John’s Obituary

Cremation has taken place. Memorial service will be held at Maranatha Evangelical Free Church in Winnipeg on August 3, 2024. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to MCC Manitoba.

Join us for Coffee to celebrate John’s life Saturday March 9, 2024 Buhler Active Living Centre – Private Dining Room 10:00 – 11:00 am (Come and Go)

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John Bergen

1933 ~ 2024

At the ripe young age of 90, John Bergen returned home to the Lord on February 26^th, 2024 in Winkler, Manitoba.  

John was born on July 24, 1933 to Susanna and Abram Bergen in Gnadenthal, Ukraine. He was the youngest boy of siblings Katie (Victor), Peter, Henry (Bettie), and Lena, and he took great pride in the role of “little” brother. The family arrived as refugees in Canada in October of 1947, and ultimately settled in Winnipeg – and although the details of their journey were never quite agreed on by the siblings, his childhood experiences became bedtime stories filled with hope for the next three generations.

It was common for many young Mennonites at the time to take up woodwork, but John always went against the grain and chose instead to work with metal. He became an accomplished tinsmith, a career he loved and excelled in. It was on his way to work that John took notice of the woman who would become his beloved wife. God placed John and Shirley on the same bus route. John always arrived early, and Shirley always arrived late – a habit that remained throughout their 63 years of marriage.

John and Shirley raised 5 children together – Carol, Marjorie (Martin), Donna (Andrew), Nancy (Steve), and Richard (Nancy). Travel was always a part of John’s life, both through work and family time. Work took him throughout northern and rural Manitoba. Family road trips included PEI, BC, the Badlands of Dakota, and involved their family of seven stuffed into a popup camper designed for six. The couple celebrated their 25^th anniversary by taking part in a missions trip to Zaire. It was on this trip that John was introduced to Jerusalem Cherry jam – a recipe he devoted the rest of his life to trying to replicate with Canadian ingredients. In retirement, John and Shirley continued their adventures with cross-country road trips to visit their children and grandchildren scattered from coast to coast.

In 1963, John started his own company, Aircond Installations, and enacted the slogan he always lived by: “If it can be done, we can do it!”  The company assisted in the construction of a new YMCA building, the Brandon University Brodie Building, and a new wing of the Brandon General Hospital, among others,  with the family relocating to Brandon in 1970. The family joined the Brandon Mennonite Brethren Church, which eventually became Richmond Park Mennonite Brethren. A natural leader, whether he wanted to be or not, John became well-known in his faith community and was instrumental in the planning and building of the new building, which still stands on 26^th Street in Brandon.

John was never one to accept anything blindly, and his faith was no different. He thought critically about every Bible passage he read and sought evidence for every lesson he learned, applying this way of thinking and questioning as he led Bible study groups. He soon became a Boy’s Brigade Leader, as well, and shared his experiences with the boys in the church, learning alongside them. John and Shirley spent their retirement in Winnipeg, where John acted as maintenance director for Portage Avenue Church, and transitioned to Buhler Active Living Center in Winkler in 2022.

In addition to his wife and children, John is survived by his 12 grandchildren, 6 great-grandchildren, and many nieces, nephews, and in-laws. He was known to always have a wise word to offer, often in the form of a rhyme, and to prefer sitting at the kids’ table. He started and ended everyday with a prayer to protect his family, listing everyone from east to west, then west to east, so no one was ever forgotten. John taught his children and grandchildren to be resilient and self-sufficient. He will be remembered by the lessons he lived by; don’t forget to bring a jacket and boots when you are driving on the highway, you can accomplish anything if you aren’t worried who gets the credit, there is a separate stomach for ice cream or popcorn, and always make turnips with Sunday roast.

A special thank you goes out to the staff at Samaritan Wellness and Silver Linings for the love, care, and friendship they offered John, and for every memory they have shared with his family, as well as to the staff at Boundary Trails Health Centre.

A memorial service will be held at Maranatha Evangelical Free Church in Winnipeg on August 3, 2024. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to MCC Manitoba.

