Margaretha Irene Bergler

I don't know if it's just the wonder of California or a magical spell cast over those of us heat-drenched Zonies, but it is always hard to leave California. This last trip was especially difficult. As we usually pull away from the curb on Hillward Street in West Covina, Oma and Opa (Rory's Grandma and Grandpa) stand and wave us down the street until we can see each other no longer. As they say, "it's tradition." (The movie Ever After copied it from us, I promise.)

If you have never had the privilege of your own personal Oma, well, my sincerest apologies. You have plum missed out. Omas aren't like regular grandmas. Especially Rory's dearest Oma Bergler. This Oma was born in Indonesia to a wealthy family (they were the first to bring automobiles to the island) and loved to play piano. She endured horror and pain at the hands of the Suharto Regime that shook up the entire nation, but she and her husband eventually made it to Holland with their four children (the ardous boat voyage was personally relayed to me once by Oma herself and it sounded, well, horrible) and then onto America (by now with SIX little ones) where a family of, I believe, five children sponsored them and let them stay in their home with them. As I recall, there were eleven children, two husband and two wives sharing a four-bedroom home.

That was back when American living was a privilege and Oma and Opa lived out the dream and the sacrifice. The two of them set an example we still admire and model ourselves after in so many ways. This is no small task for two foreigners raising six children in the sixties and seventies.

Sixteen grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren later, Oma somehow became old. She could never know how well she really wore "old," though, in our eyes. Oma brought joy without fail, though she warned all of us to never get old. I don't think we'll ever know all that she saw, experienced, lived through. But I do know that we all should be so lucky to have an Oma like our Oma.

Thankfully, I don't think any of us took her for granted while she lived among us. But still, now that she is gone, there is so much we miss--such as her small frame standing next to Opa as we start our drive back to Arizona. This last week, it was Dia's Oma (Rory's mom, Sonja) standing there next to Opa (her dad) waving us down Hillward towards our drive home. And tears flowed, I imagine, as heavily for the one taking Oma's place as they did for those of us leaning out the car window.

We love you, Oma. We'll be seeing you soon....although, some of us may be old by the time we get there--despite our best efforts, I assure you.