In the summer of 1941, Oma became seriously ill. She was pale and exhausted and often refused to eat. She insisted that nothing was wrong. “I’m fine, don’t ask me again, don’t worry about me.” But Anne could hear her grandmother moaning in the middle of the night. When no one was home, Oma sat in a chair in the dining room. She looked out the window and cried even though she knew she was too old to cry. She was a grandmother and crying should only be for children and for young brokenhearted women; still, she had her reasons.
