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Family Secrets [D&R]

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posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 03:01 PM

My interest in family history had led me to trace back the roots of my family. I was quite successful at it, tracing my ancestors back as far as the eleventh century. I had found within my familial line there were Puritans that helped settle America, some arriving here on the Mayflower. A man who had married a woman that had been burned at the stake, a prolific writer, and a man who's Godmother had been the Queen of England. All of them on my father's side. Try as I would, I could not find any information on my mother's family.

For a long time I played around with thoughts of talking to my grandmother in hopes that I would be able to gain some snippet of information from her that would help me along this task.That is where the difficulty lie. My grandmother had been institutionalized a long time ago. From what information I could get from my mother, it had started long before I was born. I had few facts, and mostly disconnected stories from the last visit that I had with my grandmother over 20 years ago. But as with all things, there comes a time when our desire for information overcomes our fears and our societal stigmas of the mentally ill.

I tracked my grandmother to an institution in Connecticut, about 2 hours from me, and made arrangements for a visit. I had made plans to go with my baby sister, but because of family obligations I wound up going alone. It wasn't that I was afraid to go alone, but I wanted someone with me. I didn't mind taking adventures by myself, but this was one that I thought that should be shared. It didn't work out that way, and I fought hard not to back down from going. My hope for some information that would lead me to my mother's roots helped me overcome my fear and drove me onward in my quest.

My grandmother was, at one time, a proud woman. It showed in the pictures that we had of her when she first came to America. My mother had a picture of my grandmother standing in front of her first car wearing a powder blue suit. Another of my mother and grandmother on my mother's graduation from a private up-state New York High School, my grandmother's flaming auburn hair and golden eyes starkly contrasting my mother's platinum blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. Her stance was stately, almost regal in all of them. It was alleged, at one time or another, that this was an artifact of her upbringing, and that my grandmother was a child of a royal line. To look at the pictures, it was believed. At 17 she spoke 7 languages fluently and was studying to be a doctor. Not exactly the type of education and upbringing of a poor family. What happened to her? Was there any truth in the disconnected stories that I heard during my childhood? I had to know something that would help me find the answers that I sought, even if it meant that my mother's history was not as glamorous and full of mystery as I had been led to believe.

As I drove, my mind went over the little bits and pieces that I knew of my mother and my grandmother. My mother was born in Germany during the war. My Grandmother was 17 years old at the time of my mother's birth, and my Grandfather was allegedly a soldier in the army of the opposing side, and was stationed in the concentration camp where my mother was born. Not exactly a history that one would be proud to display, but one that I wanted to know about, wanted to get to the bottom of. I had so many questions floating around in my mind. Why was my grandmother nearly ex-communicated from the Catholic church? Was my mother really a lost duchess? Was the painting that hung in my sister's living room really from a legendary royal collection spirited out of the country by my great uncle to be given to my mother as proof of her legacy? Who was the general who's wife helped my grandmother and mother escape and eventually enabled them to come to America? Why did she need to escape? Which camp was it where my grandmother witnessed the atrocities that eventually broke her mind? Did she participate? Was it guilt, fear, or sorrow that burdened her mind? Would it make a difference? Would it make me feel better? I did not know, but I wanted to.

I arrived at the hospital where my grandmother, now 80 years old, had resided for at least the last 20 years. I had loaded my smartphone with pictures of my family. There were pictures of my sons and my grandchildren, my niece, my nephews, my sisters and brothers and of course my mother. I was hoping that my grandmother would be able to see the beauty of her legacy contained in the faces and the eyes of her descendants. If nothing else, I could pass the time of my visit with her showing her the pictures.

I arrived at the visitors center and was shown into a large room with numerous comfortable couches and chairs, all of them securely bolted to the floor. It was a brightly lit and inviting room much different from the sterile hallways I traveled down to get to there.I waited nervously for my grandmother to arrive.

