By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes...

"...he made a memory that would live as long as sons tell sons, about fathers they loved." -(Movie version of Something Wicked this Way Comes)

I finally read this book, after seeing the movie multiple times. The book is a wonderful tale of sons, growing up....with all the adventure of life. Best friends tackling good and evil.

Best friends on the hunt for adventure.

But its also a story of a Dad....who loves his son and will do whatever he must to protect him from evil. As a Dad...I can relate to this quest...and while I have often failed at it, the Dad in this wonderful story did not....at least not when faced with this huge evil and his understanding of the autumn people.

He taught his son well.

Why you should never take No for an answer in research....

In 1978, when I first decided to try to find missing family for my grandmother, it was a daunting task.

I knew that my grandfather had attempted to find his family.  My grandmother told me the story how, when they lived in Osoyoos, my grandfather had seen a newsreel report about the Spanish Civil War...this would have been in the mid to late 1930's.  On this newsreel he spotted a young man he felt looked like his youngest brother Johannes, being taken prisoner.

Keeping in mind the last letters our family received was in 1933.

There was no response to the request.

I set out...writing to the Red Cross for help.

Alas, the response was always negative.

Not wanting to give up, I tried again.  I would interview anyone I could find who had ties to the USSR, in hopes of leaving no stone unturned.

I subscribed to some Soviet publications, particularly aimed at Soviet Germans, that might be useful.

I wrote to any address I could get my hands on, hoping those might direct me.

Little did I know that at the same time, my grandfathers youngest brother, Johannes, was indeed hearing that we were looking for him.  A copy of one of the letters I wrote would find its way to him, but, sadly, the return address...my address, was not with the letter.

In the meantime, the Red Cross in the USSR finally managed to "find" our family.

In 1983, we were sent a letter detailing our search for some family, that included some names and addresses of family members.

 And so I wrote.

Johannes (Uncle Vanya) would tell us that her heard from the Red Cross almost a year earlier, then waited for our letters to arrive.

And what a writer he was.

In fact, all the family would soon respond.

In November of 1983, we would receive the first of many letters...in some strange envelope with Soviet stamps.

He would send us pictures, pepper us with questions, while answering the many questions we had.

My grandmother would finally learn the fate of her parents.  The fate of her beloved siblings.

We would learn of the family members who perished in the GULAG. The deportation to Siberia.

It was 50 years since we had last heard their voices.

There was much tragedy. News my grandmother didn't want to hear.  The deaths of her parents, in 1933. The brothers and sisters now gone.

We would re-establish ties to family.  The two sisters still alive of my grandmother's.

I tell this story because all initial responses to my request were negative.

But we kept trying.  We kept writing. Many people helped with translations of letters to Germany, Argentina and to the USSR.

Eventually, it paid off.

So...the moral of the story?  Don't give up. Keep at it.

There is truth out there. It may be up to you to find it.

 First Letters: