I was not so religious. I still believe in God, but I am not actively practicing. Of course, I sincerely honored her beliefs. My grandmother was 74 years old when she met Linda again, she had met her originally when the story of the strawberry punch bowl was created, so four years prior and was enamored by her then and her voice. Of course, I had told my lovely grandmother about Linda and her struggles with that cancer. My grandmother came from a little village in Lorraine called Plappeville. It was just outside Metz, Lorraine, France. I spent much of my youth there; I used to have many relatives there and had spent many happy times there visiting her relatives. There is a church there called Sainte Brigide de Plappeville, my grandmother’s school friend used to play the organ there, the masses where still held in Latin. The cemetery is where my great-great-grandparents were buried and it still had a corner for those who had committed suicide. My grandmother had bought the land and with it their graves. She was born in the house of my great-great-grandfather, a house in that village with three-foot-thick stone and rock walls, orchards, vineyard, absolutely beautiful. My great-great-grandfather had built it. It also had a monastery with an abbey. In my older years I would and I could drive my grandmother and myself there and we would stay there. She befriended a couple of the nuns and wrote to them regularly and the monastery had a small hotel with bed and breakfast. This is where she offered to send us and she paid for two nights for us there. She thought it would be a nice gift for us two girlfriends and she thought the father there and the nuns she knew (and she had told them about Linda and her deadly disease) would pray with her. And so, we did. On a cold and yet sunny wintery morning Linda and I started our trip to Plappeville to visit my grandmother’s birthplace in France, about two hours from my hometown to stay at the monastery with its abbey and visit the nuns and the father. The hours that followed during that trip were unsurmountable. In total harmony and awe, we drove off. Passports at hand we crossed over from Germany into France. There was no European Union yet, and so we drove into this lovely village. Everybody was absolutely perfect. It was like in the movies and could not have been any better! We ate, we had of course red wine, I took Linda around and showed her, where my family was from and the nuns were loving and yet not overbearing. Everybody prayed with her, just the right amount, they were watching here and including her and she received plenty of blessings. If only I could have filmed it, by now, as I am trying to relive it, I would have probably watched this part of my life a million times. It is a good thing that my mother, the stenographer, put us into typing lessons, because as I think, I can write and it all is coming back to me – and then some. Linda was happy but she started to have trouble with her cough and that is one time, I noted, she did not sleep well. Since we only had one room and she kept on getting up which was noisy business with those crutches, I did not sleep well either! And I was supposed to be the driver. Thank goodness I was so much younger. Breakfast was lovely and the departure very meaningful and sad. We were never going to come back. I think I even introduced her to my cousin once removed, Robert and his wife Sabine. She was a temperamental driver; I remembered from my younger years that she had taught me the curse word ‘merde’! It was another trip filled with ample memories.

After a couple of days of resting and meeting up with ‘the boys’ in Mainz and some mini-trips, we packed up for Christmas at home in Neu-Isenburg. Since I grew up in an apartment, like most Germans, there was not much room for guests. And my sister was home, too. I think what we did is, I gave Linda my fold out bed and I slept on the floor on an air mattress. I had a nine square meter  room, the room where I had composed most of my letters. I had privacy and it was plenty big for me. And that room we shared. It also had a wardrobe for that Canadian Hip Artech! And we could close the door and talk! We were happy. As a matter of fact, the pictures taken give it proof. We had one bathroom and hygiene and toiletry times needed to be carefully staggered especially with a so handicapped guest. My parents were fantastic and my mother cooked and cooked. I don’t think I helped much I was busy protecting and hosting! But my dad was there, he was the only one that did not speak English, so I translated, we all translated, but he made up for everything else with his kindness and the pictures he took of Linda and I. The picture of me was taken by him around the time she came, December 1977. My grandmother was there helping my mother in the kitchen, and my sister was there and they all knew what was going on, more than I will ever realize. They were not going to ruin anything for me. For that I will be forever grateful. There was music, laughter and singing. On December 23^rd, I drove Linda one last time to the Odenwald. It is a low mountain range and for able bodied people there are lots of hiking paths, some castles owned by counts and half-timbered villages, one famous one being Michelstadt, and of course we went there, I believe with my sister, and one being Amorbach. Amorbach is famous for its church with staircase (!) belonging to the Benedictine Monastery. It is part of the Archdiocese of Mainz. Everything and everybody are very religious. The late-Baroque Hall church is St. Gangolf. It was built in 1751 to 1753. To date concerts are being held in it because of its acoustics. The interior reflects Rococo style and the early beginnings of Neoclassical style. The interior ceiling to me always looked like being built in the shape of an onion and the paintings are from the bible and early beginnings of Amorbach and are out of this world, they are magnificent; the altar is made of marble, and the organ is also from the 18^th century and phenomenal. It is of course a Catholic church and a cultural, religious, musical and acoustic delicacy. I thought it would be just right for my musical and culture aware beloved friend. And I thought it would be good as a last big treat before Christmas and get us out of the hair of my anxious mother’s preparation who did not allow us in the kitchen anyway. We got to the church entrance this late afternoon and one of the friars was walking along the walkway with the key in his hand ready to close the church. So, I asked: “Are you closing for the night?” And he said that they were closing in about 5 minutes or so for the Christmas holidays and their preparations. In Germany that meant from the 24^th through the 27^th of December! We were going to miss it! That left me no choice, I begged him and I told him a bit about Linda, in German of course, I did not want to embarrass her, I dramatized even more and I did not want her to understand, and that we would never be back and how she loved the Catholic church and loved to sing. It did not take much to convince this good fellow to let us in and I remember having said to Linda, who was in total awe, the way I wanted her to feel and forget everything else that troubled her, I urged her: “Please, just sing, just sing for me, you will never regret it!” And one last time she sang at St. Gangolf in Amorbach, Germany on December 23^rd, 1977, the way I remembered her to sing with that beautiful Soprano voice of hers. I don’t even remember what she sang, I just remember the feeling. Even now writing about it makes my hair stand on end and sends shivers through my body. It was absolutely marvelous. Sadly, though, I never heard her sing like that again. She then started having trouble singing and she started crying. I comforted her and I told her she should only do what she could. No expectations! I thought no less of her! It was about having fun! If only she had not run out of Prompton’s Cocktail! What were her doctors thinking? At least so I thought.