The walls were painted pale blue, and strewn with paintings and crafts made by the residents. Paintings of fruit bowls and floral scenes, abstract art and landscapes. Some of the paintings were sadly beautiful. Some of them having brushstrokes wrought by angry hands, others finely detailed. The complexity of the mentally ill mind astonished me, and the number of beautiful paintings awed me.

I heard the doors open and I turned around and watched my grandmother, now white haired and sallow skinned be pushed into the room in a wheelchair by a crisply dressed, and very attractive nurse. I remember that the last time I had seen her she had gained a significant amount of weight and was nearly obese. I remember that my mother thought it was fitting for her mother to be in this state, seeing as she had once referred to my mother as a fat cow. The woman that looked back at me from the wheelchair was thin and frail. Upon her lap was a beautifully knit blanket, and I thought that it most certainly had to have been wrought by her own hand. I remembered the beautifully crafted sweaters and dresses I got every Christmas from her growing up, and I instantly recognized intricacy of her work sitting on her lap. She seemed disconnected, off in some far off place, and I immediately thought that my hopes for any small bit of information had vanished.

I walked over towards her, and the nurse pushing her leaned down to tell her she had a visitor.

"Janine, your granddaughter is here to see you."

I had knelt in front of the wheelchair so that I could look up at her. Would she recognize me? Would she know who I was? Did it really matter?

My grandmother looked at me, her golden eyes watery and distant. She surveyed my face for a few moments as if trying to recall something she didn't quite remember. For many long moments she studied my face. When her eyes finally met mine, for just an instant, I could have sworn that a fire suddenly ignited in them. My heart soared with the hopes of recognition. The moment was very brief, and when she looked away, she shifted slightly, straightening her shoulders before looking back at me.

She adopted that regal posture evident in her pictures folding her thin hands demurely in her lap. When she looked at me again, her eyes were level and clear, their depths leaping with life. Her golden eyes met my green ones.

She nodded a silent affirmation and addressed me in a crisp, clear voice.

"Granddaughter, I knew it would be you."


posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 03:38 PM
You mean I have to wait??? I hate waiting...

posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 03:48 PM
This is why I avoid cliffhangers. Now I have to be careful to not die or I will never know the end of this story.

posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 04:17 PM

The nurse asked me where I would like to sit, and I stood up to survey the room again. I chose a couch against the wall where my grandmother's wheelchair could easily be situated so that I could comfortably have a conversation with her.

When the nurse addressed my grandmother to let her know, her eyes again became distant and clouded, but her regal posture did not change.

I sat at the couch, my grandmother situated at the corner so that I could almost sit next to her. I was looking at my grandmother searching for words to say, hoping that she would not drift away from me again.

Finally, I said to my grandmother, " I brought some pictures of the family, would you like to see them?"

I began showing her the pictures on the smart phone, watching her study them and explaining who each of the people were.

I watched her face, hoping for some sign. The nurse had left, and I was alone with my grandmother.

I pulled up a picture of my mother, and when I showed it to her, I asked her if she knew who it was.

"That, child, is your mother" she said matter of factly.

"Yes," I replied. "That is your daughter".

"My daughter is dead. That woman is not my daughter".

Any hope that I had vanished with those words. I moved on to show her more pictures.

I showed her pictures of my sister, and her children. Although she seemed to study them intently, she made no comment, and there were times that a frown furrowed her brow. When I showed her a picture of my youngest son, now 15, with the same golden eyes as hers, a bit of a smile seemed to cross her mouth. When I showed her a picture of my eldest son in his army uniform, she leaned a bit closer, her gaze becoming almost studious. I moved onto another picture of him, where his almost violet-blue eyes could be seen. They were the same as my mother's, and he was holding his son, my grandson. Her eyes widened slightly, and her gaze became a bit more intent.

The final picture in my collection was of my granddaughter, who had just turned 2 a few months before. She had the same blue eyes as her father, her golden curls surrounding her chubby face.

My grandmother's eyes suddenly leapt to life, her hands surrounding the phone, snatching it from me. Her eyes darted between the picture and my face.

