This is a story about my mother and I and several events that occurred over the course of a few weeks in the summer of 1993. My mother recently passed away, and I felt compelled to put my memories of her down on paper.
After my mother and father divorced in 1989, she moved back to Germany. She was born several years after the end of World War II in the Berlin suburb of Charlottenburg. She had been over there for four years, and I only saw her during the summer months of each year.
I stayed in the United States as I was enrolled in the architecture school at Harvard University. I was 23 years old and just a year from graduation. My father was a prominent Boston attorney who had decided to have his mid-life crisis and entered into a long-term affair with his younger paralegal assistant. I loved my father very much, but was also bitterly disappointed in him for what he had done to our family, particularly to my mother.
My mother, Petra, is 43, tall, dark-haired, classy and culturally sophisticated, in that kind of old European fashion. She was always 'dressed to the nines,' had her hair done well, face made up, and stayed in great shape through exercise and diet. She was an accomplished musician, loved to read books, but her real passion was travel.
My mother had taken me on some of the greatest trips and excursions throughout my childhood and young adult years. It seemed like every summer we were off to some part of the globe in pursuit of adventure. I remember that my father probably only accompanied us about 25% of the time. He was always too busy with work, which was probably just as well as my mother's adventures can't have been cheap.
By the end of my spring semester I was ready for the school year to finish, and I was ready for a trip to see my mother and her family. She had called earlier in the week and told me that a plane ticket was in the mail, and that she had a wonderful summer planned for us. I told her how excited was to see her, and that I had missed her desperately these past few months. I could tell that hearing that from me made her feel happy and needed.
The next couple of weeks flew by, and the next thing I knew I was packing my bags the night before I was to leave. I went out and had a few celebratory beers with friends in honor of the end of the semester and the grades we'd received.
***
The next morning as the sun rose, my 747 was lifting off from Logan International Airport and striking out over the Atlantic for my eight hour flight into Tempelhof Airport in Berlin. I spent much of the time reading fiction and the travel guide to the Greek islands that my mother had included in the package with my plane ticket.
***
Early the next morning I cleared German customs and stepped out into the main concourse of the terminal, and there she was, waving her arms madly. She ran up to me and threw her arms around me and hugged me fiercely, kissing my face non-stop. I dropped my bags and picked her up and held her closely, telling her how much I'd missed her, and loved her.
Finally, I set her down gently and we began to collect my luggage. She held my arm tightly, as though she was afraid I'd get back on a plane and leave.
Mother looked beautiful. She was dressed in a simple, but elegant, dark-blue skirt and long-sleeved white blouse. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail and fastened with a cream-colored ribbon. As she was nearly six feet, she had a pair of simple black mules on her feet.
I held her at arms length, and said, "Mother, my god, you look absolutely radiant!"
She smiled, "Oh, you, it's seeing you that's done it. I have been so looking forward to seeing you ever since after Christmas when you left to go back to school."
"Well, I am back, and we have the whole summer to catch up and get tired of each other," I grinned.
She giggled, "Silly boy, I could never get tired of my baby boy. Maybe you'll get tired of your mother, but I'll never get tired of you."
As we walked out of the terminal, my luggage in tow, I put my arm around her waist and said, "Mother, please believe me, I could never, ever get tired of you. You have always been the bright spot in my life. You were always there for me, and still are. I am so lucky to have you as my mother. Especially when I compare our relationship with some of the horror stories I hear from my friends."
We arrived at her car, an older Mercedes, she opened the trunk and we loaded my gear. She tossed me the keys, "Do you remember how to get to my flat, Eric?" she laughed.
"I think so, mom. Just help me get out of the airport." I replied.
***
The next couple of weeks were a whirlwind of activity. We went to museums, art galleries, day trips into East Berlin, picnics in the forested lakes region outside of Berlin.
The summer weather in Berlin was lovely, mid-70s during the day, but wonderfully cool at night. In July, the sun stays up until nearly 10:00 p.m., a function of the location of Berlin at such a northern latitude.
We went out at night and ate in some of the grandest restaurants in the city, and brunched in the mid-morning in the quaint outdoor cafes in the Charlottenburg district.
Mother's flat was on the second floor of an old multi-family residence constructed at the turn of the century, and had somehow survived the terrible bombing in the closing years of the war. It had remained in her family all of these years, and she had lovingly restored it to its original condition. She had refinished all of the hardwood floors, hung new wallpaper, and filled the rooms with beautiful furniture, bookcases, and plants. Her artistic flair was evident in the paintings on the wall and sculptures on shelves.
She had set me up in one of the spare bedrooms and had given it a masculine flair with the forest green paint and oak paneled wainscoting. A large queen-sized bed occupied the room. It was well lit with a beautiful large window that opened out over the courtyard of her building.
I shared a bathroom with her, with a door from each of our rooms opening into it. Looking back, I realize that it was this situation that changed my life, our lives irrevocably.
***
A couple of days before we were to leave on holiday to the Greek islands, we had gone out for dinner at one of the little outdoor cafes in the neighborhood. We had several after-dinner drinks, espresso, and then strolled around the neighborhood, arm in arm, as twilight passed into night.
We returned to Mother's flat and spread out the maps and guide books, while Mother excitedly shared her plans for our three-week holiday. Most of the time would be spent on the island of Santorini. We pored over the books and planned several interesting day-trips and excursions.
Mother leaned over my shoulder as I sat in a chair at the dining room table, her large breasts pressing against my back, her long dark hair flicking against my neck as her head moved. I realized that I could smell her clean hair and the light scent of her perfume. I also realized that I was getting an erection!
