As a tribute to my small international audience (yes my dears from USA, Pakistan, Ghana, Chili, Portugal, Indonesie, etc. I'm watching you ;) )I'll post my first log after one month of silence in English. As you know I still feel ashamed about my poor vocabulary, about my hesitations in grammar and the lack of any British nor native accent. In my curriculum vitae you will find a proud note that I'm a fluent speaker of the language of 'angels' (In Dutch English is 'Engels' while our word for angel is written like its singular form 'engel'), but when you meet me, you encounter a soft blending of European Spanglish with a huge Belgian taste in the throat. Future employers, please do note take not of this...
I have too many things to say. Maybe even too personal to formulate in proper English. How can I announce what happened the day after my last log. This log will appear as directly after the 18th of february, a day that brought me doubts and blue thoughts. But for what? What was my right to think about my own existential never-ending question marks on that single day, the day before. You never know what will happen next. Maybe it's easy to write from the point where I stand now in my life, in time. Seeing it all as a story, because you know the rest of the storyline. There exists a name for it, which I can't remember... I shall call it the ...-error. What would I have done if I had known it the day before? Would I have been writing clumsy weblogs about my miserable studentlife? Probably not. And now? How can I write now about the way I miss my future-brother-in-law Geert since he's been gone. Pieter is able to find the right words to express his feelings, even during Canadian chat sessions. And it makes me jealous that his chatfriend comes across with the right words too. At least he perceives them as the precise words to console him. This kind of moments make me feel as a thin young tree, strong in appearance with potentials to grow, but weak and breakable when the wind blows too roughly one day. She will nearly loose her balance in her attempt to support the bowing branches of her beloved ‘tree friends’ who woke up in the centre of the storm and saw the most protected and cared member of their own little forest broken in the hands of the bare earth.
It’s still surrealistic to write about the days before and after the funeral. Pieter returned from Groningen directly after the bad news. That same Tuesday he was lying in my arms for some moments. His father brought him all the way and stayed calm but with broken words he told us the story which he had to repeat over and over again the following days.
I felt guilty because of the days before. On Friday I wanted to catch Pieter by surprise and pick him up at the railway station. That morning Geert was taken to the hospital because of some unusual, but small epileptic attacks. I got the news of the hospitalization right on my way to the railway station His mother kept repeating that the epileptic disorder was a family trait and she was afraid she passed her worst genes on her son.
My first reaction was one of shock. An epileptic attack did sound very dangerous in my ears. But because his mother was almost sure it was the outbreak of a family disorder already shimmering under his skin for 24 years which could be taken under control by daily medication, I was slightly relieved and started to mourn because the surprise for Pieter needed to be cancelled. Instead we went to the hospital, where we made him smile by our company. He greeted us with the same enthusiasm as always. You would say he was alright again, that the hospitalization hadn’t been necessary and as he himself assured me he would leave the hospital to go home maybe even the next day (with some medication). On Saturday Pieter stayed at our home, just like any other week. We watched a movie (I believe it was Ghandi) and we went to the last sale of the town library as a morning surprise. We stayed in touch by phone with Pieters parents, who told us Geert had to stay one more day for some observations, but on the first scan there was apparently nothing wrong. On Monday we still had some chat talk about daily quandaries and the next day I got a terrible phonecall from Pieter. I could hear his voice trembling as he spoke: “something very sad happened, Geert has died suddenly this morning.” One moment I thought I couldn’t breath. I didn’t want to think about psychology, but in my heart I felt the different feelings come by: denial, anger, grief and a long way to go to acceptance. No words would do during that phone call and I kept repeating ‘oh no’, while searching for just some words which could bring some … something.
I don’t know what more I said, probably practical things (the cause, what now?; the funeral, …) The show had to go on. The next day I still had to go to school for some hours, just to not get behind. Anyway I couldn’t concentrate and counted the minutes to be close to Pieter.
What can I call that weekend? On Thursday and Friday everybody came to greet the body, which was placed in the living room. On Saturday was the official funeral. Except from a poem, written for Geert, I felt like I couldn’t offer more. What could I give them? Pieter and his parents? Someone to speak to, someone to hug , a shoulder to lean on, to play and feel free for a moment? But did Pieter want my small support, just an empty grasp of hugs and tender caresses, but no solution… Impossible. Just on that day we celebrated in whispering silence our 4-year love-anniversary. It’s strange how it all comes together: love and grief, expectations and endings; special day of love and date on the graveyardstone, tears and the first rain of early spring…
Since the month that passed, I feel even more connected. When I fondle you, the magic feels irrationally real. You’re touchable close sometimes and I love the confirmation you’re still with me. As long as you don’t leave me, I know we’re safe together. But just understand that I sometimes have to follow the signs, that my fate begs for scaffolding and Shall-I-Call-It-God helps me to foresee which direction to go. Please don’t think I’ll run out of sight… I’ll just take you with me.. in my backpack.
Good night and take care of yourself and the others,
Love,
Veerle