"Who is this child?" she demanded.

"She is my granddaughter. She is your great-granddaughter. Her name is Soleil, it means sun."

She dropped the phone into her lap, her head leaning backwards, and she took a deep breath.

At that moment I knew that she was about to tell me something, and I waited, hoping desperately that it would contain some sort of important information that would lead me to my mother's roots.

She looked at me reflectively for a moment, and then began her tale.

"When I was a girl, growing up in Poland..."

My mind began to race. Finally, information! I bent forward to listen intently.

She told me of growing up in Poland and eventually being initiated into a secret society where she had become privy to information of the roots of humanity, it's true history. There were two opposing sides of this society, each having their vision of the ultimate redemption of mankind.

"Before the dawn of mankind, some many thousand of years ago, Earth was colonized by two opposing factions, the Hazions and the Harians. The Hazions sought to rape the world of it's natural resources, and the Harians sought to preserve it. Each faction created an army through genetic manipulation. Eventually, after being at war with each other, these armies, humanity, banded together to oppose their leaders. Although the Harians and the Hazions were much more technologically advanced, eventually through their wit, the humans were able to overcome their oppressors, and tricked them each into trapping themselves, within their own technology. One faction was trapped in a deep abyss, the other in a vessel. Some stories say that the vessel they were trapped in was the Trojan Horse of legend, and in other stories an ark.

Some of the prisoners of humanity, were set free in hopes that they would teach humanity their technology, and they eventually became the forefathers of the great kings of the world. They bred with the humans, and have kept their knowledge secret to all but a chosen few. The other faction has remained trapped in their abyss protected by an immense piece of diamond. Before the war, a small portion of this diamond was removed and some of them were allowed to be released so that they could teach the technology stored within the diamond. There was an attempt to rid the world of the opposing influence, and the scientists committed the atrocities now known as the Holocaust. Within the camps the newly released captives bred thier own children in secret nurseries.

I had a daughter, but she died after she was born, but I didn't want to tell her father .You see, granddaughter, your mother is a Harion child, and I stole her."


posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 04:20 PM
reply to post by abeverage

I'm writing as fast as I can!

posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 04:23 PM
You are writing as you post? Hmmmm not sure how this forum works but I always write then post, mostly because the ideas are not concrete. I will stick around for a bit see where this goes cause ya hooked me...

posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 04:27 PM
reply to post by abeverage

I thought of it, but the story is all in my head already, it is just a matter of getting it out. I didn't expect the interest in it so quickly!

posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 05:08 PM
reply to post by ThreeSistersofLoveandLigh

Is there going to be more?

posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 05:29 PM

My grandmother's eyes were clear as she stared at me. She was waiting for a reaction, I could tell. Was this all a fantastical tale made up in her delusional mind? Or was this the truth of my mother's existence and the reason for all the secrecy and my grandmother's escape from Germany? All I knew, is that as far as my grandmother was concerned, it was fact.

"There isn't much time left, child" my grandmother continued.
"I became part of the society based on my family. But as I grew up and got to see the world, good and bad, I realized that my heritage was part of that which seeks to destroy the world. When the opportunity came for me to do something about it, I took it."

She took my hands in hers and pressed into it the ring she had always worn, a large solitaire diamond set in a wide gold band.

"This ring contains knowledge beyond wonder" she stated. "It can only be accessed by a Harian child. When worn by a Hazion, the knowledge is accessible, but at a cost. It has been my prison all of these years, and the only way I could protect your mother from those who would use this knowledge for destruction. I came to know a long time ago what type of tool your mother would have been used as, and I wanted to protect her. I should have destroyed it long ago, but there is a part of me that hopes that it would somehow save the world and bring peace."

She paused momentarily and studied me.

"You have a difficult choice. You have both Harian and Hazion in you. I do not know which is stronger, but I hope that it is Harian. It seems so, as your granddaughter bears a striking resemblance to your mother, but I honestly don't know. The only way that you will be able to tell is to wear the ring, but I hope that it will be you."

