I'm Not Supposed to Be Here

The place: Hamburg Germany. The time, the middle of the Second World War. A man, Heinrich Hassforther, was at work in his government office. One of his responsibilities was to process lists of people. Sometimes those lists were suspected enemies of the Nazi state. Reasons for being on this list are many. It may have been hiding a Jewish family, or even befriending one. It might have been for listening to the BBC on the radio. If you had said something that could be considered anything less than full devotion to the Fuhrer, your neighbors could report you and you could find yourself on this list. Again and again the lists would come across Heinrich's desk. He would drink his coffee, read the names on the list, and forward it to the appropriate department in the government. Heinrich was a man of simple pleasures. He was not a fan of the Nazi regime and what it stood for. He had no personal issues with many people, but he did not see himself as someone influential enough to cause any great amount of change. His first wife, Margarethe, had died weeks before the war had started. His eldest son, Walter, had been conscripted into the army. He was sent to the Russian front, where at the age of 20 he was killed by a sniper as he relieved his lookout man in the tank he was assigned to. This would turn out to be a blessing as most soldiers in that tank division died a more drawn out and excruciating death due to exposure and starvation. Heinrich felt sad for the loss of his son in a war he did not believe in, but he was a common man with a common job and couldn't do anything to prevent Walter from serving in the army. His second child, Annmarie, was married to Heinz Beckmann. At least Heinz had enlisted in the merchant marines before the war started, so the chances of him dying in combat were low. Annmarie, being younger and more idealistic, was doing some small things to stand against the hatred that had engulfed their country. She had organized some of her neighbors in knitting mittens, scarfs, and other items of clothing, and then in the dead of night would sneak them into the outdoor pens where the Russian POWs were being held. The fact that his daughter was trying to keep the same people who were responsible for her brother's death from freezing during the cold winter nights was not lost on Heinrich.

One particular morning Heinrich came to his desk and proceeded to go through the papers in his pile. Page after page, name after name, he read. He would take a sip from his coffee every time that he felt his attention start to wander. Another sheet, another list of names. Once in a while a name would show up that appeared to be familiar. Most of the time he would not be able to identify the familiarity he felt. Was it an old school friend? The name of the son of his neighbor three doors down from his? The baker that he bought bread from for several years before they had moved? Not everyone on these lists would disappear. At least, Heinrich believed such to be true, but he knew full well that many of them did. What happened to those who did disappear was always up to speculation. Some were rumored to have been quietly disposed of on the outskirts of town. Others felt that they were sent to some of the work camps that the Jews and other undesirables were sent to. Some, he suspected, would catch wind of the SS coming for them and escaped into the countryside. A few would even claim that those who disappeared were simply relocated to another town where their skills could better serve the war movement. Still, there were those who would...

Heinrich stopped, and reread the last two names he had come across on the sheet of paper in his hand.

"Beckmann, Annmarie...Beckmann, Heinz".

Heinrich stared at the names. His daughter. Her husband. Their names seemed to shine out to him despite being typed in the same font as countless others had been. Heinrich looked around to see if any of his co-workers or superiors were watching him. He looked at the names again, and checked the address in a vain hope that another couple with the exact same names living in a different part of the country had been put on this list. With sadness he verified that they were indeed the names of his daughter and son-in-law. He looked at the paper with a concern that seemed to envelop him. He had a job to do, and doing that job had kept him unnoticed by those who were compiling these lists. He wondered if anyone knew that he was the father of this young woman. The idea that this was somehow a test of his loyalty, that someone was watching to see if he would choose country over kin. He looked around again. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. He set the piece of paper down on his desk, and lifted his coffee cup to his lips.

He hesitated. An idea began to form within his desperation. He looked down at the black liquid and saw a glimmer of hope. It would be easy to make this look like an accident. He was known for being accurate and rarely made an error in his work. Was he not owed one little slip up every now and then? It would not be too out of character of him, for everyone loses their focus once in a while. An egg gets dropped while baking, a toe gets stubbed while walking, a list of names gets ruined with a coffee spill...

Deciding on his course of action, Heinrich lowered the cup onto the desk, He set the paper with the names of his daughter and her husband beside it. Then, as normal looking as possible, he reached across his desk and bumped his arm against the cup, knocking it over. Its contents covered the corner of his desk, including the list of names that contained his future. Uttering a few cuss words, he swept the soggy papers into the trash bin nest to his desk, fetched some rags, and cleaned up the rest of the mess. The entire internal dilemma seemed to last an eternity for Heinrich, when in reality it had taken perhaps a full minute. Still, Heinrich had to still himself and calm himself down. He looked around again. Nobody seemed to have noticed the entire ordeal. Everyone had their faces down towards the report they were working on or the assignment they had been given. Heinrich took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and willed his nerves to calm down. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes, took the next sheet of paper and began to read through the names.

