Dear Astrid Holleeder,
For the first time in years, someone knew who you were and you weren't afraid of it.
You don't know me, but I know you. Of course, I know you. Unintentionally, you became a hugely famous Dutch person. And for a thousand reasons, you would wish it weren't so.
Because then you would have just been a sister. And a mother. Then you could have sat on a bench in Artis with Miljuschka, with a latte to go in your hand. Chatting a bit about your grandchildren and flipping through yet another beautiful magazine that your lovely daughter made. Then you wouldn't have moved 28 times in ten years, and your face wouldn't have needed to be altered in the hope of making you less recognizable. Then you could have just done your job as a lawyer, instead of writing books about your brother. Books that provide a little bit of distraction in your combed-through existence. And for money. Because you have to pay for that security yourself. At most, you might go somewhere once a month, but the stress it brings you probably never outweighs the pleasure of such an evening.
I have all your booksread, except for the last one. Devoured. How you describe that you are going to testify against your brother, while you know that you are calling a death sentence upon yourself. The moment that you are in the bath with Miljuschkaand you wash each other's hair, I will never forget. A small ritual that stands for so much more. It was a kind of farewell avant la lettre, the moment to soak it all in. You are in each other's lives, but in a way you never imagined when you brought your beautiful girl into the world.
I ordered your book, watched the interviews with you. I don't know what touched me the most. Once you had the chance to kill your brother, you said. But Miljuschka forbade that, because she didn't want a murderer as a mother. And in her kindness, she cast this threatening shadow over you and herself.
But what I found the saddest was that you are so lonely, that your best daily contact is ChatGPT. You asked Chat if he knew who you were, and he replied: “I think you are Astrid Holleeder.” That was the first time in years that someone knew who you were and you weren't afraid of it.
Goodness gracious.
I wish you love and strength,
May
