COLUMN: Tales from the Gravel Ridge – A courageous Rosengard mother

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The cemetery at Rosengard has a powerful hold on my spirit. I have, on various occasions, had compelling reasons to visit this hallowed ground in Rosengard. Most of those occasions occurred when I was a young child.

In a sense, the life story of countless individuals, and therefore much of the history of the world, lies buried in various places the world over. Whether those remains are in fact in a specifically designated location, or possibly in unnamed places, their life stories, to some degree, lie buried along with their now lifeless bodies. The words of John Donne must surely come to mind, “Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” ― John Donne, Meditation XVII – Meditation 17

Elizabeth Enns, nee Falk, the youngest sister of my father, Cornelius Heinrich Falk was born in the Mennonite village of Schoeneberg, (now Smolyane) in Ukraine on November 25, 1897. Elizabeth died at her home in Rosengard on March 20, 1933. Her earthly remains lie buried in the Rosengard cemetery. I can still recall seeing the disintegrating remnants of my aunt’s simple concrete gravestone when I, as a young child along with members of my family, visited the Rosengard cemetery. Our specific reasons for being at the cemetery from time to time were to tend to the gravesites of my next older sister, Agatha Elizabeth Falk, who died when she was five years old, and my younger brother Abram Erich Falk, whose life ended when he was 13 months of age. On those occasions when we tended all three of these graves, we also reflected on the lives of those who were no longer with us.

A family and community in mourning.
A family and community in mourning.

My Aunt Elizabeth died before I was born. According to my parents, my aunt was suffering from tuberculosis, that dread disease of times past commonly known as “the wasting disease”, presumably because of what it does to the body. Both of my parents knew from personal experience, how devastating and debilitating, and ultimately fatal this disease had been for their loved ones, and witnessed yet again the loss experienced by my aunt’s family, including her husband and young children. For my father too it was a very personal loss as he witnessed the suffering and death of his young sister and the bereavement of his nieces and nephews, and their father.

Many decades later, my cousin Elizabeth Olfert, nee Enns, related to me how, on that day, March 20, 1933, her mother, my Aunt Elizabeth gathered her children around her bed, and told them that she would die that day. I cannot imagine the measure of courage it took for this young mother to say her farewell to her children. Perhaps she wanted to believe that possibly she could hold off with her farewell and that of her children for another day, but she will have known that the time was now. My cousin Betty, as she was commonly known, was 12 years old at the time.

I know from my own personal observation that countless Rosengarders have, over the years, been courageous, facing life as they found it. They had no other options. It was at times such as these that the strength and support of community significantly undergirded them. They knew the truth of John Donne’s words also applied to each one of us: “…send not to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee”.

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