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Tag Archives: Halina Bereday

Traveling with Babcia

31 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Bereda, Family, Memory

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Halina Bereday

Babcia died over twenty years ago, shortly before I returned from my doctoral fieldwork in Poland. The last time I saw her was a few months before she passed, when she was already on her way. She did not recognize me, or my brother Chris, and didn’t even acknowledge our presence. Except, she grabbed my hand—at first, I thought it was because she knew who I was, but in fact she just used my finger to scratch her ear. It was an intimate and disturbing final contact between us.

The last time we spoke was a year and a half earlier, right before I left for Poland. Babcia was already 97, in assisted living, but still sharp. She became agitated about my trip, cajoling me, “Don’t fall in love with a Polish man.” She warned me against life in Poland, she said a Polish man would not treat me well; she was afraid I would not return. She insisted there was nothing for me there, that she and the rest of the family decided to leave Poland to seek a better life in the US.

BabciaPuertoRico

Babcia in Florida, late 1950s.

Babcia was a mystic. She believed she could see the future, and even though I did not fall in love with a Polish man and I did come back, often it seemed like her premonitions were right. Mama also had an uncanny ability to sense things, but with her it was more psychological. Mama was deeply empathetic and could intuit the emotional states of others.

There was very little fanfare when Babcia died. I missed the funeral because I wasn’t told about it. Mama didn’t want me to cut my trip short to attend. Babcia was cremated, in accordance with her wishes. She also wanted to be buried in Poland with her husband Zygmunt who died nearly fifty years earlier in 1945, but no one seemed to have the will to make it happen. Instead, my cousin Alexandra brought the ashes home and placed them on an altar in her home, where they stayed for many years.

In 2015, when I returned from my year in Poland, we had a family reunion. I took it as an opportunity to offer to take Babcia back home to Poland. It’s something I have thought about doing for a long time, and I finally I got up the nerve to make it happen. I’m the one who can do it. I speak the language and know my way around.

At first, it seemed my cousin would be reluctant to give Babcia up. But when I visited her mother a short time after the family reunion, the ashes were there waiting for me in their metal box.

So I brought her to my home in Alabama, where she has rested in my pottery studio awaiting this trip to Poland.

I knew I would not be able to bring a metal box through airport security, but still was reluctant to remove Babcia from her resting place. I waited until the night before my departure. I apprehensively removed the screws from the lid, and found a metal tin like a paint can inside labeled with Babcia’s name and the date she died. I have been told that surprisingly little is left after cremation, but I still was taken aback that even the tin, quite a bit smaller and lighter than the box, was filled halfway with paper. A whole body reduced to little more than a quart of ashes. I transferred them to the plastic bag nestled in the bottom of the box (no doubt for this purpose), and put that into a zippered bag I got at the Black Sea in Israel. She will be buried in a ceramic urn I made.

I had read that it’s not a problem bringing cremated remains on airplanes, so I set them in the bottom of my carry-on luggage. It was detected in the x-ray screening at the Birmingham Airport. I apprehensively explained what it was as the bag was being searched. The screener was very kind. She did some sort of test for explosives but let me through without otherwise disturbing the ashes.

So Babcia is on her way back to Poland. We’ll see what happens at the cemetery. When I called several months ago to inquire about the procedure, the person I spoke with was initially very confused. However, once he understood that Babcia was cremated, she died over twenty years ago, and there is already a family plot, he told me to just call once I get to Poland and we’ll make arrangements then. I hope it’s really that easy.

Two Letters

29 Thursday Oct 2015

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Bereda, Family

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Halina Bereday, Letters, Maria Bereda(y) Galbraith, mother-daughter relationships

I recently came across two letters Babcia wrote to Mama, one on August 31, 1945 and the other on February 4, 1958. The letters have some surprising parallels—Babcia’s instructions about proper modes of behavior and attire, and her lack of enthusiasm about my mother’s marriage plans. I’ve been trying to sort out what two letters indicate about the relationship between my mother and grandmother.

