Do It While You Still Can

Our eyes are fixed on the exit of the arrivals hall without interruption. Not only is Joy restless, but Eus and I are too. It takes a moment, and then I see my parents turning the corner, their eyes searching in our direction. Four pairs of eyes meet each other. Four pairs of hands shoot up. I would have loved to run to them, but that area is off-limits. Dad walks a bit stooped but strides nicely with his 88 years, holding my mother firmly by the arm. On both their faces, I see a broad smile. Then comes the long-awaited moment, eight arms wrapped around each other like a tangle of spaghetti as Joy jumps in and around them. Is that not joy?

Zest for Life

“How was your trip?” I ask. In the meantime, we try to liberate their luggage from them, but that’s quite difficult. My parents are used to doing everything themselves. Independence is a great good for them. We’re so caught up in our world of reunion that we don’t even notice we are blocking the path for passersby. Observing my parents, I can see they haven’t changed much; their eyes still shine with zest for life.

Letting Go

Once on the bus, the stories start to flow, a torrent of words. Themes clash over each other. We have so much to talk about, even though we regularly call each other. I sit with my back to the road so I can see my parents well in the dark, hand in hand in the middle row. It’s moving. “The trip was excellent. An hour and a half of playtime from Schiphol station to the gate was plenty of time,” my father says with a cheeky smile.

Each time, I urge them to plan more time for this. Once, they almost missed the flight because someone jumped in front of the train. A good lesson in letting go; my advice falls on deaf ears. After all, they have caught every flight so far.

Wealth

What a wealth it is that I can still share all my stories and experiences with my parents. They empathize with the tension I feel because a dear friend of mine has just had surgery and is waiting for results. They do their best to listen well; my father turns his better ear towards me to catch everything. We also laugh a lot together; it comes naturally.

As if Struck by Lightning

This shared happiness has unfortunately not always been the case. Due to an accident during our vacation in 1970, my father lost his beloved wife, and I lost my mother. As a six-year-old, you don’t process everything consciously, but it tore the family apart.

Everyone tried as best they could to survive, each on their lonely island. In those days, there was no social worker visiting. Not at all in Friesland. The motto was: ‘face forward, shoulder through, life goes on’. Fortunately, my father met a new woman. “I prayed for a beacon, and the next day she was there,” he tells, moved as he reflects on that time.

From Fragmentation to Unity

Being independent, as a form of survival, has brought me far. Until I could go no further and had to process this blow from my early childhood at the age of thirty. First by letting uncried tears flow, and then by writing. What was fragmented slowly became a unity, as did the bond with my parents.
At the Art of Joy, this beautiful place where guests share so much, the right moment unexpectedly arose. Experiences from the past were discussed openly with my parents, feelings shared while we held each other. “What lost time that we haven’t talked about all this earlier,” my mother sobbed.

Now Is the Time

Unfortunately, we cannot make up for lost time, but we cherish every moment we can be together. Why such a heavy story on a Sunday morning? If there’s anything you want to share with someone, without blame, that makes you feel free, if you want to break the ice and pick up the pieces together, look at them and then embrace each other? If you want to tie loose ends together again, do it now. While you still can.