Papa’s Stories

As told by John Bergen to his grandchildren
I will always remember evenings at Gran and Papa’s (or Oma and Opa’s). Cuddled up on
mattresses in the basement, or in the living room with chocolate-chip popcorn, a few of us
grandkids would ask, “Papa, tell us a story!” And he would ask us, “Which story do you
want?”

“The watermelon story!”
“Ok, ok. Settle down.
One summer day, Henry and I decided it would
be a good idea to go for a swim…”
And so it was, and still is, every time I visit my
grandparents.
Thank you so much, Gran and Papa, Oma and
Opa, for always making life fun!

Papa’s
Stories
Peter, Peter pumpkin eater,
Had a wife but couldn’t keep her;
He put her in a pumpkin shell
And there he kept her well.
-A rhyme Papa used to tell Petra Dueck
80th Birthday Poem
Hi!
How high?
Is it that time already?
80 years have just flown by
This calls for a celebration
But how are we supposed to rehearse
In an oh so simple verse
How this man makes us glad
With all the memories we’ve had
And how do we possibly find the time
To ever make it rhyme
How do we convey
With the words we say
The feeling a child holds
When bed time stories are told
But at least let us try
To begin to tell you why
We tried so hard to find a way
To gather here today
This man is patient loving and kind
He always makes rhymes with his sharp mind
And when those rhymes come out his mouth
We’re left chuckling day in and day out
On the swing he pushed us so high
We felt like we could touch the sky
Just like a bird in a tree
Oh so wild and oh so free
Sometimes we feared that we might fall
But he never let us get hurt at all
This man is so hard working
We are convinced he can do anything
And so is he
Just wait and see
Our grandpa is the best
He never takes a rest
While walking in the sand dunes
Or whistling with the loons
Everything he does is with his heart
Even popcorn making is an art
We wrote this poem
For you to take home
To always remember
We love you forever
The Pink Shirt
The pink shirt was lying in the store packaged
with two other shirts – a blue one and a yellow
one. It had been lying on the shelf for some time
getting very lonesome. Dust started to gather on
the package.
Many men walked into the store buying shirts.
They looked at this package, put it down and
bought another one. The shirt was getting
lonesome, feeling sorry for itself.
“It must be the blue shirt that they don’t want.
Why couldn’t I be packaged with a red one or
purple one instead?”
Just then a man walked in wearing a blue shirt.
He took one look at the package and said,
“Yuck! Pink! Men don’t wear pink.”
The pink shirt felt even more dejected. Then a
big awkward man with a beautiful young wife
walked in. The pink shirt took one look at them
and said, “Ugh… he will never buy us.”
“We are looking for a special tie for our
daughter’s wedding,” the lady said hopefully.
The man said, “Look, honey, here is one that
would match your suit perfectly.”
She responded, “Yes and it’s a nice bright
purple!”
However, the clerk took it away and handed
him a red one, saying, “It might match but you
will never wear that. This red one looks very
beautiful on you.”
The man took it back and said, “No, I want this
one!”
Then he added, “While I’m here, I might as well
pick up a shirt or two.”
The pink shirt straightened itself out in the
package and thought, “If this man is brave
enough to wear a purple tie, maybe he’ll wear a
pink shirt as well.”
The man walked over to the shelf and picked up
the package and said to his wife, “I kind of like
these.”
Her response was, “But one of them is pink.”
At that the pink shirt’s hope sank right to the
floor.
But the man said, “That’s the one I like…
everybody will notice me.”
The pink shirt could hardly contain itself in the
package. It was so happy that finally someone
wanted it. Then the man picked up the package
and took it to the sales counter. Right beside
the pink shirt was the purple tie.
“Is he going to wear that purple tie together
with me?” thought the pink shirt. “How
handsome I would look.”
The first time the man wore the pink shirt was to
the MCC Auction Sale.
“MCC Auction,” thought the pink shirt, “I
wonder what that is all about.”

