I was 16 years and we were finally going back to visit “the old country.” We hadn’t been back to Amsterdam in six years and we knew from experience how much can change in such a short time.
My aunt and her husband picked us up from the airport and took us to their home where we would be staying with them for the next three weeks. I was sharing a room with my 14-year-old cousin so she took me down the hall to show me where to put my things. We were catching up on the latest news when I heard a strange sound from the living room. I asked my cousin if she thought it sounded like laughing or crying. Oh crying, she said. She then blurted out that our grandmother had dropped dead that morning. I was so stunned I could barely take it in.
What had happened is that my grandmother had gone to wash her hair that morning in preparation for our arrival and had suffered a heart attack. My grandfather found her dead on the floor. My cousin said the excitement of our visit might have caused it – she was never known for being subtle.
It was difficult to process this because it was so sudden. It also seemed especially cruel because my mother hadn’t seen her own mom in 2 years. She had been looking forward to showing her parents that my brother and I were turning out OK despite our parents’ divorce. My grandparents had wanted us to come back to Holland after my father left but my mother had refused. I actually didn’t know about that until 20 years later.
How different my life would’ve been surrounded by family and old friends. At the same time, I wonder if I would’ve ever come to faith while living in Europe.
…to be continued.
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