It was a significant amount of time before Heinrich felt that the worst was behind him. Never again did the names "Annmarie and Heinz Beckmann" appear on his lists. He made sure to tell them to be extra careful with their activities and with what they said in public. It wasn't until after the war that he told his daughter what had happened. By that time, Heinz and Annmarie had their two children born, a daughter named Barbara and a son named Michel. As Germany rebuilt itself out of the ashes of war and tyranny, many of its citizens looked across the ocean for a new start. For Heinz and Annmarie, Canada called out to them. They emigrated to Canada in 1954, to Toronto. Barbara would meet a nice young man named Charles while she attended university. When she had finished her education degree, they married. She taught a few years in Toronto while Charles finished some grad studies, and they moved west to Alberta. After a couple of miscarriages, they were blessed to welcome a little girl into their lives. a couple of years later they waited for their next child to be born.

On a day in late June, in Edmonton, Alberta, a small baby boy was born to Charles and Barbara. Unlike their experience with their daughter, some serious complications arose. Barbara's health was shattered due in some part to negligence of the hospital staff. In addition to that, the baby boy was struggling with his own health issues. The doctors told Charles and Barbara to give the baby a name quickly, for it was looking like he would not survive for long. Barbara would not accept the doctor's diagnosis. She stayed up as late as she was physically able to, feeding her son as much as he would take. When she became so exhausted, her loving husband would take over so she could catch a few moments of sleep. As soon as she was awake again, she took the little boy back into her arms and continued to care for him. While the baby's health eventually recovered, her health did not. She was saddened to learn that she would never be able to conceive anymore children. She never complained about any of this, as she wanted to make sure that her son was raised properly. She did not see the cost to her health to be a great sacrifice when compared to the life of her son.

Now those of you that know me quite well may have figured out the connection between these two stories and the title of this post. For those of you that are still wondering, let me tell you.

I'm not supposed to be here.

I will confess that some of the details are my own interpretation and imaginings of the events that happened to my great-grandfather, Heinrich. What we do know is that he did work in a government office, he did process the names of those who were suspected enemies of the state, and he did make a list disappear when he found the names of his daughter and son-in-law on it. I am not sure when it happened. I think it was after his son Walter had died (that part of the story is as true as I know it to be), although it could have happened before. I do not know with any certainty what thoughts went through his head, nor exactly how he destroyed the list. I do not know for certain what would have happened to Heinz and Annmarie Beckmann had Heinrich processed the list with their names on it like he should have done. The vast majority of those people were never heard from again, so I can make a safe assumption that they likely would not have had their two children. This means that Barbara Beckmann, my mother, would not have been born. This means that I would not have been born to Charles and Barbara Andrews.

That's one reason why I am not supposed to be here.

The other has to do with my own birth. Yup, the baby boy was me. These details I am more certain of, as both of my parents have shared them with me on several occasions. I was not given all the details at once, and as I have aged I have been told more (a few details I have left out for my own reasons). Suffice it to say, the medical professionals had pleaded with my mother to focus on her own health, as  my life was likely not going to be a long one. For people who knew my mother, they would not be surprised at her stubbornness. I do not know for certain if I would have lived or not had my mother not tried to do everything she could to keep me alive, but my odds were not good.

The second reason why I am not supposed to be here.

There are likely a thousand more reasons as to why I should not be here. A choice made by an ancestor, a mistake averted by a stranger. I think of the only car accident I have been involved in which had I been traveling a little faster would have ended up more on the tragic side than it did. I think of narrowly avoiding being trampled by a rather large and panicky cow when I was 13. I think of a choice I almost made as a teenager that would have ended my life much sooner than expected, and how grateful I am to have chosen differently. Some may suggest that I am exaggerating the events I described to imbue some sort of glorious purpose of my existence. So be it. Think what you will, but know this: I share these stories for a few reasons.

First, to provide a record of these events for my children and future grandchildren (fingers crossed). Second, to share a part of who I am with those who are interested. And third, to share a message. These two stories are connected by lineage, but I see another thread that needs to addressed. Too often we face choices in our lives that, while important to us in the here and now, can have an impact on the future that is harder to envision. My great grandfather could have been caught in his small act of defiance, but he chose to act in that manner anyways. My mother could have been excused for giving up on the seemingly lost cause of her sickly infant, but she chose to act in the manner that she did anyways. I do not know if my great grandfather knows of the good he did by allowing my grandparents to have a family. I do not know if my mother realizes the number of lives I have touched for good because of her sacrifice in giving me life. I do not know fully how I impact my student who is struggling against depression, my family member who has fallen on hard times and is receiving assistance from me, or if the time I took to brighten a complete stranger's day with an act of kindness will lead to some wonderful in that person's life. What I do know is that the chances that wonderful things will develop from the good things I try to do each day will be zero if I do nothing. I may not save the soul if I try, but I know I won't save it if I walk on by and do nothing. I never met my great grandfather, but he is a hero to me. My mother has been gone for over 15 years, and she is a hero to me. There are so many who have touched my life in ways that they may never know or understand who are heroes to me.

If I have been such a person to you, then take a moment to silently thank Heinrich Herman Hassforther and Barbara Magdalena Andrews for their parts in making me who I am today. Are you looking for a miracle? Have I blessed your life in any significant way? Have I done anything that has made your life brighter and happier? If I have, then you have your miracle, because as I stated before, I'm not supposed to be here.