Yesterday I got a message from my sister, she wanted to let me know what she had shared on Facebook. Because she knew I no longer had a Facebook account, she copied her message and forwarded it to me via WhatsApp. Now you might think, what's so important about that? But she wanted to let me know that she had shared a message in honor of our mom. Yesterday was the day that Mom would have turned 84. Unfortunately, she didn't make it. She died in 2007 from COPD. My sister's message pushed me against my will, to face that hard fact again. Honestly, I hadn't thought about it myself yesterday. That's because I try not to get stuck in those days. In my way, I think about both my parents often enough, but not specifically on their birthday or the day they died ... even though they are no longer here, they are still always a part of my life.
And though I got the idea to write a blog for her today through my sister's message, I don't want to remember her in sadness today either. But precisely the sweet, cheerful woman she always was. Thinking back to how she always danced through life laughing, as long as she could. Those moments, and that soft, cheerful character of hers, that's what I want to remember. Not the sad times when she was just a shadow of who she had always been.
Mom was not someone who thought for hours about complicated life questions. She loved simplicity and was happy with small things. She also knew exactly how to make others happy. She was always there for everyone, never forgot anyone, and did everything with an enormous dose of love. And had the greatest fun with small things. And when she laughed, you couldn't help but join in. Everyone loved her and it was always a sweet visit to our home. Every day my mother had someone over for tea.
She loved animals, even though she was a lung patient and actually shouldn't have pets, she couldn't refuse when my sister and I wanted pets. So, with our mother's permission, I got a canary for my birthday, later our mother went with my sister and me to a rabbit breeder to buy a rabbit for each of us. And finally, when I was 11, the dog we so desired came into our home. And what everyone expected, our mother also lost her heart to Remco. It didn't take long before she was the one who spoiled him the most. And when Remco had to be rehomed because he didn't accept children, and also dared to bite, my mother cried even more than I did. Years later, I stubbornly picked up another dog from a farm. Dad and Mom had both said that I wasn't allowed, but when I came home with the dog, she was completely sold within a few minutes. And again we cried together when this time it turned out that it wasn't going to work. This time because mom had lung problems from the dog. She thought it was terrible for me and the dog. That dog also got a good home, by the way.
Our mother's caring nature knew no bounds. She was always there when we came home from school, with tea and sandwiches. What I remember so well is that when I was sick, she did everything to cheer me up. Extra groceries for juices, special meals, and always a new book to read. Thanks to her, I devoured the entire series of "The Five" by Enid Blyton. She spoiled me as much as she could and never made a big deal about it. She enjoyed being able to do those things. It was just who she was.
But the best thing about her was her humor. One time, my girlfriend and I were playing with a cargo bike in the garage. We hardly had any room, but we tried to cycle with it anyway. Mom came in and decided to sit in the box for fun. We cycled back and forth, only a meter forward and back because we didn't have any more room. But the longer we did that, the harder she laughed. Eventually, she couldn't get out of the box because she was laughing so hard - and yes, she even wet herself laughing. Of course, we couldn't stop laughing.
Or that time on New Year's Eve, when she had drunk a bit too much Moselle. My mother rarely drank, but when she did, it was Moselle. As she walked home from the neighbors, she sang: "I would so much like to have a Moselle, holadijee, holadijo." At home, on the couch,h she said seriously: "I'm going 400 kilometers an hour." That face, and that statement ... I will never forget it. How we laughed that evening.
Another thing is that they went on trips every year during the holidays with an uncle and aunt and our dad, when we were young we always went along of course. But later the four of them went away. For example, they went to Drenthe once, and at that time I had just bought my first digital camera. A 5-megapixel, and how proud I was of it! I said to my mother, "Take that camera and take some pictures!" My mother thought it was fun too and took the camera with her. When they got home I was waiting with excitement and of course, immediately uploaded the pictures she had taken to my computer. I was so curious about what they had seen. In the end, it turned out that my mom was a star in photographing people without heads, and we didn't see much of the surroundings either. One of the few pictures that turned out well was the one my dad had taken of Mom. That was also something we often teased her about.
She lives on in all those memories. Her laugh, her caring, and her warmth. She was unique, and those little moments will stay with me forever. Those are the things I want to remember her by, every day ... every moment.
