This is about the day I finally got to meet Czeslaw Milosz, the Nobel laureate who could tell me about my grandfather.
As you may know, my mother was a complete mystery to me. For a long time my sister and I didn’t even know what country she was from – we eventually found out she was from Lithuania, a country that reveres writers. My mom rarely shared anything about the life she had before us – and hers was certainly a whopper of a life.
One day when I was in college I found a book on her shelf - The Captive Mind, by Czeslaw Milosz. I had discovered his writings on my own and was in awe of him in the same way I was in awe of Hemingway. Inside the book I found an inscription to my mother from Mr. Milosz. Also in its pages was a letter he had written to her in some other language (Lithuanian, I think). I asked her about it, and she told me – casually – that Mr. Milosz had been her friend and mentor while she was at Berkeley, and that he had been close friends with my grandfather.
Can you imagine if you were a writer majoring in writing at college, and you accidentally found out your mom knew Ernest Hemingway – that he had mentored her – and not only that, your grandfather was one of his best friends? And yet…nobody bothered to mention it to you? This is how I felt about Mr. Milosz – a Nobel Laureate, and in my opinion one of the greatest writers of our time.
TALK ABOUT OUT-TO-LUNCH PARENTING!
Apparently Mr. Milosz had been college roommates with my grandfather. They were close friends, she told me. For years they roomed together, studying law and talking politics – Stalinism, socialism – writing.
“CZESLAW MILOSZ WAS ROOMMATES WITH YOUR FATHER AND YOU DIDN”T TELL ME?” I said, outraged.
This is the brazenly passive-aggressive kind of crap about my parents that really bugged me. It was exactly like them to space out and accidentally keep crucial information like this from me. They knew I was a writer – that I had made up my mind I would become a writer at the age of ten – and they didn’t even bother to tell me that my grandfather was a writer. Or that my mother had been a journalist, or that my whole family was riddled with writers! I had no idea about any of this. When I finally went to Lithuania to meet my mother’s family, the very first thing out of their mouths after Hello at the airport, was:
“And are you writer like your grandfather?”
They were a country obsessed with writers. They even showed me a special calendar celebrating each of “Lithuania’s Beloved Writers” – with my grandfather’s name printed on one of the national days. You would think my mom would have mentioned this, but nope.
I immediately liked these people – no, I loved them. They were my tribe: quirky, geeky, and very, very funny. They all looked so much like her, and like me. I couldn’t imagine why she ran off and left them all and never once came back to them.
As we left the airport, one of her uncles said:
“Your mother was difficult from day she was born. God, was she difficult.”
In the year 2000 I was attending graduate school at the University of San Francisco, which hosted a millenial symposium where a panel of speakers – including Mr. Milosz – was scheduled to speak.
Mr. Milosz in October 2000 – three months before I met him.
My husband and I got tickets and went. It was in an auditorium on campus and there wasn’t an empty seat in the house. Mr. Milosz was old then – in his 80′s – but sharp as a tack – that man did not miss a thing. As each member of the panel spoke I found myself staring intently at him, filled with an intense longing – like he had something I needed. I didn’t know what it was – but I knew I needed it.
When the panel ended, my heart sank. I knew it was over, and I probably wouldn’t get to meet him.
That’s when one of the priests asked if anyone in the audience had any questions.
Before I could think straight, my husband shoved my arm up into the air and – oh my God – out of everybody in that auditorium they called on me. What are the chances of that?
They invited me to come up to the stage so I had to make my way through the audience and up to the podium, all the while being watched by the stony-faced Mr. Milosz. My brain was scrambling to find the words I would say.
I got up there and spoke into the microphone. I think everyone in the room could sense that I had a boulder-sized lump in my throat – they seemed to know that whatever it was I wanted to ask him was important.
“Mr. Milosz,” I said, “in 1990 in an interview in a book by Tomas Venclova, you spoke at length about your good friend, Pranas A-, your roommate at university. You discussed your friendship with him and the influence he had on you…”
I looked over at Mr. Milosz. There was a blank stare on his face and it was kind of scary.