Christmas 1977 at my parents’ house in Neu-Isenburg taken by my dad.

Linda, myself and Ilo. The body language speaks for itself. 

Our Christmas that year was wonderful. My parents had gifts for all of us including her. My grandmother played the piano like always and the food was delicious. Our Christmas tree had real candles and glass Christmas balls with glitter and tinsel, the typical German Christmas. There were Lebkuchen and there was Stollen and much more, just everything! And she looked and looked and she ate and ate and she smiled. Her color was good; her cheeks were red and her eyes sparkled. The family picture that year included Linda from America, my pen pal. I had fulfilled her wish.

The remaining days went by too fast. Many other visits, many more talks and then came the ‘good-bye’ and my promise that I would try and come to study in the USA so I could be closer to her and maybe that would be better for her and make her feel better, perhaps I could heal her. I had taught her at least how to eat better! Thereafter I even received reports from her about what she had made herself like what we had had to eat and how even Jane was amazed! I had copied the slides I had taken and I put together a package for her birthday in February, so she could enjoy our vacation together and relive our fun, but of course it took a while to get there, even via e-mail. I am not sure she ever got to properly enjoy them. The letters that came thereafter were always on parchment thin light blue paper, regular as ever and then they started becoming no longer so regular.

I am not sure I noted at first, as I was also busy with my new boyfriend. I had started dating him before Linda’s arrival. But he was not so important, she was more important when she had arrived. But he met her. His name was Ian and he was British, so English was not an issue. My parents did not like him. He was ten years my senior. I dated him more after Linda left, I believe right after New Year’s. Jens had loaned me his little Nissan Hatchback to drive her to the airport. That ‘good-bye’, though, was absolutely horrible. What sits in my mind is, how she turned around one last time smiling at me before she walked through the security gate.

Ian and I did more things together after Linda left. He was quite sophisticated and had had a good education but a bit lazy, in that he did not want to further his education. He became a truck driver to learn Europe. He was very good and generous to me but looking back, probably out of my league, in other terms, I don’t think we matched. I loved it that he was British, and I could speak English as much as I wanted. We traveled to see his family, who loved me. They were very well educated and wealthy and came from Exeter, Devonshire, I believe his father was actually Scottish. His only brother was a pilot and had just gotten married to a model, his senior. With Ian I had worriless fun, for a while. We went to dance clubs, we traveled, we hiked and it was in March, one Saturday, we went to a disco in Wiesbaden, literally opposite from Mainz on the map, across the Rhine River, in Germany. He was dressed up, I was dressed up and dancing was so very much my hobby, I was excited. We had just got there, and I started feeling really weird. I do not know, even to this day, how to describe it, perhaps like out of balance, a bit nauseous… I do not know. But I said to him and remember distinctly as if today, I said:” Ian, I am not feeling right, I am not feeling well, I think Linda just died, can you please take me home!” – And so, he did. I spent the rest of the weekend in my room pondering by myself. I started feeling really worried.

