My English Story.

I sat in my wheelchair in the sitting room on the nursing home in Toronto.

I gazed out on the white snow that collected on the hoods of the cars in the parking lot. Suddenly the guilt came back and I clutched the cold metal of the wheels.

“Ingrid, Dr Jackson is here to speak to you, are you ready? Mrs Naumann?” one of the girls in the colourful uniforms asked, breaking my pang of guilt. It was Nancy, one of the good girls. I nodded feebly to show my tentative approval of my appointment with Dr Jackson. My daughter Elsie made the appointment on my behalf. She said I hadn’t been myself lately and called up the desk to get the psychologist in to talk to me.

Of course I hadn’t been myself lately; I was having flashbacks to my past in the Reich, under der Führer. Something I voted for. He seemed to be an interesting man with good ideas but now I was feeling personally responsible for his crimes. It was a simple choice at the time: Herr Hitler seemed a man of vision, he’d clean up the country and get back what belonged to us and what we lost after the Great War, opposed the Communists we all believed were in league with the Jews, so it made sense to cast my ballot for him. Then he started getting more radical and I had to defend my decision at every family gathering. “It’s better for the country, look what he’s done with the economy when the Americans pulled out and the mark was better to burn then use?”

My tune soon changed when Kristallnacht took place and the Jews started disappearing. When the British and Americans came and the news came through about Auschwitz and Treblinka, I was physically ill. That was what my government had done. Herr Hitler, who I named my dog after, had betrayed Germany, and my vote helped him do it.

Nancy wheeled me down the clean beige hallway and turned right into a room where a balding, 50-something man with a pad, pen and a goatee sat one of the regular chairs, a Spartan blue plastic thing.

“Frau Naumann?” Dr Jackson asked, rising from his chair to shake my hand.

“Dokter Jacksun,” I replied coolly.

“Thanks Nancy,” Dr Jackson said nodding and smiling to the nurse, who turned around and promptly left.

“So Frau Naumann, can I call you Ingrid? Your daughter called me saying you were having some trouble lately, that you had been having some guilt problems, is that true?” He inquired, I nodded at his request.

“Ja dokter, I’ve been having some problems sleeping,” I began cautiously.

“Why is that Ingrid?”

“Well you see dokter, I lived through the War in Germany…”

“Go on,” he coaxed.

“I voted for Herr Hitler und the fiftieth anniversary of Auschwitz’s liberation is coming up und I feel like I was a…traitor…like I helped kill those Jews und them…” My voiced rasped and trailed off as tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision.

Dr Jackson offered me a tissue and I took it gratefully.

“You didn’t know Ingrid, Hitler was very covert about his ideas to the general public. As I understand it, many people didn’t realize what a monster they were voting for…”

“But I agreed with most of his policies at the time…” I sniffed.

“There was a general disillusionment. The economy was turning up and it made sense to continue the growth, but as I said Hitler wasn’t publicly saying ‘vote for me if you want to gas the Jews!’ You did nothing wrong. Your guilt is understandable but it’s something we can work through Ingrid.”

Over the next five weeks we met twice a week and I felt the guilt’s cold fist relax from my heart; the flashbacks about the terror and remorse subsided and I could sleep again.

Then when the snow on the cars was nearly gone, another cold snap overtook the city and with it my attacks of shame. I had Elsie call Dr Jackson back, as I requested our appointments be discontinued when the bouts of sadness came but now I needed that shrink back to talk to.

The next day Dr Jackson came in and we met in our room around midday.

“So Ingrid, Elsie said you’ve been having trouble again.”

“Yes dokter. I don’t know what happened…I thought I’d gotten over them but they’ve actually gotten worse and I can’t sleep any more.” I said, my voice trembling as it did the first time we spoke.

“Well Ingrid, it looks like we’ve got a lot of work to do.” Dr Jackson said in resignation, shaking his head and making notes. “Let’s get started again.”