Godspeed, Gisela

My surrogate mom passed away overnight.

Gisela Biloschaetzke (don’t even try to pronounce it…) was a funny, feisty German woman, the mother of a guy who’s been a family friend for years. She lived in my neighborhood and as she aged, I ended up helping her once in a while – washing and rolling her hair, "spotting" her as she showered so she wouldn't fall – stuff her two grown sons were understandably shy about doing.

In the process, we became great friends. I’d sometimes go over with every intention of cleaning the house, but Gisela would spread her photo albums across the kitchen table and we’d spend a couple of hours talking about Germany instead, where my family also lived for three years.

It was fascinating to hear about her childhood, being sent away as a teen to work on a farm. Then, as a young bride, Gisela emigrated to the U.S. and settled with her husband Horst in California. On his hunting trips, he fell in love with Idaho, so that’s where they ended up, on wooded, rural acreage outside Boise.

Their self-sufficient lifestyle required lots of stamina and ingenuity, and Gisela was the perfect partner for the challenge. Trained as a seamstress, she also knew how to tend livestock, garden and can foods, and she was an amazing cook. After Horst died, she reluctantly moved "into town" to be closer to her son Steve.

This photo sparks one of my favorite memories of Gisela. In August last year, we had lunch together and watched the total solar eclipse. She said (in her thick, German accent), "It looks just like a cookie that someone took a bite out of!"

Today, it feels like someone took a bite out of my heart. I held Gisela's hand the day before she left us and told her how much I love her. It was a privilege to be her friend.