The Godmother, 2

I FOUND my godmother.

I hadn’t seen her since we moved to Cebu from Germany about 22 years ago. If you’ve been following this little corner the past few weeks, you’ll know that I’d been looking for and wanting to see her again while I’m in Germany.

It was a wild hunt trying to track down my godmother. After my father passed, we lost all means of communication with my godparents. My dog ate our only handwritten address book and nothing was really left. Except for Google.

I found my godmother online. Her address and phone number were listed. I had my doubts if the number worked and delayed the call up until Nikolaustag, the feast day of Saint Nicholas—one of my favorite celebrations as a child (you get gifts and chocolates!). My boyfriend and I were enjoying traditional Christmas dinner in Berlin when we decided to try the number out.

To my surprise, it rang. And a few quick rings later, someone picked up. It was her!

Her voice sounded exactly the same as it did 22 years ago. After stumbling through my German breathlessly and her surprised cries from the other line, we agreed to call each other again in a few days when I’m in Mannheim.

We called her again once we made it to Mannheim earlier this week. After a couple of missed attempts to get in touch with her (and our departure dates drawing closer!), we finally agreed to meet up a day before my boyfriend and I flew back home.

My godmother and I were to meet at 1 p.m., right under the big clock at Paradeplatz. She said she wasn’t sure how I looked after all those years and meeting under the clock would be easier. It felt like a scene straight out of the movies.

After a few minutes of waiting under the clock, we spotted each other. Even after years of separation, we easily recognized each other.

“I knew it was you,” she later told me. Even if I was just a child the last time she saw me, she knew exactly it was me.

I knew it was her, too. She still is as extra now as she was all those years ago. Her hair perfectly coifed, fluffy black scarf, pearl necklace and leather gloves. Her tiny yellow heels clicked loudly against the cobbled pavement as she pulled us toward one of her favorite restaurants—a Greek one, of course.

She said that staying in touch with just a landline wouldn’t do and just like the always prepared godmother she was, she slid over a perfectly cut square sheet of paper with her address and cellphone number. She added she’d have internet access installed at home so we could Skype, too.

Lunch was brief since she had other appointments, which included time with her boyfriend and siblings so she could tell them all about our meeting. An hour and a half were not enough to catch up on 22 missed years. But it was a perfect time to reconnect and find family again.

She said that I should be back next year—her home was waiting for me to stay at, stories, and a perfect home-cooked meal would be ready. Germany really is home.

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