“…that man – Pranas A- – was my grandfather…”
You could hear a pin drop. Everyone in the auditorium was right there with me.
“…He died the year I was born so I don’t know much about him. I was just wondering if maybe you remembered him, if you could tell me about him?”
Mr. Milosz had a lovely writerly face, but this same face could intimidate the fuck out of you with its poker-faced stare:
Time passed. The priests were running around trying to convey to him what I had just said but he wasn’t getting it.
“His name was Pranas A-,” I repeated lamely into the microphone, trying to pronounce his last name correctly even though it was Lithuanian.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch-o. Flat-line.
I spotted my husband’s codependent face in the crowd. I knew he was wondering if I was going to faint from the embarrassment, and what he was going to have to do about this.
You could tell the audience felt for me – they were hoping he would get it. But he didn’t. He didn’t remember who my grandfather was and he had no idea who I was even though my passive-aggressive mom had led me to believe they were old friends. I’d made an ass out of myself in front of an auditorium full of people and my codependent husband was going to have to make his way to the stage and to haul my limp body off of it after I died of embarrassment.
“Never mind,” I mumbled, “…it’s alright.”
I made my way back to my husband, who whispered, “It’s okay.”
That’s when I heard a voice – it was Mr. Milosz.
“Wait, wait!” he said.
He was reading something one of the priests had written for him on a piece of paper – my grandfather’s name. Apparently I had butchered its pronunciation, but when he saw it written down – he understood.
“Pranas? Pranas A-?”
“Yes!” I said.
“You are grand-daughter of Pranas A-?”
“Yes!”
He stood quickly and held his arms out. I ran back to the stage and into his arms. He bear-hugged me.
I can’t explain it but I’ve waited my whole life for that very hug.
It was like I was hugging my grandfather.
He held my face in his hands and repeated, “You are grandaughter of Pranas?”
My tears started, and he hugged me again.
Finally, finally.
Well – there wasn’t a single dry eye in the house. Even the priests were dabbing at their eyes.
Everyone was relieved for me, the embarrassed young woman who just wanted to know about her grandfather.
Mr. Milosz returned to the podium and spoke into the microphone again. He was energized now, and there was no sign of the poker-face.
“I would be honored to talk about my friend, Pranas A-,” he said. “Pranas was a writer. An intellectual. A revolutionary. He was a man who influenced me greatly…”
So this great man, Czelsaw Milosz, proceeded to speak to the auditorium for almost 10 minutes about my grandfather, a man who he admired.
I learned that my grandfather was a literary critic, a journalist, a socialist who had been jailed for his political beliefs, that the writers had secured his release from jail, that he had been exiled and eventually run for Canadian Parliament – all sorts of things my parents hadn’t told me, and probably never would. After he told us about my grandfather’s life, he said: “His life was a tragedy – his future was stolen from him by war. He was a revolutionary hero in exile. Here was a tall, brooding man in spectacles with dark hair over his eyes. I saw him suffer from the time he was young – he had terrible dark moods that no one could bring him out of. And then the war took his future, he was exiled. It was a tragedy – Pranas took his own life, in the end.”
I may not have had many relatives around at holidays throughout my life but somehow these ten minutes of Mr. Milosz speaking about my grandfather’s life made up for it.
Afterward my husband and I got to have tea with him. He asked about my mother so I showed him her picture, and told him she was very sick.
And then I went home. Filled.
I linked up as usual with Yeah Write, and in the words of Sally Field: “You like me! You really really like me!”.
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Wow this was amazing!! As a literature teacher I really enjoyed this story, thanks!!