When the first letter was written, they were still living in Poland and Papa (Babcia’s second husband) was still alive. The letters are in Polish. Babcia expresses a great deal of affection for Mama; she addresses her “Ukochana Marychno”—Dearest Marysia (she uses a diminutive of Marysia, which is already a diminutive of Maria). She also calls her “coruś,” a diminutive form of “daughter,” and “słotkie dziecko”—“sweet child.”

I’m leaving out the details from the first part of the letter in which Babcia describes returning to Papa (probably after running away, as she was wont to do), Papa’s misbehavior and contrition, and Babcia’s joy at getting news from her sons who are living safely abroad. The second page is most relevant to this post. Babcia writes:

“Papa says that if you decided to marry, which wouldn’t necessarily thrill us, not because of Bimbus (a nickname I don’t recognize, but it probably refers to Mama’s first love Władek) who is a very decent fellow, and that means a lot, but because of your present state of health, so definitely let us know your plans and don’t worry that it will cost us. We want to pay for it. Besides, we never expected you to inform us, so we don’t want to be silly, but we think, without imposing on your views, that you are making too much trouble for each other, marrying, and that’s only worth doing when people love each other horribly. /you know, even then it’s often not worth it.

“I must be some kind of degenerate, because instead of encouraging my daughter to marry, I discourage her. Don’t be mad at me, my dear. I think that more than anything I’m your best friend.”

I can only wonder at the remarkable, long sentences. Though she says she doesn’t want to impose on Mama’s views, clearly she expresses her disapproval of Mama’s desire to marry. But why? Was it really concern for Mama’s health? Earlier in the letter, she refers to Mama’s operation. But even the issue of “health” is ambiguous—could it refer to a physical health issue or a mental health issue? Surgery to repair her war injuries or something else? Or might it rather be a reflection of Babcia’s own ambivalence about marriage generally, shaped by her own trials with Papa and perhaps also Mama’s choice of a partner?

I’m not sure how to read the tone of the letter, either. Is Babcia angry? I think maybe. She seems to be cloaking her efforts to exert an influence on Mama in expressions of affection.

In the letter, Babcia also instructs Mama about what kind of coat she should get. It should be straight and roomy in front and back. She even adds a lengthy handwritten note with further details about its style and price.

The second letter was written over twelve years later, when they lived in New York and Babcia was staying at The Breakers in Palm Beach, Forida. No doubt in response to the news that Mama eloped with my father, Babcia writes, “You leave me speechless, and you know well how agitated I am about your situation […] Please write me about your plans and where you intend to live. Will you live with Wiley or separately?”

Although Babcia addresses Mama as “ukochana Marychno” in this letter, as she did in the previous one, the tone seems harsher and more distant. And she definitely sounds angry. She insists Mama tell her immediately what she wants for a wedding present, and instructs Mama to send out wedding announcements right away (she provides a numbered list of people to contact). “Write to me right away what you plan to do next. Don’t you understand how much I want to be a part of this, at least post factum?” She asks if my Dad has forbidden Mama to communicate with her. “In that case I won’t be mad at you. God be with you.”

So much is left unsaid in this letter. It provides me with more context for understanding my grandmother and father’s dislike of each other, though it doesn’t clarify the root cause. Why does Babcia end the letter abruptly, “I have to run. Warm kisses?” Is this another expression of anger, or perhaps symptomatic of a distance that has grown between my mother and grandmother over a long period of time?

The letters also reflect Babcia’s concern with etiquette–the wedding announcements, the proper cut of a coat. She appreciates a bargain, but also values giving and receiving generous gifts. Paying for things for someone seems like a way of expressing affection.

These are more clues to my mother’s and grandmother’s lives. But they remain fragmentary. Only speculation holds them together.

Halina’s legacy

10 Monday Aug 2015

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Bereda, Family

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Halina Bereday

The Bereday cousins met at Aunt Pat’s in late July. Nearly all Halina’s grandchildren were there.

Family reunion--Halina Bereday's grandchildren and great grandchildren

Family reunion–Halina Bereday’s grandchildren and great grandchildren

We are Halina’s legacy.

