A sweet elderly French couple help me find my dear grandmother's sister
Jan 27th, 2005, 09:35 AM
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A sweet elderly French couple help me find my dear grandmother's sister
My grandmother grew up in the Jura, France, a rural village. She never returned home once she left for America, as she injured her eye, lost all sight in that eye and eventually most in the other. Her sister stayed in France in the Jura, little town near the border of Switzerland. They exchanged mail regularly for the rest of their life.
My grandmother always kept these dear letters, the only connection to her family and home. Some of them had those little black borders around the stationery, indicating a mourning period for a death in the family. Others were regarding marriages, births, etc.
The day that I found these letters at my mother’s house, I read all of them in one great fifteen hour marathon. The emotions poured forth as I became one with my deceased grandmother and her sister, living through the family twists and turns of fate.
I determined that I would visit the little town in France, and find the grave of my grandmother's sister, taking the letters with me, so that my grandmother could "return" again.
Several years later, my husband and I made the journey. We drove to the little town, armed with the postcards and letters, pictures and maps. We were hunting for the Lutheran church cemetery where my grandmother's sister Rose was buried with her husband. We drove everywhere in the town and the environs, but although we found several cemeteries, we could not locate the one where sister Rose was buried.
We ventured to the center of the village, and parked in the little lot across from the Mairie, and perused the postcards, which clearly showed a scene from 1898 of the main street, which HAD NOT changed an iota. We were frustrated and realizing that we may not actually accomplish the goal of finding Rose.
It was a Sunday, no one was on the streets of the village. We sat and pondered, walked around the vehicle nervously wondering what to do next.
Suddenly an elderly man and his wife appeared on the sidewalk near us, out for a promenade, taking some air. My husband walked up to him, and apologized for interrupting his promenade, asking the location of the cemetery. After a moment of indecision, he was shown the postcards of the town from 1898. Voila! The energy level shifted into high gear, as it turned out he was the town historian and had a postcard collection. This interest led to a brief description of our trip to find the grave of my grandmother's sister Rose. He intensely read several of the postcards...and then his wife looked over his shoulder and exclaimed,
"Rose, Rose!!! we know Rose, we knew her all of our lives!!!"
Instantly the Monsieur beckoned us to our car, "aller, aller", there was no refuting his commands, sweet as he was.
They accompanied us to a hidden cemetery, where he walked briskly in front of us, intent to find Rose's grave. No Rose there. Undeterred, he continued the quest to a second hidden, beautiful place, amongst the grazing animals, walled and landscaped so very prettily. He again walked briskly with his cane in front, searching for Rose...until he proudly exclaimed, "here!! Rose!!!".
We had found the sought after final resting place of my dear grandmother's sister Rose. I placed one of the most treasured letters that she had sent to my grandmother on the tombstone and told Rose, "after all these years, you are finally together again". The next day we would go back ourselves and place flowers in her honor on the grave.
But the story does not end here....
Monsieur Saunier and his wife insisted on inviting us to their home. They brought out wine, cheese, quiche. For hours into the night he showed us his postcard collection and talked of the old days, Rose and the town.
I felt that they were my family, and in some ways knew that I just had to give him something, to leave something in that little village of my grandmother's. So I took one of the postcards, and presented it to him, one of the beloved postcards. It was quite a moment in time for me and also Monsieur Saunier.
At around eleven at night, after nine hours with them, we said our goodbyes. He beckoned to his wife, and she went to her garden and picked a bouquet of flowers for me. We all kissed and said our goodbyes. I could not keep my eyes dry, I missed them terribly as we drove eighty miles back to our hotel.
When we got home, I sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers and fruit to the Sauniers, and a letter telling them that they had been a part of my life that I would never forget.
Yes, the French are so rude that they shower you with love sometimes. I still get extremely emotional, as I am writing this to all of you now, as I think of that day and the place it holds inside my heart, and also in the hearts of my grandmother and her beloved sister Rose. God bless all of them, they lived through such difficult times. I am so very happy that I could accomplish this little task in my life, and to be a part of what occured on that lovely day in France. You see, the last part of the story is that I never knew my grandfather. My husband took a picture of Monsieur Saunier and I on that wonderful day. I have it framed, and like to think that my grandfather would approve.