When my grandmother looked away, I could tell that she had become distant, and that there would be no further conversation. I looked at the ring in the palm of my hand and wondered again if it was just a fantastical tale of a delusional mind.

My grandmother appeared to have nodded off, but when I moved in to kiss her cheek, I realized that she was no longer breathing.

I shouted for a nurse. I shook my grandmother. I howled a primal scream, and then I laid my head in my grandmother's lap and cried.

Eventually my sobs subsided and I lifted my head. I looked into my grandmothers face, and I kissed her cheek. I asked the nurse to contact my mother, and then gave her information to contact me regarding the arrangements that would need to be made.

As I stood to leave, from the corner of my eye I could see an image of a woman standing in the corner.

She stood there, regal in her countenance. Her fiery auburn hair falling in waves to her shoulders. She was dressed in a floor length white bridal dress. When my eyes met hers she smiled and lifted her hand. She took several steps toward me, becoming more translucent with each step, until she finally vanished from my vision. I smiled knowing that she was finally free.

I put the ring into my wallet, and left the institution. The drive home seemed to take only moments, instead of the two hours that should have passed.

Did I have the answers to the questions I sought? Did I have any answers at all? Was the story I had been told by my grandmother true? Was there ANY truth in it? What was I going to tell my sister, my mother? Did I give my mother the ring?

When I got home, I put the ring my grandmother had given me into a velvet lined ring box that once held the family ring that my eldest son gave me as a Christmas gift several years before.

I braved the ridicule and told the story my grandmother had related to me to my mother and sister. I left the part out about the ring. No one ever asked about it. We all eventually decided that the only part of the story that may have been based in any form of reality was the "fact" that my mother had been stolen. There was a part of me that was satisfied with that, as we always suspected that my mother was not my grandmother's child, or she definitely looked just like her father.

The ring sat tucked away in it's box for several weeks before I took it out to look at it, and I only did so when I knew I was absolutely alone. There were several times that I almost put the ring on, but I supposed that it was my fear that there may be some form of truth in the fantastical tale my grandmother wove. Maybe it was a fear that my mind would be trapped like hers was.I don't know what it was but I felt quite content just to look at it.

It was unusual for me to look at this ring in the daylight, as usually I was not left alone until the wee hours of the morning, but on the one occasion that I did, I began to wonder if the tale might not be as fantastical as we thought.

The sun was shining through the east facing window, just as the sun was peeking through the clouds. I held the ring up to the light and within its depths I saw something I have never seen before.


posted on Dec, 28 2011 @ 07:03 PM
Part Four: REBIRTH

I looked into the depths of the diamond and saw an enormous library. As I turned the ring, I moved within it and I felt that if I reached out I could easily pluck a book from one of it's shelves.

Suddenly I was overtaken with a desire to put the ring on. Just for a moment I said within my mind, just a moment. All this knowledge available to me, to do with as I pleased, and all I had to do was slip the ring on.

Just as I was finding myself submitting to my desire to don the ring, a cloud passed in front of the face of the sun and the library faded from my sight.

I placed the ring back in it's box, closed the top and threw the box in a drawer. My head spun, ached.

Later that day I was surfing a conspiracy website when I came across a thread that had a legend eerily similar to the one that my grandmother had told. I unplugged my laptop and ran downstairs to my sister's apartment to have her read the story.

I plopped the laptop down in front of my sister, and told her to read the thread. She sat down and looked at the screen and then looked at me quizzically. "It's in Russian, I can't read Russian." she said.

"What?" I looked at the website. Surely enough, it was in Russian. But, I could read it, just as if it were my native English. I was confused, but I needed to save grace. "Oh, I forgot to translate it for you," and I clicked on the Google translator.

As my sister sat there reading the translated page, my head began to spin. Could I really read Russian? How? Did something happen to me? Then I knew.

My sister and I discussed the similarities of the story on that Russian website for about an hour. The details were pretty much the same, the names had been changed, and the part about the secret nursery in the camps was left out.