Thanks, Pish. (-:
Were do I begin? Can I tell you how often I read your work, your tweets or your facebook posts and you amaze me. Your life experiences amaze me. The opportunities you have had and the adventures you have embraced make me smile, move me, make me laugh and fill me with warmth. I loved this story. I loved your details and the words you choose to take me back to this time. I love the feelings that you shared! I can only imagine how truly fulfilling this was for you. xoxox -LV
Thank you.
I adore you.
That was the sweetest comment.
Ever.
Thank you my friend.
What a wonderful story, and beautifully told. I was on the edge of my seat hoping your husband or someone would save you, and those long moments of embarrassed horror made the ending all the sweeter.
Thank you Louise!
“What I Needed” – The day I finally got to meet Czeslaw Milosz: http://t.co/PELtZQmh
WOW, Ado. incredible story. and beautifully told, she typed with tears falling from her cheeks.
I must make an effort to write a funnier post for next week’s Yeah Write. (-;
When you got to the part about running into his arms tears pricked my eyes. I often wonder about my ancestors. My grandfather died when I was four and my memories of him are very dim… he was only ever talked about in a general sense. I don’t know why. And I always felt that my questions were not appreciated. It would be lovely to have a chance to speak to someone who knew him back then…
You know – that’s why I kind of wish mommy blogging was around when I was a kid. There would be some record of what my mom was thinking (or not thinking) and doing (or not) – and in both our cases there might have been more of an ancestral log with information in it!
Wow! This is such an amazing story. And the writing! I was holding my breath along with everyone else in the audience. Loved it.
What a powerful experience!! And what amazing discoveries to make about your family.
How wonderful. How amazing that you got to have that connection to your grandfather in such a meaningful way. I’m so glad the story didn’t end with him not understanding you and you having to deal with that.
ME TOO! (-:
I believe there is nothing more fulfilling than hearing stories about your own ancestry. This story touched me Ado. I could picture it all…hear it all. I could feel the rollercoaster of emotions you had like they were my own. I had tears in my eyes when you ran into his arms. I was looking forward to this story. It was wonderful. I`m so happy you had that moment. xo
Thanks January. . . you know even writing about it all these years later I still got tears in my eyes, it was that moving.
What a beautiful story! I felt as if I were watching the climatic ending to a movie and so glad the ending was happy.
I’m glad too! Oh am I!
A story beautifully told, Ado. Very moving. I teared up when he said, Wait, knowing how much it meant to you. I found out after my grandmother died that she was a writer. I was so mad at my mother for not having told me, though she knew I wanted to write. No famous writer story like you have, but I can relate to the frustration of finding out crucial pieces of information about your ancestry so long after the fact. I’m glad your story ended on satisfying note.
Stephanie – I would love to know more about why your mom didn’t tell you? I think in my mom’s case she was just wanting to completely shut and vault and lock the door to her past, full stop. So it never even occurred to her that my sister and I may have needed some of the past to move forward. I’d love to know more about your mom’s reasons – blog post?
What I Needed: http://t.co/PELtZQmh #czeslawmilosz
You just made me cry. Well, you and Mr Milosz.
I’m so glad you got the chance to meet him, to hear and learn more about your grandfather.
Thanks Alison.
PS: What would I ever do up here in bloggy land without you??
“Filled.”
I could feel it.
What a spectacular piece…what a lovely story. It really is a story (and, I’m sure, an experience) that fills one up…from core to skin…and makes you feel complete. How perfectly put to ‘paper’ and how deeply we can feel this moment with you.
Well – wow, what a beautifully-crafted comment. A little nugget of beautiful writing – “core to skin” – thank you.
Ado,
Blog posts like this are the reason why I have followed your blog since the first week I signed up at Yeah Write. This moved me emotionally, even though there is nothing in my past that I can use to relate to. I can’t even fathom the honor and the emotion that would come from meeting an idol and, at the same moment, learning about a grandfather you never knew.
I don’t have to be able to fathom the experience. I was able to experience it through your wonderfully-written words. You are such an awesome, amazing mother and writer. Thank you for sharing this with all of us. I hope some day a young writer gets a similar experience by meeting you (well, minus the learning about a deceased family member).