It soon found out. It also found out the man’s
name was John.
They went to a big building. Oh, was there ever
noise and people! And everyone seemed to know
John and wanted to talk to him.
All day long, the pink shirt heard, “Have you
seen John?”
“Yes, over there in the pink shirt.”
Or, “Yes I saw him a while ago over there. Look
for a pink shirt.”
The pink shirt was starting to feel very important.
“Everyone could find John because he was
wearing me – the pink shirt.”
At the end of the day the pink shirt was all tired
out from looking so bright and cheery all day.
After that the pink shirt was worn quite often –
for wiener roasts, picnics, family gatherings.
“Whenever something exciting was happening,
John chose me, the pink shirt.”
Then the pink shirt was put in the closet. At first
it was quite happy to have a rest for a change.
But then it started to get bored.
On Halloween, John’s daughter. Marjorie asked,
“Dad, can I wear your pink shirt tonight?”
“Yes, of course,” Dad said, “What are you going
to be?”
“It’s a secret,” Marjorie replied with a twinkle in
her eye.
She played dress-up for awhile with her friend
Christal. But the pink shirt did not twirl properly.
Sometime later Dad asked Marjorie, “You used
my pink shirt at Halloween. Where did you put
it?”
“In the closet,” she replied innocently.
“I already looked and didn’t see it. But I’ll look
again.”
He went through all the clothes and in the
farthest corner he found the pink shirt. When he
saw it he noticed that long slits, like tails, had
been cut into the bottom of the shirt.
He could imagine just how beautiful they would
look on a young girl twirling.
Who stole the
carrots?
When we got to Poland, it was just getting to be
the end of the school year. But since we were
immigrants from Russia, instead of having a
summer vacation, we had to have our eyes
examined.
In a lot of poorer countries, trachoma is a very
catchy eye disease, and Henry and I both had
caught it. So we had to go to a city named Łód
about an hour and a half train ride from where
we lived. We were quarantined out there so that
we wouldn’t transmit the disease to other people.
When we were there, they put some eye drops in
our eyes.
Oohhh, did that burn!
There was another younger boy who had been
there for some time already. He knew his way
around. Our building was closed in so that we
wouldn’t go infect other people.
But the boy said, “I know a board that’s loose
in the fence.”
On the other side of the fence were gardens,
and there were carrots growing there. And
what good looking carrots!
We were just starting to pick some carrots
when they called for us. So we snuck through
the fence and put the board in, but we had our
hands full of carrots. So I stuck them in my
pockets.
The nurse said, “Come!”
I thought, “Did they catch us?
Well, we got in to the clinic and had to go up a
row of stairs. I took the carrots out of my
pocket and put them on the edge of the stairs. I
planned to pick them up when I came back.
It turned out that all they wanted was to give us
extra eye drops!
I thought, “Oh good, that didn’t take long.”
But by the time we came back to the stairs, the
carrots were all gone!
So in the end, we had stolen carrots, and not
picked them very carefully, ruined the garden…
and got nothing from it.
Pete’s horses
While we were in Russia, in the New Year’s
holidays, we had been traveling for two months.
We were far enough ahead of the retreating
army that we could stay there. Our horses were
worn out and needed a rest.
And then, when it was almost time again for us
to move on, Pete heard that there were
sometimes horses available at the train station.
People who were fleeing came up to the train
station and were permitted to go on a train, but
their horses were left there.
Pete was generally so small for his age that he
was a bit separate from the others.
So a man called out to him from a train car,
“What are you looking for?”
“Well, we heard there might be horses here”,
replied Pete.
“Do you know how to look after horses?”
“Oh yes! I’ve done that for years already.”
“Well, you go to the other side of these tracks.
There is a team of horses tied up at the post.
They were mine. You can have them.”
Oh, what beautiful horses! The other guys, who
hadn’t found any worth taking, asked, “Where
did you find these?”
“Someone gave them to me”, Pete answered.
So, we had about a week, and then we were told
that we needed to leave. So we left the horses
that we had had up to then (one was lame and
the other one was very skinny from about two
months of traveling every day with very little
food). We proudly started with these new
horses. But we didn’t go very far, maybe about
two days.
Then we were told, “Go to the train station: a
train will take you.”
“Oh, what will I do with these horses?” thought
Pete.
All of us got to the train station.
The Germans looked at these horses and said,
