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It would be the 20 th anniversary of an association known as The Association of Children of The Holocaust. For ten of those twenty years Renata worked to have a conference held in Warsaw. Her dream was coming true. Her nightmare was unending. Treatment was started, and Michael fulfilled his promise to accompany Mum to Poland. As Mum sat in the audience beside her son, her name was called.
She was instructed to approach the podium. In a daze, she struggled to her feet. Despite the air-conditioning, her auburn-coloured wig itched. The year-old cancer patient limped to the front of the hall with the aid of a cane. She supported herself, standing on her feet, while a representative of the foreign ministry read out a list of her achievements, and bestowed upon her a medal for the Order of Merit.
A hall filled with a hundred people; teachers and their families, government officials, diplomats, and a rabbi, leapt to their feet, applauding in ovation. Michael remained in his seat. He was stunned. Mum was confused. Through her partial deafness, she managed to decipher that she was receiving this award for her part in having her wartime Polish rescuers honoured as Righteous Gentiles, and for her ceaseless activism in building bridges of understanding and forgiveness between Polish Catholics and Polish Jews.
Still, Mum could not process the meaning of the award. She felt tugged by the memory of a doll-like young woman, perfectly formed, who seemed to have been created in miniature. Perceiving her own approaching end, Mum feared the story and memory of the woman she considered her surrogate mother would die with her. All of it. My whole life, the lives of my children and my grandchildren, all of it, I owe to my Janka.