In Germany the postal mailboxes are yellow, the post office was marked yellow somewhere on the building then and the postal clerks wore something blue and yellow and they drove yellow cars for regular daily mail, the carriers walked with yellow bags on carts on wheels which they pushed ahead of them or they had bicycles with yellow baskets - along those schemes, like the US Postal Service is blue here. For rapid deliveries of packages or express mail or telegrams, anything that was urgent, they drove VW beetles and they screeched around corners, kind of like we know the UPS and FedEx trucks here in the US by the sounds they make, I knew the postal services VW beetle cars’ screeches by heart, I had grown up with them all my life long. They must have taught them to drive a certain way and style! Come the following Monday morning, around 10 a.m. or so after my failed Saturday night disco event, I had barely woken up, I heard this German postal services VW beetle screech into my Cul-de-Sac street in Mainz-Mombach, stopping in front of my Landlady’s house, Siedlerstraße 12. Oh, and I had a real funny feeling in my gut. My Landlady proceeded to holler for me: “Julia, a telegram for you!” And I ran downstairs and there was what I had been so afraid of, the telegram from America. It was sent to me by Linda’s parents and very simply stated that Linda had passed that Saturday prior, the way I knew already anyway. After that my life became very dark. My Landlady tried to comfort me, Martin came and he was dressed all in black and I told him to stop ‘that nonsense’. My friends and everybody around me and close to me really did not know what to do with me and for me, also, because I did not let them. Everybody was very caring, though. It became a little bit better thereafter, bit by bit, but my life was never the same thereafter. My journey of true emotional suffering had begun.

When you love somebody so much you also grieve very much as grieve is all the love you feel all bundled up. And my heart broke over it, she did not break my heart, the fact that I loved her so much and that she had been taken away from me, did. I felt lost and I just felt deep, deep sorrow. Even to this day as I am writing I can still feel this deep pain. I don’t know, how many times I read the book I had bought for Linda “On Death and Dying”. In the end I could not cry any longer.

The heart is a big place and in it there is room to love many people, and it does not only consist of four chambers as we say in medicine. My parents and my grandmother even sent me condolence cards. They must have realized, how much she had meant to me, but they also left me alone in my grief. I would have asked my child, if she or he needed help and visited and just sat with them in quiescence, no matter what they had said. The connection I had with Linda was divine and literally reached across the ocean so much so that I could feel it when she died. How could that be? I cannot explain it with science, but it did happen to me, and I am considered myself rather educated and sophisticated. It caused me so much pain and yet, if asked, if I would do it again for the beautiful experience I had had, I would always say ‘yes’s and say just like in that song by Edith Piaf: ‘Non. Je ne regrette rien’.

Weeks passed by but I finally received a letter from her mother. It gave me peace and a little bit of closure in what she described. Linda had become quite ill and returned home from school in February of 1978. She could no longer get out of bed and then would drift in and out of consciousness. She must have become hypoxic. But at the very end towards her death, as she was going in and out, her mother wrote, in early March 1978, she started speaking to me, although sometimes mumbling but addressing me, her confidante, as if I was there, she was recalling events and conversations it seemed and some of it they could no longer understand. They were not sure, she really could take in all the pictures (slides they were), she could no longer focus, but they did. That soothed me tremendously and her mother, who had such trouble with my role in Linda’s life finally acknowledged me and paid me full respect and she went on to tell me that when they took down Linda’s belongings, they found all of my letters hidden away underneath her bed bundled up with a ribbon tied around them. I gave them much credit for letting her go to see me for what they must have known was going to be her last Christmas, to see her penpal in faraway Germany. Not that they could have stopped her! One knows another! She had brought back most of her money they proceeded to tell me and so her sister inherited it all, which was a lot of money then. That was also a gift from me to them.

One does not get such an experience in a lifetime too often. I had a heavenly connection to my American penpal, my best friend forever, who I lost. I trusted my heart, I opened my heart to her, and I had taken that risk, and I suspect it would have taken me a lot longer to do, had there not been that certain tragedy factor. It has taken me over 20 years to trust my heart with another person in similar fashion. I will never love another person like I loved Linda ever again, that was reserved for her. But the heart is a big place, and one can love many people, even at the same time. But there is room only for one best friend at one time.

