From Pictures to Reality (continued)
Katherine Koch and her father, Gary Koch
stand before the grave of Fr. Viktor Koch, C.P.
We arrive in Schwarzenfeld around noon on Wednesday May 10th. Our exuberant guide, Herr Peter Bartmann, takes us to the Miesberg, where Fr. Viktor built a Passionist novitiate house beside the towering pilgrimage church seventy years ago. Moments after my family and I wander into a circular, stone-paved courtyard, the monastery's arched wooden door creaks open, revealing our welcoming committee: a procession of priests dressed in ankle-length black robes bearing the embroidered Passionist symbol in white, along with townspeople dressed in their Sunday best. Their leader is a benevolently smiling priest wearing dark-tinted glasses, and in a serene, softly accented voice, he introduces himself as Fr. Gregor Lenzen, C.P., Provincial of the Passionist German Foundation.
As I acquaint myself with Fr. Viktor's present-day successor, I'm peripherally aware of the procession drifting into the sunlit courtyard, greeting my family and collecting around me in patient circles. I've never met these friendly strangers, and yet the eager warmth radiating from their broad smiles convinces me otherwise. A mysterious familiarity binds us.
"Katherine?" A middle-aged, blond-haired woman gently touches my arm, her bright blue eyes sparkling behind smart, gold-rimmed glasses. "I'm Irmi Ehrenreich!" I stand agape, embracing her: like a magician's incantation, that jubilant announcement transforms this stranger into my godsend research contact who answered countless emails over the past two years. Next she introduces additional memorable names magically bounding out of a parallel, text-based universe into reality - Frau Rita Wittleben, who composed a detailed letter describing Fr. Viktor's vital role in establishing the St. Nikolaus Apothecary; Schwarzenfeld's historian, Herr Oswald Wilhelm, who spent long hours behind his keyboard, emailing answers to my endless lists of questions; and our Passionist contact at the Miesberg monastery, Pater Klemens Hayduck, C.P. Finally, I encounter a face I instantly recognize, Passionist Archives Director Fr. Rob Carbonneau, C.P., who swept me under his wing after last year's visit to the Archives and mentored me along this rugged journey into history. I stand back and absorb it all, the Miesbergkirche's picturesque steeple towering against a blue-white sky - no longer a photo, but reality - my family and I surrounded by friends new and old, gathered near the marble plaque honoring our heroic ancestor. Are we really here? I wonder. A dreamlike quality pervades the scene.
"Shall we proceed with the wreath laying ceremony?" Fr. Gregor suggests at length. A reverent hush descends over the crowd, and en masse, we follow him past a crosslaced, black iron gate to the Miesberg's enclosed cemetery grounds, where another momentous introduction is about to take place. Each step across the courtyard's cobblestone walkway brings me closer to another sight I've beheld in photographs and video footage, a silent row of granite memorial stones peacefully nestled amid pillow bushes and prim flower gardens. The instant my traveling gaze falls upon Fr. Viktor's grave marker glistening in the afternoon sunlight, I stand transfixed, a knot swelling in my throat. This unexpected wave of emotion mystifies me. Is it a delayed reaction to meeting people I've known only in the virtual sense? I ask myself, or pure bliss at the realization that, after spending five long months planning this trip, I've actually arrived in Schwarzenfeld?
Upon further reflection, I sense that the reason behind my impending tears runs far deeper than the fulfillment of eager expectations: since 2003, I've researched an ancestor who, from my perspective, existed only in stories, photographs, and typewritten letters. Although I'd established a profound emotional connection with him as a writer and family member, he always remained confined inside the boundaries of my vivid imagination. This marker bears tangible proof that Fr. Viktor is more than an engaging protagonist from a story evolving within the recesses of my creative mind. A flesh and blood human being, he once walked the grounds where I presently stand, and at this moment his earthly remains are physically here, separated from me only by a few meters of earth.
Those crisply engraved letters, "P. Viktor C.P., Nikolaus Koch," so entranced me that I barely register the rustling behind me as my father and Peter Bartmann hoist a wreath brimming with palm leaves and fresh cut flowers onto the grave site. I hasten to my father's side and assist, straightening a silky white bow tousled by spring breezes so that the message in elaborate gold lettering, "From his grateful and admiring family and friends in America and Germany," is visible to cameras digitally capturing this scene in minute detail. The whole time I perceive myself moving mechanically, for I'm still captivated by that granite stone and its inscription. The powerful forces of reality surging from the grave marker intensify when I draw near, and as my trembling hand rests upon its cool, gritty surface, the tears of joy at meeting Fr. Viktor finally begin to flow.
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