It has long been my desire to fulfill my Babcia’s wish to be buried in Poland. Our reunion seemed like a good time to take steps toward making that happen. Babcia was cremated over twenty years ago; I offered to bring her ashes to Warsaw, where she can be buried beside her husband Zygmunt Bereda. This is what she wanted. Fortunately, everyone agreed. I’m now in possession of Babcia’s remains and all that is left is to make the arrangements.

How Catholic were they?

26 Sunday Apr 2015

Posted by Marysia Galbraith in Catholicism, Family

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Halina Bereday, Maria Bereda(y) Galbraith

I always thought of my babcia as very religious. On her wall, she kept Jesus on the cross and a Madonna in a gilded frame. Her expressions of faith tended toward the mystical. She believed in miracles and blessings. She prayed on the rosary. She blessed my friend Kara’s baby daughter the first time she held her. She must have been about 90 then.

A bad photo, but one of the few I have of Babcia's apartment on Riverside Drive, showing her Madonna in a gilded frame.

A bad photo, but one of the few I have of Babcia’s apartment on Riverside Drive, showing her Madonna in a gilded frame.

And yet, she never took me to a church service. I wonder if any of my brothers or cousins remember going to church with her?

My mother used to say Babcia was “more Catholic than the Pope.” I don’t think mom appreciated such public expressions of faith. Sometime after 1985, Babcia moved to an assisted living facility in Flushing. It had mostly Jewish residents including many Holocaust survivors. It may have even been run by a Jewish service organization. I’m pretty sure one of our Jewish relatives helped her get a place there, though of course at the time no one told me anything about that. Babcia did not like living there. Doubtless, much of it had to do with her declining health that made it impossible to stay independent in her old apartment, but she also seemed disdainful of the other residents. She flaunted her Catholicism and rebuffed their attempts to befriend her. I don’t think the managers cared much for Babcia, either. When her health declined to the point she couldn’t take care of herself, they said they have no place for her in their more advanced care facilities. She moved for the last time to a nursing home back in Manhattan, around the corner from St. John the Devine Cathedral. Babcia spent most of her life denying her Jewish heritage. I suspect it was too uncomfortable for her to be surrounded by Jews in a Jewish-identified institution.

When my mom talked about her Catholic faith, she essentially did so in the past tense. She was very devout as a child, and wanted to become a nun. When she was fifteen, she went to a boarding school in Belgium run by nuns. One story she told me about living there was that her mother sent her a box of chocolates. She gave them all away, believing that kind of self-sacrifice was an expression of her faith. Then, that night she cried herself to sleep because she wanted one so bad.

Mama liked to sit in churches, but she didn’t go to services. Or if she did go, she didn’t take communion. She said it’s because she doesn’t go to confession. When I asked her why not, she said everything she experienced during and after the war made her grow distant from the church. Mama’s temple was our backyard. She called herself a pantheist, and said that when she wants to pray she just goes outside and meditates. Her mantra was “ocean.” For as long as she could, mama had a chair she would move around the yard depending on the sun and which flowers were in bloom. Thanks to Krystyna, she still gets out into her garden most days.

Mama in the garden

Mama in the garden

My brothers and I weren’t even baptized. Mama said it was because my dad didn’t want Catholic kids, and she didn’t stand up to him. Rather, she wanted to let us make our own decision about religion when we grew up. Was this odd? At the time I didn’t think so. My dad was an atheist. He had the mind of a scientist and just couldn’t take the leap of faith that, well, faith requires. Later in life, he tried. Maybe it was because his best friend Max became a believer. He read Thomas Merton, and even bought me one of his books. But he simply couldn’t overcome his skepticism. Instead, after retiring, he studied philosophy. My son seems to have inherited this skepticism; at the age of seven he decided God does not exist; he hasn’t changed his mind yet.

I still wonder, though, what could have turned Mama away from the church. Maybe witnessing the destruction of war made her question the existence of God. At least the Christian God, because she remained deeply attuned to God in nature. I think she said it had something to do with her injuries, the long series of failed surgeries, the scars they left behind, and then the final straw, getting tuberculosis and losing a year of her life at a TB hospital in Denver. I also wonder if it had something to do with her Jewish heritage and her failed love affair with a priest. But I’ll leave that story for another post.

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