Oh my goodness – thank you, thank you David for your comments, and for reading my blog. Means a lot. Thank you.
Great post… I had tears in my eyes. Beautifully written. wow!
Thanks Karine!! (-:
Oh my god, you took my breath away – yet again! And no wonder, from a family of incredible, talented writers. My dad came to the US from Italy by boat when he was 12 years old but when I was growing up, he refused to speak any bit of Italian or talk about Italy or anything from his past. I can only think that there was too much pain or things he didn’t want to remember or bring up in himself but it still makes me mad. This story is incredible and I’m so happy you got to meet this great man and get back a few pieces of family history by learning about your grandfather.
Thanks, Anna – wow that story of your dad coming over at age 12 on the boat is really incredible. I hope you get the rest of his back-story if he is willing to tell it – get it while you can, if you can! It’s amazing how many kids of immigrants I hear with a similar story – like their parents wanted to just shut off the spigot of the past and only move forward, become “all American” and forget about the past. Kind of sad.
oh.my.goodness! I haven’t heard of him, but that’s going to be changed right now. what an amazing story! My brother is a professional musician and he made friends with an aging poet from my state, and the minute I met her just this weekend, my soul knew I have been waiting for her… so glad someone else found home in a person such as this.
Thanks so much Tara! PS: I love your poetic posts, especially today’s.
I do believe, Ado, that there is a memoir in these blog posts, just waiting for the right publisher/agent!
Your life does make quite the interesting story and your ability to so beautifully express it, is so captivating!
Oh, this is such an amazing story! I am so happy for you that you had the opportunity to meet him and hear about your grandfather. What an uplifting tale.
This, for me, was cinematic. I could see it all and hear the score-violins swelling as you run to his arms… If God exists, he is busy working on creating moments like those in your story….moments that help us humans heal. Much love to you, Ado.
Sperk – xoxoxoxo!
What a beautifully written post! It’s so visually described I can see the frames of film move in my mind
What an amazing experience. Not only to get to meet an icon, but also to find out more about your grandfather.
Sometimes I relate our mom experiences – not that they are the same, but that they are both broken somehow. When I read pieces of yours, it intrigues me more. My psychological side starts pinning this pieces.
Ditto!
And I love your metaphor for “pinning” – I do that with you, too. (-:
Ado, you are such an amazing writer! I swear, I tear up so often when I read your work. What a wonderful story!
My grandfather coached the Presidential hopeful and actor Fred Thompson. A wonderful donor bought me a ticket to a meet and greet with him. You should have seen his face when I told him who I was. It was wonderful and I can totally relate to your story.
Wow Missy – there’s a blog post in your story that I’d love to read. (-:
Thanks for your comments.
I seriously can’t believe this happened. It’s so perfect, the angst, the hurt, the anticipation, the redemption! It’s too wonderful for words. I literally have tears in my eyes. Just wonderful.
I know, right?? It was like a ten minute movie script!
Brilliant story-telling, as ever
Thanks Tania (-:
LOVE this story so much!! I cried when he bear-hugged you. Big virtual “pat on the back” for the hubby, who gave you the little nudge you needed in order to create such an epic memory.
Well it wasn’t a NUDGE it was more of a SHOVE, but you’re right – he gets credit for it!
Such a lovely story! I was almost getting tense/nervous for you as those moments of silence passed. When you ran back to him I chose to imagine that the entire room erupted into a thunderous standing ovation (because that’s what I would have done had I been there). So happy for you that you were able to meet this man and get a little closer to your grandfather.
Aw, thanks Miranda! I heard your single standing-O! (-:
Milosz is one of my heroes, that is so awesome that you got to meet him. And it is equally awesome that you got to find out about your grandfather in such a touching moment.