“We’ll take them along. You’ll have to look after
them.”
“Oh yes!” said Pete.
He was in the wagon where the horses were kept
almost day and night. Whenever possible, he
watered the horses and got them food when the
train stopped. He even slept with them at night!
He only came to our wagon to eat, then was back
with the horses.
Then we got to Poland and were unloaded.
“But the horses will stay with us”, said the
soldiers. “We’ll give you a certificate for those
horses.”
A while later, we got a letter:
In exchange for your horses, you can redeem
this letter for a pair of shoes.
What? Only a pair of shoes?!
And mom would have to travel a day by train,
and pay for the train ticket there and back, to
pick up the shoes!
Well, she never went to pick up the shoes.
The Hitchhiker
It was such a beautiful day in the fall. Trees were
changing color, geese were flying south, and I
was supposed to paint the windows and I didn’t
feel like it.
So I told Shirley, “Let’s go for a ride!”
According to Richard, there was the best
hamburger place in Manitoba just outside of
Neepawa.
“Let’s head for Neepawa and go for a
hamburger there,” I said.
So we drove. We were more than halfway to
Neepawa when I said, “You know, we’re close to
the lake, but we haven’t seen any geese yet.
Fifteen to twenty years ago I was working beside
the lake here. There is a road going north. I
don’t remember what the number is, but it
should be here somewhere. It was close to the
lake; there were a lot of geese at this end of the
lake… ”
“Oh this is the road!”
So we turned down the road, and between five
and ten kilometers there were a few houses, so
we had to slow down. As we approached, a lady
came stumbling out of the ditch! She wanted to
hitchhike.
I don’t generally pick up hitchhikers when we
are both in the car.
But Shirley said, “Aren’t you going to pick her
up?”
“Okaaay.”
“Are you going to Amaranth?” the hitchhiker
said.
“Yes, that’s where were going. There used to be
a restaurant there, is it still there?” I asked.
“Oh yes, there is a good restaurant.”
“Ok, then we’ll go there.”
Then the hitchhiker started telling how mean
she had been towards her boyfriend. She also
complained that her landlord had not paid her
properly for the painting job she had done in the
house.
“Boy, when we leave, I will demolish that
apartment!”
I just said, “Well, maybe you should be especially
good and leave it cleaner than ever. That way,
your landlord will feel so guilty of what he did to
you. That would give you more satisfaction than
messing it up!”
She sat there for a while, quietly.
Then she said, “For God so loved the world that
He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in
Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life.
I believe that, I really do!”
“So do I”, I replied. “Did you go to Sunday
school?”
“No, to midweek school. Do you know a certain
lady from Portage-la-Prairie? She’s a real
Christian! I hear she’s going to move to
Amaranth in one of the low-rental houses.”
Then we got there and let her off.
“Remember this tomorrow”, I said. “God sent us
all the way from Winnipeg to take you home!”
Then we asked her, “Where is the restaurant?”
“Well it’s right here!” she replied.
I looked around and didn’t see any restaurant.
There was a hotel; surely she didn’t mean the
restaurant in the hotel!
Then she turned around and pointed to the
restaurant.
“It’s right there!”
Sure enough, the restaurant was beside the
hotel, but it was so low that it was barely visible
from the road. So we thanked her and walked in.
There were no customers there, but the cook
started making hamburgers for us, from scratch
of course. They were the best hamburgers I
have ever eaten!
When we were finished, we went to buy
something in Brandon. I told the clerk that we
had intended to go to Neepawa for hamburgers,
but had stopped in Amaranth instead.
The clerk replied, “Oh, the place in Neepawa
closed two years ago!”
God had used our plan to go to Neepawa so we
could meet this hitchhiker.
As we drove home, we saw geese flying
overhead. And the trees with the most beautiful
colors were on our street!
But I never did get those windows painted.
The Mushrooms
After the war, many refugees had fled Russia
because they did not want to be there. However,
the countries had agreed that all refugees would
be sent back to the country of their birth. So
most of the people from our village, including my
cousin and his family, were sent back.
My mother and I had been separated from my
three siblings while we were fleeing the Russian
invasion. My mother said she wouldn’t have gone
back, even if we had been together. I agreed. I
had been listening in when the Russian envoys
came.
I heard the villagers ask, “Will we get our cows
back?”
“You will get two cows!” the Russians answered.
“Will we be able to have horses?”
“You will have three horses!”

