Constance Grossarth

“Tell me something about Grandmother that I didn’t know.”

“Hmmmm. She never drank tea.” Mom spoke emphatically.

“Because of the taste or caffeine?”

“Neither. I always assumed it was psychosomatic.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, but the word rattled around in head for several seconds. She looked confused as I pulled my eye away from the camera viewfinder. “Psychosomatic?”

“Yes. I believe that’s how I would categorize it."

I wasn't sure where to begin, so I slowly lowered my head back down to the viewfinder, furled my brow and nodded as if to say, "keep going." 

"Where to begin? I must have only been four or five at the time, because little Connie was still in diapers, so that would have made her a baby. I don’t remember the night vividly, mind you, but I do vaguely remember the situation. We were still living in Rio and dad’s plane had been lost for a couple of days.”

“So she told you that the plane was lost?”

“No.”

“Ssssorry.” I stuttered a bit as a I spoke. “I’m not quite tracking here.  How did she explain his absence?”

"Oh, that's the life of a pilot's family. Typically, he would fly to New York and then we automatically knew that Dad would be away for several days.”

“So you had no idea until they found the plane?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

I let out a nervous laugh as I finally said, “Ok. I’m going to to let you take it from here.”

“Lovely. You see, mother didn't tell us until well after the plane was found, but I believe that children have an innate sense of observation that people lose as they get older. Mom hadn’t overtly said anything, but I remember being aware of her mood, she was distant and nervous. I don’t remember the details, but I will never forget that feeling.”

She paused, looked up to gather her thoughts, seemingly channeling the information from above. “It was after dinner when a lady knocked on our door. I remember, because I had helped Little Connie with her bath and we were all getting ready for bed. She was a nice looking woman, clearly American. The sisters and I were curious what this strange American lady was doing in our house during bath and PJ time, so we peeked through the kitchen door and watched as the woman put on a tea kettle.”

"So grandmother did drink tea?"

"Yes, at that time." Mom looked to the ceiling again for more information. "She turned out to be one of the wives of a Pan Am official. They felt a woman similar to mom, albeit a complete and utter stranger, tell her that they had spotted dad’s plane in the jungle.”

“They continued to talk long after we went to bed, pot after pot, cup after cup of tea, until the sun came up. I imagine a lot was going through her mind during those first several hours. Besides the shock of losing her first love and father of her four girls, she must have been thinking, 'How will I survive? Where do I go?' After all, we were living in Rio for Dad’s job." 

"I can’t imagine. That must have been brutal."

"I suspect so, but I think the most difficult question was, 'How do you communicate to four girls, all under the age of eight, that their father is never coming back?'"

I immediately had goosebumps running up the spine of my back, as a single tear hit the screen of the viewfinder. I pulled my head back up, but couldn’t bear to make eye contact. I stared at the floor as she continue talking.

“From that point on, mom never drank tea again. I can only assume that the smell or taste of tea must have reminded her of that night. The night that she decided she had to move on, because part of her had died.”

I had to take a couple of deep breaths before I could utter my final statement. “Part of her died. I guess that’s why she never talked about Al?”

Mom looked to the ceiling and shook her head no.