WW II; decades have gone by; I still shudder by the thought of those days; the sad and happy memories never seem to leave me, they follow me like my shadow. Many times I have to strain myself to attend to my daily chores. Those memories would surface and rip me apart all over and over again. Many times during my track I felt lonesome. The adults were caught in a turmoil, consumed by the grave situation and had no time to pay attention to my childish needs. I was only a little girl, I had feelings, pain, longing for some peaceful moment, for answers to my troubled questions, the situation left me totally void, as if I actually was not alive anymore. My parents and I had reached Denmark in early spring of 1945 and placed in a Military compound in Aarhus, we shared a barrack with some other refugees. On May the second, 1945, the liberty bells were ringing in Denmark from coast to coast announcing the end of the war. I remember that morning so well; it was a Sunday, I woke up early, left the compound, just wanted to run as far as I could from the barracks and never come back, in hope that all the bad memories will be forgotten. The physical and emotional pain had settled in my whole body. I had so many questions and nobody to turn to, I felt left out and ignored. Why was my happy life stolen from me? I tried with all my heart not to let anything overshadow my feeling of gratitude for having survived the horror and kept running. My survival was a miracle and I just wanted to keep running faster and faster in order to escape the memory of terrible sights and screams of the past. I wanted to be happy, real happy. I stopped at a store window; in the reflection I saw a girl dressed in rags! No! That girl cannot be me! My dresses always used to be lovely, who took them away from me? I was bruised again and again; at least I was alive and will keep my faith and and try to regain trust in people, I hoped. I had reached the city core. The sky was blue, not a cloud in site, some squabbling birds had settled on the steeple of a huge cathedral. Were they also celebrating the end of this terrible war? I am free now, just like the birds, but they have a nest to return to, I don’t have a home, and lamented over my loss. I noticed many parishioners entering the cathedral. Small children holding their parents’ hands, some holding a small bouquet of flowers. I hid behind a post, tears were running down my face. Am I crying? I must not cry, I have no time to cry, I must find a refuge, a place where there is peace, where someone will say: ” don’t cry, you are free now, nobody will hurt you anymore.” All the parishioners had gone inside. I took my wooden-soled shoes off, slipped into the cathedral and hid in a secluded corner. The sun was shining through the multi-coloured stained-glass windows and the beautiful organ music filled the whole big cathedral. The congregation joined in a song, I did not know that lovely song, but joined in by humming along. The Minister’s voice was so soothing and I enjoyed the tranquility. I felt like having found my true sublime refuge, where I was accepted unconditionally; this is also my service, it is my cathedral, I thought and closed my eyes, admiring the splendour, the peace, it felt like being in Heaven. I had not heard the congregation leave; the Minister had noticed me sitting in the dark, I felt his gentle touch on my shoulder and woke up. He spoke to me, I did not understand what he said. I trusted his calm demeanour, he made me feel safe and welcome. The Minister took me by the hand and we walked out of the cathedral into the sunlit street. I felt so happy! I had regained trust in people.
