WenkUSA

MUTTI

Already early in life I became aware of the special powers my mother had. She could see things that were ordinarily not visible, she could read thoughts that were unexpressed and find connections generally not noticeable to the uninitiated. How could she, without such special powers, find out that I secretly tasted some of the freshly baked bread on the way from the bakery? After all, I repaired the soft crust in a manner nobody could detect my offense. I may have fooled the world, but not my mother. From Sunday school I knew the Lord would know what I did. Mother joining the Lord in this knowledge, made a believer out of me.

She was a giant, my mother.

When I was tall enough to match her height and look her straight in the eyes, she still seemed towering and undeniably in charge. Then, I was a fourteen year old apprentice. She was thirty six and already two years widowed. A short few years later, at the age of seventeen, having grown myself another good measured foot and now a partner in her business, I still looked up to her. And so it was throughout my life until she died three months past her eighty fifth birthday. You could not help but look up to her, although she was barely five feet tall.

She was able, dependable, considerate, generous and fun to be around. For fifteen years we were a fitting business team, running the family business. Our trust was mutual, our reliance on each other complete.

But then, soon after my marriage, I made a far reaching decision. I began preparing myself to enter university. She was bewildered, confused and hurt. But seeing my efforts to balance my time between my own young family, the business and my studies, her initial resistance transformed into support. In 1954, after four years at the University of Basel and a teaching diploma in my pocket I left Switzerland. Recently divorced, I went with my two children to study for one year at an American university. Her son-in-law joined her in the business.

My mother was a simple, often naïve, yet undemanding person. We had a healthy laugh when on her first visit to the United States in 1957 she had refused to eat her meals during her long flight. Not speaking the language, she was certain, that she would have to pay a lot of extra money for her food. Over the years her visits here and our visits in Switzerland were always the happiest of times.

When she died I was alone with her. Very much as she saw me take my first breath in 1923 I saw her now take her last. When it was done and I just kept looking at her in wonderment, I felt a gentle nudge on my right shoulder. Right then, I knew she told me: "So long, son, I'm on my way!...And,....well,....Thanks for being part of my journey."

Thanks also to Dad, for choosing such a true gem of a little woman!

STORYTELLER: Ernst Wenk (1923 -- )

PHOTO: Elsa Wenk-Wüst (1901-1986) and son Ernst Wenk (1923 -- )