Ivonne-Part 1

Ivonne Frowein. The most badass woman I know; who also happens (thankfully) to be my mom. My mom is the only reason we are surviving as what’s left of my family. I remember when my dad was sick and she had to care for him. The amount of green juices made was insane. Mountains of veggies turned into green sludge. We went through kale like it was growing on trees outside our house. At one point we harvested a garden to supply us with the proper green leaves. He couldn't get the nutrients he needed- so my mom would cut and chop veggies for hours just to get my dad to survive. While she was chopping and washing, she still found the time to come and pick me up from school with an iced oat matcha latte and take me to my various appointments. I am amazed at how she kept it together. She is the glue that keeps us sane, whether my dad is here or not.

My mom is as German as it gets. She was born in a small town outside Munich, in the (ahem) superior South of Germany. Living with a German mother is a unique experience in itself. So much of my life and identity revolves around being German and growing up German in the United States. Christmas is celebrated on Christmas Eve, not morning. I have never known what it feels like to wake up in your pajamas on Christmas morning and open gifts. My children's books and shows were German. Sure I watched my fair share of Disney Channel as any young American child did. I learned proper English in school, I only heard German at home and from family. My dad spoke English, but the knowledge I absorbed was always in German from my mom. There are certain basic words that I simply to this day forget what it is in English, like a blow dryer, comb, or pimples. The German really stuck. It's funny though the relationship I have now with language and my mom. For a good chunk, I speak English as that has become the language I learn and socialize in. It's the language that I can best express myself in. When I speak to my mom it's what I like to call “Genglish”. English with the occasional German words that just sound better. When we are in public, we only use German. I like seeming mysterious to the people around me. My mom only speaks in German. Whenever she begins to go on a long tangent of some sort, she always corrects herself halfway through to German to preserve her identity. She does not want to become American. 

The thing about my mom is that she is incredibly resilient. From the moment my dad started his sickness, our life did not exactly go as planned. My parents went from post-kids moving out of the house plans to figuring out when it would be the appropriate time to get a feeding tube for my dad. I used to have to leave the dinner table early because I couldn't watch my dad struggle. I would go and lie in bed crying wishing things were different. She would stay at the table, watching my dad struggle to eat and chew. She had to watch the love of her life die slowly. She made sure to keep his spirits high with the most tender care. I guess that's what you do when you love somebody.