I have never told this story to anyone but my husband. It is very difficult to write it, but I wanted to share my love of this couple, their village and their love of two strangers on a pretty Sunday in a little village in France. Rest in peace Rose and Grandma, I love you both so very, very much.
My grandmother always kept these dear letters, the only connection to her family and home. Some of them had those little black borders around the stationery, indicating a mourning period for a death in the family. Others were regarding marriages, births, etc.
The day that I found these letters at my mother’s house, I read all of them in one great fifteen hour marathon. The emotions poured forth as I became one with my deceased grandmother and her sister, living through the family twists and turns of fate.
I determined that I would visit the little town in France, and find the grave of my grandmother's sister, taking the letters with me, so that my grandmother could "return" again.
Several years later, my husband and I made the journey. We drove to the little town, armed with the postcards and letters, pictures and maps. We were hunting for the Lutheran church cemetery where my grandmother's sister Rose was buried with her husband. We drove everywhere in the town and the environs, but although we found several cemeteries, we could not locate the one where sister Rose was buried.
We ventured to the center of the village, and parked in the little lot across from the Mairie, and perused the postcards, which clearly showed a scene from 1898 of the main street, which HAD NOT changed an iota. We were frustrated and realizing that we may not actually accomplish the goal of finding Rose.
It was a Sunday, no one was on the streets of the village. We sat and pondered, walked around the vehicle nervously wondering what to do next.
Suddenly an elderly man and his wife appeared on the sidewalk near us, out for a promenade, taking some air. My husband walked up to him, and apologized for interrupting his promenade, asking the location of the cemetery. After a moment of indecision, he was shown the postcards of the town from 1898. Voila! The energy level shifted into high gear, as it turned out he was the town historian and had a postcard collection. This interest led to a brief description of our trip to find the grave of my grandmother's sister Rose. He intensely read several of the postcards...and then his wife looked over his shoulder and exclaimed,
"Rose, Rose!!! we know Rose, we knew her all of our lives!!!"
Instantly the Monsieur beckoned us to our car, "aller, aller", there was no refuting his commands, sweet as he was.
They accompanied us to a hidden cemetery, where he walked briskly in front of us, intent to find Rose's grave. No Rose there. Undeterred, he continued the quest to a second hidden, beautiful place, amongst the grazing animals, walled and landscaped so very prettily. He again walked briskly with his cane in front, searching for Rose...until he proudly exclaimed, "here!! Rose!!!".
We had found the sought after final resting place of my dear grandmother's sister Rose. I placed one of the most treasured letters that she had sent to my grandmother on the tombstone and told Rose, "after all these years, you are finally together again". The next day we would go back ourselves and place flowers in her honor on the grave.
But the story does not end here....
Monsieur Saunier and his wife insisted on inviting us to their home. They brought out wine, cheese, quiche. For hours into the night he showed us his postcard collection and talked of the old days, Rose and the town.
I felt that they were my family, and in some ways knew that I just had to give him something, to leave something in that little village of my grandmother's. So I took one of the postcards, and presented it to him, one of the beloved postcards. It was quite a moment in time for me and also Monsieur Saunier.
At around eleven at night, after nine hours with them, we said our goodbyes. He beckoned to his wife, and she went to her garden and picked a bouquet of flowers for me. We all kissed and said our goodbyes. I could not keep my eyes dry, I missed them terribly as we drove eighty miles back to our hotel.
When we got home, I sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers and fruit to the Sauniers, and a letter telling them that they had been a part of my life that I would never forget.
Yes, the French are so rude that they shower you with love sometimes. I still get extremely emotional, as I am writing this to all of you now, as I think of that day and the place it holds inside my heart, and also in the hearts of my grandmother and her beloved sister Rose. God bless all of them, they lived through such difficult times. I am so very happy that I could accomplish this little task in my life, and to be a part of what occured on that lovely day in France. You see, the last part of the story is that I never knew my grandfather. My husband took a picture of Monsieur Saunier and I on that wonderful day. I have it framed, and like to think that my grandfather would approve.
I have never told this story to anyone but my husband. It is very difficult to write it, but I wanted to share my love of this couple, their village and their love of two strangers on a pretty Sunday in a little village in France. Rest in peace Rose and Grandma, I love you both so very, very much.