I said, “He’s lying.”
Many women had been separated from their
husbands, who were in the army. The women
expected the men to be sent back to Russia too,
where they would be reunited.

However, instead of being sent back to their
villages, they were sent to Siberia, in a forced
labour camp. This included my cousin’s family, the
Loewens.
Nonetheless, so that they wouldn’t starve, God
had made preparations. There had been a
bountiful potato crop that year. The locals
decided, “We can’t pick them all!”
“But where are we going to put them? We
haven’t got enough train cars to ship them.”

So they ploughed one row of potatoes on top of
the other row of potatoes, and only picked the
top ones. And then God sent an early snowfall, so
they could go into the field and pick up potatoes
all winter. So God always prepares, even if you
don’t recognize it.
But my cousin John – he didn’t like potatoes. His
sister asked him once, “You’ve never liked eating
potatoes.”
“Well, they didn’t taste good before. Here they
taste good”, he replied. He was hungry.

My cousin John was also sickly, and he wasn’t
doing that well. So one day, the camp director
told him, “Here is a day’s lunch for you. If you go
up that trail, I’ve heard there’s a lot of
mushrooms. You can take the day off and go pick
mushrooms.”
So John took his lunch and went to pick
mushrooms. At first he didn’t see anything, so he
kept on walking.
No mushrooms.
He walked a little further.
Still no mushrooms.
Then he saw something. What was that? He got
closer.
Oh, bones!
He went to take a good look at the bones…
Those were human bones!
He wasn’t sent to pick mushrooms… He was sent
to die. The idea was that he’d walk until he saw
mushrooms, and would be too far out to make it
back, and would die out there. Then the camp
director wouldn’t have to account for having so
many people die.
So John ate the last bit of food that he had,
turned around, and managed to walk back to
camp. God had taken care of him once more.

Eventually, after 10 years, the Loewens were
permitted to leave, and they went back to
Germany.
Cherry picking
One fall evening, as we were having supper, there
was a knock at the door. Katie went to answer.
“Who is it?” asked Mother.
“Oh, it’s just a beggar,” replied Katie.
But the lady at the door said, “Oh no, I am not a
beggar. Yes, it’s true that I am hungry and I have
no bread to eat. But if you give me some bread
now, you can come pick cherries at my place
when spring comes.”

Why the lady came to knock at our door that
night, I don’t know. We had the smallest house in
the village, and we were also the poorest family.
But Mother gave her some bread, and the lady
was off.

We forgot about this event, until one spring day,
we received a note saying,
THE CHERRIES ARE READY. COME AND PICK.
So Katie, Pete, and Henry took pails set out to the
address indicated in the note. Since I was the
youngest, I had to stay behind.
When they arrived at the lady’s house, the family
was having supper. But the lady simply said, “The
ladders are in the tree. You can go and pick.”
So they began to pick.

At first, it went like this: 2 cherries in the mouth,
then one in the pail.

