I finally found the name of the woman who took care of me as a baby.
She was the first person outside my family whom I learned to love. I was told to call her "Baba," which is Grandma in Czechoslovakian. She left when I was about two. My parents couldn't remember her real name except for "Annie."
She took care of me. She loved me. And I loved her.
When my parents purchased our family home two years before I was born, Baba was part of the deal. No Baba, no house.
I was two years old when I came into my bedroom and found her not only outside the window, cleaning the glass, but standing on the roof (second floor) which was sloped. I ran to get my mother to "save" Baba.
I found her name on a very old check when I cleaned out the papers when I was getting ready to sell our house after my father died.
I finally got on Ancestry and I "found" her. Not much information, but enough. I have the address where she lived. I have her obituary (1979). I now know that I'm about the same age as when she took care of me. I have the location of her gravesite which I fully intend to visit.
I know this is a bit obsessive, but her presence in my life at such an early age was huge. I always wondered what happened to her. After all, you just don't call anyone "Baba."
= new reply since forum marked as read
While I'm sure you weren't expecting her to still be alive, at least you can put a name to her. How nice of you to visit her final resting place. For you to still have feelings for her after all these years, she must have been a very special person.
