Quarterlife Diaries: ‘Where I used to look forward to the day, I now struggle to get off my couch and drive to the office.’
In Quarterlife Diaries neem ik je wekelijks mee in alle dingen waar ik, als bijna 30-jarige, tegenaan loop. Om mijn hart te luchten vooral, maar ook om iedereen die samen met mij in het Quarterlife-bootje zit een hart onder de riem te steken. Je bent namelijk absoluut niet alleen. Deze week: love and grief.
It hits me at the most strange moments, that intensely sad, almost paralyzing feeling of grief. Where I once looked forward to the day, I now struggle to get off my couch and drive to the office. I curse the version of myself that thought yesterday that I could fill up my tank today and then stop by the supermarket, because now it all feels impossible. In an attempt not to cry off my freshly applied makeup, I get up anyway. Just need to push through now.
It's not strange that this feeling exists. Where we lost our dear grandma in May 2022, grandpa followed her about three months ago., With love, I must add. He truly couldn't wait to be reunited with his great love and was convinced that it would happen.
They met in 1952. Grandma was 18, grandpa 23. They worked at the same company and, after months of exchanging glances, were introduced to each other by a colleague. In all the years they were together, they never agreed on who looked at whom first. Oh, what did it matter: it was the beginning of the most beautiful love story I have ever heard.
Together they traveled all over Europe on a motorcycle in the 1950s (unmarried, which caused many raised eyebrows at the time), fell asleep hand in hand every night, and after they married in 1958 (grandma in a short dress: even more raised eyebrows), they had two children. My uncle and my mother were raised with love, patience, and attention, something my sister and I also received later, for which we are eternally grateful. Our loving upbringing all started there, with those two people on the motorcycle.
That love lasted almost 70 years, until it was time for grandma to go. Although they had always been pragmatic about the fact that life eventually ends, my grandpa was amputated from that moment on. He was 93 by then, and his great love, best buddy, and reason for living had been taken from him. He really tried to make the best of it, but a love that strong just shouldn't fall apart.
Ten months after grandma's passing, it was also time for grandpa to go. We all knew it. On the last day of his life, we gathered one last time with our family, or our ‘little group’, as grandma always affectionately called us. Grandpa felt like the richest king with all his family around him one last time and was briefly himself again. He was no longer consumed by grief, for he knew that the reunion with his great love was closer than ever. We sat there all day, one by one at his bedside. We had valuable conversations that I will never forget and we were at peace with the fact that we had truly said everything to each other. He was ready to go and pressed upon us: ‘If the love is great enough, then the separation can only be temporary.’ Not long after, he fell asleep and was finally where he wanted to be: with grandma.
It's okay, I know that too. Death is simply part of life and I am grateful every day that I was able to have them with me for so long. They enriched our lives in a way that I would never want to miss. They gave us a legacy of love that can only multiply endlessly. Yet I miss them terribly and moments like this completely overwhelm me with the sadness that comes with such a great loss. Fortunately, I manage to pull myself together and get in the car. I always take them with me, those two. I don't need to stay home for that. Moreover, continuing with my life is the least I can do for them. They were so incredibly proud of everything we did that it would be strange to put a stop to that just because we happen to be a little sad. So here I am, writing this story at the office, while I slowly land and bravely swallow my tears with the knowledge that they are watching proudly (and undoubtedly hand in hand). And that love? That is still there, everywhere.
