My grandmother, as of this writing in late 2019, is 94 years old and living alone in Florida. Sometime after the Nazis invaded Austria she, her brother and two sisters were sent to America. The kids could get visas because they were Austrian citizens. Her parents were immigrants to Austria, her mother from Hungary and father from Czechoslovakia. My grandmother’s parents could not get visas to the US and so had to send their children to America unaccompanied. My grandmother never saw her parents again. She met and married my grandfather in Brooklyn soon after the war. She had two children of her own. One of them is my mother. My grandmother rarely speaks of what happened to her when she was a child and when she does she cries. It wasn’t until I was an adult with children of my own that I came to recognize that the trauma my grandmother experienced, while rarely spoken of by her and never by my mother or her brother, reverberates through my family, from generation to generation. Perhaps it always will.