Then Katie said, “Boys, we can’t eat this much.”
“Ok, ok.”
1 in the mouth, and 1 in the pail.
After a while, Katie said again, “Boys, we came
here to pick.”
“Fine, then.”
1 in the mouth, and 2 in the pail.
After they each had a pail full, they climbed
down the ladders.
Katie looked at the ground around the tree and
exclaimed, “Boys, look at all the cherry pits
around the tree! What will the lady say?”
Just then, they heard a noise.
KRRR-KRRR-KRRR
It was pigs!
They started eating all the cherry pits that were
on the ground. The evidence was gone!
Then, Katie and the boys went back to thank the
lady.
“Is that all the cherries you wanted?” asked the
lady.
“Oh, we could have taken more!” thought Katie.
But she was too ashamed to ask to go back, so
they thanked the lady and left.

I don’t remember if the cherries tasted good,
but I do remember the lesson of this story:

Just as the pigs came and ate all the cherry pits,
in the same way, God erases all our sin when we
ask his forgiveness.
The Watermelon
Story
Growing up, in the summer it was really hot and
us boys were used to walking around without
shoes or shirts to keep cool. There was also a
swimming pond at the other end of the village
where us children would go cool off and have
fun.
One summer day, Henry and I decided it would
be a good idea to go for a swim.
“Just make sure you get back before 4:00!” our
mother called out to us.
“Yes mother!”
On the way, we met a group of older boys.
“Where are you going?” asked one of the boys.
“We are off for a swim,” we replied.
“Well, that’s where we’re going too. Let’s go
together.”
On the way to the pool, there was a big
watermelon patch owned by the government. It
was protected by a guard in a tower.
As we passed by the watermelon patch, one of
the older boys asked, “Do you want some
watermelon?”
Well, juicy watermelon on a hot summer day!
There was just one problem:
“How are we going to get watermelon? The
guard has guns!”
“You just wait here!” One of the older boys said.

He laid down on his stomach and crawled into
the watermelon patch. A few minutes later he
crawled out of the patch with two big
watermelons!
None of us had a knife to cut them, so one of
the boys lifted them and smashed them over his
knee. Whack! The watermelon broke into big,
uneven chunks which we divided among us.
Oh! That watermelon! So sweet and juicy! The
juice dripped down our faces and onto our bare
chests.

After enjoying the watermelon, we were sticky.
Henry said, “Ok, now let’s go for a swim!”

But was getting late and we had been told to be
home for supper.
I reached out my arms to calculate what time it
was according to the position of the sun. I
aligned one hand, palm facing me, with the
horizon. Then I added another on top of it in the
same manner, and so on, until one hand was in
line with the sun.
1 hand… 2 hands…3 hands… and a half! This
meant there were 3 and a half hours left before
sunset.
It was already 3:30!
“Come on Henry! We need to get home or we will
be late!” I said.
“Oh don’t be so strict! Come swimming!” Henry
always liked to push the rules.

“We were told to be home! Do you want a
spanking?”
“Oh, fine then. We’ll go home.”

In those days, the roads were not paved; they
were made out of dirt. The dirt road home had
big potholes that would fill with dirt and dust. As I
made my way home I ran and jumped into the
holes as I passed, creating clouds of dust in the
air!
Pouf!
Pouf!
Pouf!
Pouf!
As we walked in the door, Mother asked, “Where
do you get the watermelon?”
“Ohhh.. uhhh… well… what watermelon…?”
“It wasn’t me!” I said.
But there was no negotiating with Mother. Quick
as a whip, my mother’s wooden slipper was off her
foot and in her hand. One after the other, she
bent us over her knee…

CLAP – CLAP – CLAP – CLAP

This was the sound of the slipper as it hit our rea
ends.

Owwwwww! I can still feel it!