As the day passed on, I found that I could read more and more languages fluently, and even found myself responding in some of them. I knew deep down where the knowledge had come from, and I craved more.

That night was a full moon, and I wondered if I looked into the ring in the moonlight if it would have any effect.

I went into the back yard with the ring and held it up so that it shown in the moonlight. I gazed into it's depths and surely enough, the library shimmered before my eyes. This time I was not reluctant to remove a book from it's ancient confine and I began to read.

It became a ritual for me to enter that library, and I found that I could shine it in any light to reveal the entrance. Over the next several weeks I studied mathematics, physics, genetics and biology. Finally I had reached out and found myself holding a history book. I stared at it for a long while. I could understand so much more now, I could feel my mind expanding in so many directions. But this...this was the final step that I knew I could not return from. The cracked leather binding, enfolding fragile parchment pages yellowed with time. It called to me, sang to me, and made my head swim.

There was a part of me that knew I had to wait. The time was drawing closer, but it was not yet. Not yet.

I put the ring back into it's velvet case, and nestled myself deep into my bed drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

I did not go near the ring, or it's case for several months, but as spring drew in around me I knew that it was closing in for the time of rebirth.

When I finally opened the ring box again it was, once more, a full moon. I held the ring up to the moonlight and opened the history book and began to read.

The sun was cresting the horizon when I was done, and I was finally placing the ring back into it's resting place. It would be the last time the ring would be set into the velvet folds that had been it's home these many months.

Now I knew. I knew that the next time I took the ring out, would be the last time. I knew that I would slip that ring on my finger. I knew what would happen, what I would do, and how I would do it when the time had come.

After taking my shower the morning after that final night, I looked into the mirror brushing my teeth. My eyes flickered between their normal green with golden flecks, to bright blue inter-laced with rainbow halos, and then transform to a golden brown with fire flaming brightly in their depths.

I walked to the calendar on the fridge and flipped through the upcoming months. I circled the date with a black sharpie. 12-21-2012

I went to my boyfriend's house and told him that I loved him, and put my head on his shoulder to cry

I cried for the souls that will be lost, for the destruction and havoc that will come to pass as the beast that is our destruction raises it's head. I know that I will don the ring before the battle. I will herald my battle cry, and raise my sword to strike my enemy. I know that I will win the battle in which I am destined to fight.

There is one thing that I do not know, the only thing that no book could tell me.

I do not know which side of rebirth I will be on.


posted on Dec, 29 2011 @ 01:16 AM
Wow. Awesome story! You have a wonderful gift of writing. I think I would have lost it if the whole story wasn't here to read. I would love to read anything else you have written.

posted on Dec, 29 2011 @ 10:08 AM
Wonderful! I sent you an IM hope you don’t mind and would offer an opinion if you are interested here or in IM. Overall a great story!

posted on Dec, 29 2011 @ 10:18 AM
reply to post by abeverage

I don't mind the IM at all. Critique is always welcome!

posted on Dec, 29 2011 @ 11:01 AM
That was a fantastic read! You had me on the edge of my seat. You're a very good writer & I too look forward to many more stories written by you...S&F

posted on Dec, 29 2011 @ 02:39 PM
reply to post by ThreeSistersofLoveandLigh

Did you get my IM? Sent a few with no response so I was not sure.

posted on Dec, 29 2011 @ 04:12 PM
reply to post by abeverage

I got 1 pm to which I responded. That is all

posted on Dec, 30 2011 @ 08:51 AM
reply to post by ThreeSistersofLoveandLigh

Huh...oh well I don't want to fill up your thread with silly messages. Loved the story. Sent one more PM just in case if you don't get it no worries. OH! And I did get a response but it was always a link back to your Family Secrets story nothing written. Take care and have a happy New Year!
edit on 30-12-2011 by abeverage because: (no reason given)

posted on Dec, 30 2011 @ 09:04 AM
Wonderful story, an excellent piece!

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