Jeannie (Greta) Gellert (Nagoya 1976-1977)
Jeannie with the long blonde hair (1954-1980) was a sweet,
loving, helpful animal and people-lover. She absolutely adored horses and owned
her own in Laie, Hawaii. Upon our return from our
Study Abroad semester in Jerusalem following our missions, she was deciding
between nursing and veterinary medicine while working with a veterinarian.
Prior to our Jerusalem experience, Jeannie served a full-time mission in
Nagoya, Japan. When we arrived together in snowy, frozen Kanazawa, I stepped
off the train and was certain that I had learned the wrong language in the LTM.
Jeannie was like a fish to water, so adept and at ease. She was a natural-born
missionary, wanting to share her testimony with all she encountered, even on
our trip home from Jerusalem she managed to find interested people to teach.
Jeannie was killed in a tragic car accident in 1980 along
with her mother and grandmother. The three were returning from Honoluluon the Kahekili Highway
near the Valley of the Temples when another car crossed the center line. She
will be greatly missed on this side of the veil. --Paula I. Nielson
The following article was written by Heidi Hanza, the next younger sister of Jeannie. It talks about
the incidents surrounding the tragic death of Jeannie, her mother and grandmother
in 1980. Jeannie's father, Herbert Gellert, passed
away in July of 2005.
It was one of life's great phone calls. I was almost ready
to give birth, and my parents called from Hawai'i ecstatic about the arrival of
their first grandchild. We excitedly made plans for their visit after the baby
was born.
My new husband and I were living in Lima, Peru, far from
Hawai'i, where I had been raised and where my family still lives. Mom had
always wanted to be a grandma, and she talked enthusiastically about finding
just the right gift for the coming child. She had been busy making baby clothes
and booties. I hung up the phone feeling invigorated. My mom's life was so
full. She was teaching school and caring for my eighty-nine-year-old
grandmother. She was also helping my older sister Jeannie prepare
for veterinary school, Jeannie's lifelong dream. I only hoped I could convey
some of my mom's spirit to my new child.
The following Monday night, about nine in Hawai'i, my mom,
Jeannie and my grandmother were on their way home from Honolulu. Unknown to
them, a young father was out celebrating the birth of his new baby with
friends. Intoxicated, he also was on his way home and was driving too fast for
a rainy night. Their cars met head-on. My mom, sister and grandmother were
killed instantly. The young father was hospitalized and then released.
My dad, at home alone in the windward town of La'ie, was wondering why his family was so late in getting
home. At about eleven that night the phone rang. It was a police officer who
informed him of the deaths of his beloved wife, oldest daughter and
mother-in-law. After the call, he went into the bedroom, where he felt himself
going cold and into shock. In search of someone to help, he immediately went to
the home of his bishop. Together they wept and prayed for the strength to
endure the tragic events of the day. Then my dad went home to break the news to
my younger brother.
The next few days were filled with preparations for one
joint funeral. When friends learned of the tragedy, they brought food, cut the
grass, cleaned or just kept company. These gestures of aloha from friends and
neighbors were comforting. Yet I felt devastated. Mom had died without
fulfilling her dream of being a grandparent. And my child would never know her
incredible, loving grandmother, her vivacious aunt, or her wise, sparkly
great-grandmother.
Again and again, we replayed the details of the accident.
How could the other driver walk away from such a serious crash without a
scratch? Why had he been drinking and driving? Why did this happen to us?
These questions haunted my father as he faced day after day
of unfathomable loss. He felt that his anger and hurt would consume him
completely unless he did something about it. My dad finally knew what he had to
do: he would make arrangements to meet with this man.
A week after his first grandchild was born, my dad drove to
the home of the man who had caused our family so much anguish and grief and
introduced himself. The atmosphere was understandably tense. But my father
sensed the young man was suffering enormously, too - not from injuries suffered
in the accident, but from the devastating guilt he felt. And then my dad
understood why he felt compelled to go there that day.
My dad offered to give him a blessing, and the young father
accepted.
The power of what happened in those moments between those
two men will never be fully understood by those of us who were not there. But
before leaving, my dad was able to put his arms around this man who had killed
three members of his family. As they hugged, both men broke down and wept
freely.
That blessing, so difficult to give, so painful to receive,
changed the lives of both families forever. Now, two little children can grow
up in homes free of hatred, free of guilt. My dad had found the most perfect
baby gift of all.
Photo is of Jeannie's family upon her return from her
mission in Nagoya, Japan in 1977 (l-r Herbert, Jeannie, Barbara, Holly, Heidi,
Herbert Jr.). Submitted by Paula I.
Nielson (Nagoya 1976-1977)
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