But how did Mother know?
You see, just as Mother knew, so God knows
everything about us. And He knows even more
than Mother did, because He knows our hearts.
To be
continued…
Acknowledgments
Thank you to God for giving us such a wonderful
Opa and Oma.
Thank you, Opa and Oma, for always caring
about us, praying for us, and telling your stories.
Thank you to:
Kathryn, for drawing the front cover.
Kirsten, for drawing the watermelon, mushrooms,
carrots, hamburger, and pink shirt.
Jennifer, for drawing the horse.
Petra, for sharing the rhyme and drawing the
pumpkin.
Katya, for drawing the cherries.
Rikki, for writing the watermelon story.
Jasper, Kira, Torey, Rikki, Koralie, and Katya, for
writing the Birthday poem.
Koralie, for typing the stories and designing the
book.
Sabrina, Kris, Jennifer, Kathryn, Kirsten, Petra,
Rikki, Jasper, Kira, Torey, Katya, and Koralie, and
all of our parents, for being part of the family!Papa’s Stories
As told by John Bergen to his
grandchildren
I will always remember evenings at Gran and
Papa’s (or Oma and Opa’s). Cuddled up on
mattresses in the basement, or in the living
room with chocolate-chip popcorn, a few of us
grandkids would ask, “Papa, tell us a story!”
And he would ask us, “Which story do you
want?”
“The watermelon story!”
“Ok, ok. Settle down.
One summer day, Henry and I decided it would
be a good idea to go for a swim…”
And so it was, and still is, every time I visit my
grandparents.
Thank you so much, Gran and Papa, Oma and
Opa, for always making life fun!

Victor’s life as seen by John Bergen

His daily nourishment, which is a must/ so mind and equipment will show no rust./ Oatmeal porridge is a good start,/ Meat and potatoes is also smart./ Commodity prices and farm farm report / complete the meal better than sport./ His charts of fields / with rains and yields/ are something to be admired./ To see it all from years and years/ got Donna Lee inspired./ Work he does with fervor and zest/ No mention of either pain or rest./ He’s rarely smurking,/ yet behind his eyes humor is lurking./ We hear it every now and then,/ but only when there’s a lull/ so he can….. be heard./ His words are few/ but, oh, so true.

Tribute to Victor Koslowsky

The Orphan’s Cry

I cried when Mother died
one dark night
in the morning she lay cold and still
holding a baby just as cold and still
	I was ten 
	I did not understand.

after the funeral some men came,
not to cry, but to help, they said,
“Your children are half orphans. You
don’t want them to be poor orphans, too, 
so give Das Waisenamt* one half your assets
in cash.”
	Father gasped.
He had barely enough to feed his five children.
	where would he find the money?
“That’s your business!
 The forefathers decreed this is the best way to look after children.”
so he sold some cattle and some land and
gave Das Waisenamt half of what he earned

Father married a widow with three children. 
She had given Das Waisenamt half of all she had.	. 
 She was a good stepmother 
	we worked 
	we sang and laughed

then Father died from typhoid fever
suddenly
again Das Waisenamt knocked at our door
“One half of your property belonged to your husband. 
It now belongs to us so we can help his children later.”
Stepmother cried and cried
how would she feed the children with no farm?

The wise men of the village advised her 
to give up her husband’s children
to let them be ADOPTED by kind folks.
Not to worry
	she tried hard but could not keep us
	I was fifteen
	just the right age to be a good maid
	Brother was seventeen
	he made a good hired hand
we left our poor home, lived with rich people                                                  
	but alas, became their slaves.
Brother wanted to go to school in the winter
	but there was no time.
	if he shirked he got the whip

Brother ran away and found a wife
and truly, money appeared,
        mysteriously.
	He bought a small farm

I worked and worked
ten long years.
when I found a man
I sneaked away to get married
and received money, unexpectedly. 

We bought a small farm 
with the money my parents 
	had been forced to give 
	Das Waisenamt
	
So a new life began
	we had a family of our own
	and we were happy

But I lay awake at night wondering 
about children
Sometimes
about a child I never knew
one born to me long ago.
the rich ones took him from me when I was eighteen
gave him for ADOPTION. 
then only God heard my pain
God alone.
	now you too have heard me
	I cry no more
	I cry no more.

 Shirley B. Bergen
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*The Orphan’s Fund – former Mennonite Charitable Organization 
Published in Winkler Heritage Happenings Jan/09
With confirmation from article in Mennonite Encyclop.