It has taken me that long, 25 years after her death, to have another Best Friend Forever again. I love her for who she is, for herself, that is reserved only for her. She has that privilege again. She was there for me when I was very ill as I have been there for her the same way. I have loved and known her for the past 24 years and treated her many times and got her out of trouble many times also. I have learned to be happy again, and I no longer shy away from saying to my best friend: I love you. It means something different in German. You say that only to a lover, I had to learn that, too. I will be 70 years old this year, so I have to be very careful. Pretty soon life will be over just by nature not illness, and I want to be sure that my best friend is smothered in love and does not ever have to second guess me. My past experience has certainly heightened that awareness.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like, if Linda had not died, would I have learned all these things that my best friend today benefits from and taught me? I guess there is a friend like that for each section of life. I have known my best friend today now for 24 years. I treasure every moment I am with my best friend, and I can hardly wait to take her back to my homeland. She, too, has a beautiful voice – I think church singing helped that also – and she grew up in the Southern Baptist lands. Imagine that! And she likes Germany often more than I do. I am teaching her and have taught her already quite a bit of German, including curse words! We trust each other with our lives. Being the daughter of an English teacher, I sometimes still have my English corrected by her, too! That gives me great pleasure and reminds me of my true penpal years with Debbie and Linda. My family knows her and loves her, and my mother told her to take good care of me before she died when she once visited and she even got to meet my father before he died; she knows my sister (that sister of mine!), who loves her and vice versa. She loves my fatherland and has seen it many times and will see it soon again. She knows just about all my secrets, and I know almost all of hers and fortunately we don’t live 6,000 miles apart as I would never tolerate that again. And I would never ever let anybody hurt her and I would do anything for her, also; but nobody knows how far I would go to really protect her. She is very intelligent, resolute, interesting and funny and nearly an MD, I always say she should have become one, like myself, and thank goodness, she is in the medical field also, which makes it easier for me. She is brilliant and has a mind as sharp as a tack and there is not too much that escapes her. So, I am lucky. I spoil her rotten and cannot imagine a life without her.

I had wanted to take a trip through the Wild West with Linda in 1978 but since she died before that, I did it with my dance partner Martin in August 1978. It was the fundamental trip of my lifetime. We visited her parents and I went to see her grave. After we landed in Denver, I went to Children’s Hospital in Denver, and I applied for a month-long rotation in Pediatric Oncology. I was granted a Fulbright scholarship and received support from my university. I went to see Linda’s doctors, who remembered me quite fondly and accepted me. Three years thereafter, I applied for a sub internship within the University of Colorado, that meant the fourth year of medical school and consisted of four months of mandatory Internal Medicine, four months of mandatory Surgery and four months of an Elective, which mine was Pediatrics and I opted to do that at the Children’s Hospital in Denver. I was accepted as the first German medical student to study at one university within the US through the Ministry of Education within the State of Rhineland-Palatinate of Germany which I had negotiated by myself. One of those four months in Pediatrics was Pediatric Hematology-Oncology. There was Linda lurking around the corner again.

This opened my doors to a General Pediatric Residency. The Pediatric Professors were so taken by me, my persistence, pursuance and performance and my start as the ‘penpal’ from Germany, that they proceeded to insist taking me into Pediatric Residency through the University of Colorado outside the match. I dare say that it was the Pediatric Oncologists, one of them had by now become the Chief Medical Officer at Children’s Hospital, that were instrumental in all of this. There is hardly any bigger honor. I just wished it would not have taken the loss of a life but rather that Linda could have celebrated it with me. Roberta, the telephone operator, remembered me the moment I started my night shift at Children’s Hospital, my voice sounded familiar to her, probably my accent then also! – I had called Linda many more times from Germany. One night I went to see and greet Roberta in her work booth, she was the night operator, that is why we reached her so early in the morning when we had called from Germany that time, and wouldn’t you know it: she looked just like Roberta Flack!

I was offered, again out of the match, a position within Pediatric Hematology-Oncology for a fellowship, especially since my Ph.D. is in Hematology-Oncology. I had dedicated my doctorate thesis to Linda. However, treating adolescents, especially the ones with osteosarcomas, was too painful for me, I could not separate myself from them emotionally. Nonetheless, as a Pediatric Emergency Medicine Physician, I believe I served them a better purpose. The number of patients I have diagnosed with oncological diseases during all of my greater than 40-year career seems to truly have been out of proportion in comparison to my fellow colleagues in my various physician groups. It seems as if these types of patients always had a special attraction towards me! In spiritual language I would say, it is as if my beloved Linda was smiling down upon me, tugging at my scrub top and saying: “Vell darlink, just do your job!” - And so, I always have, to this day.

Maybe now, after 49 years and having told my complete story, perhaps now I can finally find some rest and peace and grieve a bit less: I understand the concept that grief never fully ends but rather turns into quiet memory in one’s heart.  

July 2025, the Author

Bandelier National Monument, Los Alamos, New Mexico 

Addendum:

*Top Picture of Linda taken by me December 1977

** Top Picture of me taken by my dad December1977, please note the necklace is a Black Hills Gold Necklace given to me by Linda