Margaret of Hungary: My Promise Kept

This year for Wally and Pat: People of the Spirit's Hospitality:

It's that time of year again.  Every Fall I have kept a promise to remember Margaret of Hungary.  All my former students know of this story.
I met her at the end of her journey.  Because my day was spent in Chemistry classes and afternoon labs I worked at night as a crisis caregiver [back then there was no such thing as caregiver businesses that have exploded today!] caring for patients right after they returned home from the hospital.  She had endured a massive stroke and needed constant care.  Her son was a professor of physiology at the medical school and had arranged for the care through the university hospital.
The first night was a nightmare for her, I am sure.  I was not certain how to understand her and she was dead weight.  I swung her onto the side of the bed to help her scoot to the potty chair, trying to make out what she was saying.  Then it hit me.  She had an accent!  I said, "You're Eastern European!"  I was just relieved because it gave me something to aid in understanding her speech.
Until that moment Margaret was just a jelly blob in suffering, but she sat up with her chin high, eyes flashing, and retorted: "I am Hungarian!"  I smiled.  Then, so did she.  Over the next week, she had me pull out her family picture album and then trusted me with her story.
Before WWII the young, Jewish, beautiful, intelligent, talented Margaret lived in Budapest.  She was small with bright eyes and her hair was black.  She was also a concert violinist.  She married a doctor and professor of anatomy and physiology at the university.  They had a beautiful life with children until the Nazis came.
They all were transported in box cars to Auschwitz, where her husband and children remained.  She was sent on to Ravensbruck.
They survived until 1957 when the Russians invaded Hungary and killed her husband.  She was smuggled out of Hungary.  She was terrified and spent months in Algiers waiting for her son to bring her to the U.S. where she could live with him.  She finally made it.
They kept their window shades down, even in that small university town.  They were worried about her so they took her to the senior center down street.  I know it well.  It used to be the city library and was directly across from my classroom where I taught honors' chemistry.  The first day she waited at a table alone waiting for the noon meal to begin.  A man came through the door and sat down across from her. Already nervous she was further unnerved by his smiling stare.  Then he laughingly said, pointing to the tatooed number on her arm, "And you just thought you could get away from us here!"
She became hysterical and was incoherent when her son arrived to get her.  She never went out again alone.
I can only say that we both cried together for a long time.
Margaret became weaker and when it was time for me to leave, I bravely fought back tears.  She squeezed my hand and I bent down and whispered, "I promise to remember."  And I always have.
G-d Bless You, dear Margaret.  I cannot even begin to explain how you have enriched and blessed my life.  I thank G-d for allowing me to be entrusted with your tender life even for such a short time.