When I sat down to write this post, I asked myself a question I think I’ve uttered more than any other in my life; ‘what am I going to blog about today?’
Sometimes, ideas hit me like a freight train and we are off and running. Other days, I stare at my laptop screen for what feels like an eternity, desperately trying to get the cogs in my brain to turn to generate some new and exciting idea.
When I was trying to determine what the subject of this post was going to be, I randomly started thinking about my Oma and Opa who are both gone. Thinking about them prompted me to write a post remembering lost loved ones, so I hope you enjoy reading.
My Opa has been gone for almost four years now, and my Oma almost three. They were my mom’s parents. I lost my Nagypapa, which is Hungarian for grandfather, 14 years ago, and he was my dad’s father.
Thankfully, I still have my Nagymama, which is Hungarian for grandmother, in my life. Blaine, sadly, has no surviving grandparents.
My Nagypapa was obviously of Hungarian descent, while my Opa was French and Belgium and my Oma was Dutch and Ashkenazi Jewish. To say I’m a wee bit blended in terms of ancestry is an understatement, but I find my background to be rather interesting considering it is such a unique culmination of cultures.
My Nagypapa was a farmer, and a damn good one at that. My Oma was a stay-at-home-mom, however, prior to meeting my Opa and starting a family, she worked as a nurse in Aruba.
My Opa was a successful businessman and managed a well-known meat plant for a significant length of time. Prior to dabbling in business, he entered the seminary to become a Catholic priest through was forced to drop out because he because extremely ill due to a lack of food during the second world war.
My grandparents were incredible people, and I think about them a lot.