Thanks, YB! (-:
Amazing. I could feel myself cringing while you were waiting for him to respond. Your writing is so real, it practically jumps off the page at me everytime I read one of your posts. You are incredibly gifted, Ado.
Thank you one million times for your sweet comment. (-: And for reading my blog.
Well add me to the not a dry eye group when he recognized your name! What a treasure that moment must have been!
(-:
I am SO JEALOUS! I was making out with a Smith girl who introduced me to Milosz. She broke my heart, but I didn’t mind because of this guy.
that’s incredible. of course you’re a writer! something like that gets in your blood and never leaves.
What an awesome story. Loved how you wrote it and loved that it ended perfectly. What a special moment for you and so glad that you got to experience a bit of what your grandfather was like. Loved it.
Thank you Jamie!
This? This is incredible writing and storytelling: http://t.co/DjcU1W17 via @AdoTheMomalog
Very suspenseful and such a wonderful payoff, Ado. Thanks for sharing this amazing story.
Thanks Dude. (-:
I’m gla
Hmm. That last comment wasn’t complete, and it had the wrong web address! (What is wrong with me???) Anyway, I was going to say I’m glad you said everyone cried, because I felt like a jerk sitting here crying! Such a wonderful story. I’m so glad you got to experience that!
I feel like cursing you out, you excellent writing WENCH. I am sobbing.
That’s all you get from me.
Precisely. We need the stories of the past so that we can use them as roadmaps for the future – roads to follow, roads to avoid, big honking potholes to swerve ’round. And we need roots, and help tending those roots; we need words and imagination and compassion. There are, of course, many amazing things about this story, not the least of which is being hugged by Milosz on a stage in San Francisco, a lifetime away from when he knew your grandfather, but also the fact that it reads like an essay that he himself might have written – and that at its heart, the nugget of this story, is a set of ideas and feelings that might have fueled one of his poems.
Deep sigh.
Deborah, okay, now I am hand-flapping in front of my face trying to stave off tears. That was very sweet of you and it made me get all teary-eyed and hand-flappy…
Great story, beautifully told.
Thank you, Christie.
So yeah, read this from @AdoTheMomalog if you haven’t yet. http://t.co/BDgklTCl
Thanks for the RT, D of the D. (-:
What a beautifully told story. I’m so glad you had this moment in your life and that you shared it with us. Ellen
Thank you my friend. (-:
Well….that brought a tear. Very happy that you had that oppty acb.
Thanks Mike (-:
By the way…good on ‘D’ for pushing your arm up! Your husband changed your life w/that action….cool.
If you haven’t already, check out this incredibly moving post by @AdoTheMomalog #yeahwrite53trifecta http://t.co/X9F5Lo9c
What I Needed http://t.co/RTNo3yvj via @sharethis
Yes, a tear, two tears! That was unreal! Incredible pathos. Your husband is the best
Imagine the moment you’d have missed if he hadn’t done that.
Yes, codependency is a far-under-rated quality in husbands. (-:
Of course I’m at work reading this and immediately began crying when he stood up and put out his arms. So, here I sit, pretending I am actually working and that I must be coming down with a cold or am being attacked by those pesky allergies! Lovely, touching story. Thank you for sharing.
P.S. I love your blog! Mary Lauren at my3littlebirdsblog.com gave you a shout-out and now I’m lost in your blog, enjoying every minute of your writing.
Thank you Barbara! That means a lot to me (and I love Mary Lauren). PS: Sorry I made you cry at work – but that was such a tear-jerker of a moment, wasn’t it?!
[...] Probably, like her – he saw too many things and needed to turn down the volume. [...]
If you’re bored & want to read a tear-jerker, this is one of my best jerkers: What I Needed http://t.co/RMKVWOBD7P #lithuania #acoa #milosz
Although it’s deeply sad that your mother never shared her history – your history! – with you, I’m so glad you had a such a beautiful moment with such a talented poet. Your writing made me a member of that audience, and I, too, was moved to tears by the bear hug.
Thank you. (-: