The first thing to pop on my screen this morning when I switched my computer on was an offline Yahoo message from a friend, written at 1 AM last night. "Michael Jackson just died. Cardiac Arrest." I grinned, still half asleep, wondering about the punchline to the joke, and then it hit me.
Michael Jackson has really died. The King of Pop is gone. And I cannot help but feel tremendously sad. Throughout my life, I have been a big fan of his music. As an early teenager, I loved songs like "Ben" or "Can you feel it". I had just left home and gone into the big world on my own when his megasalling albums "Off the Wall" and "Thriller" came out. It was his music blasting from the speakers, that drew me and the friend I used to go out with at the time, to what would become our favorite little discotheque in Amsterdam. I'll even admit to having practised then mastered the moonwalk, as well as various other dance moves he made famous. "HiStory" was not as big a hit as his previous albums, yet I loved the depth and the emotion in the songs on it. Moving from easy, danceable, plastic pop Michael Jackson showed he had a heart and soul, and that at times they were bleeding because of all the injustice and pain, both in his personal life and in the world as a whole. His "Earth Song" can make me cry still today. And yes I know it's overcommercialised, but take that away and it's still an incredible song. As is most of his material.
And yet, in spite of all the fame and the millions he made, his life as a whole was one big tragedy. I think we all know the story so I'm not going to repeat it here. Comparisons with Peter Pan come to mind, as well as Heinlein's "Stranger in a strange land". When I think of him, I see an extremely gifted artist, completely lost in a world he didn't understand, and that never really understood him, in return. Wacko Jacko.
And so, the song ringing in my head at the moment, is not by him. It's an old Don McLean song named "Vincent", and it's about Vincent van Gogh, the famous Dutch painter who just like Michael Jackson was a complete misfit.
Part of the lyrics go like this:
"For they could not love you
but still your love was true
and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
You took your life
as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you."
Rest in peace, Michael. You have finally found Neverland, beyond the second star on the right. To me, you will always be beautiful. Thank you, for everything.
Showing posts with label death oma grandma granny mourning. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death oma grandma granny mourning. Show all posts
Friday, June 26, 2009
Monday, August 20, 2007
Oma
"Oma" is Dutch. It means grandmother, but in a very loving, affectionate way. My oma was a very special person. I was 2 years old when my mother left my dad and me. My dad moved back in with his parents, and so it was oma who raised me until I was 5 and my dad remarried. My stepmom and me never got along. I can't count the times oma phoned me to check on me, heard in my voice things at home had turned sour again, and she would get in her ancient red DAF, drive the hour from her house to ours, and as soon as we let her in she would tell me; "You, go get your stuff. I'll talk to your mom." And she would take me with her for a weekend, or longer if I had vacation, and I would get a chance to be away from the stress of living with a stepmother who wasn't ready to have kids and who had no idea how to deal with a highly intelligent (and spoilt rotten) kid outsmarting her in every possible way.. this resulting in her becoming violent.
Oma was an iron lady with a heart. She became a widow at a fairly young age when my grandfather died of cancer. She ruled the family, not always in a pleasant way because she could be very demanding, but she was the one that kept us at least somewhat together when we all became older and each went their own way. Oma's birthday was the one day per year all of us got together. All my uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews.. even my brothers and sisters and my father and his wife.. I usually only saw them on oma's birthday. At one point in life I lived only 10 minutes away from oma, and especially during that period I saw her a lot. It was great to be with her, sitting in her huge garden drinking tea, discussing all sorts of things. Her usual comment to my life and my lifestyle was; "well I don't understand much of all those wild things, child.. but I can see you are happy and that is all that matters." When I told her I was divorcing my kids' dad, her response was "Finally! I was wondering how long it would take you to discover he's no good".
Oma was extremely healthy up to a very high age. I still remember phoning her one afternoon, and it took a while before she answered. She must have been in her early eighties, then. When she did answer the phone I apologized and said I didn't mean to wake her from her nap. She almost exploded. "Nap? NAP?? Naps are for old people. I had to climb down the ladder because I was fixing the roof!".
Her biggest fear was to become old, and helpless. She signed several papers stating that if she would become "a vegetable", or totally demented, or too sick to ever recover, she wanted her life to end. She showed me, and probably everybody else as well, those papers. Urged me to help actively end her life, if it ever got to that point. I told her then I wasn't sure I could do that, and she gave me her usual "pfft, of course you can".
At around the age of 90, she did become that old, that demented, and that sick. She was hospitalized and grew weaker and weaker. She didn't recognize anyone anymore. But the doctors would not help her die. Because she wasn't capable of actively stating that was what she wanted, at that point. The papers she signed when she was still very much there, mentally, weren't enough. She slid further and further down, her body weakening, her once so strong mind gone. I haven't seen her during that period. I couldn't bring myself to visiting her. I wanted to remember her the way I knew her: strong, healthy, independent, opinionated. And I knew that, in spite of what she had told me to do if it got to this point, I wouldn't be able to end her life. I could say I couldn't do it because it would surely mean I would end up in jail, since under our laws it would have been murder, and that I didn't want my family to go through that. But I very much doubt I would have been able to do it, even if I had been single. I suppose that makes me a coward.
Why am I sharing all this? Because she died yesterday, at the age of 92. And even though I am tremendously sad, I am also majorly relieved her battle has finally ended.
Oma.. I haven't visited you alot in the past years, and I'm sorry for that. I also know you understand the reasons, and that it had nothing to do with not loving you. You were the closest thing to a mother I have ever had. I will miss you, an awful lot. I know one day we will be together again. Thank you, for everything you did for me, everything you taught me, and for every time you accepted me for who I am without judging, no matter what stupid things I was doing. Rest in peace, you have earned it.
Oma was an iron lady with a heart. She became a widow at a fairly young age when my grandfather died of cancer. She ruled the family, not always in a pleasant way because she could be very demanding, but she was the one that kept us at least somewhat together when we all became older and each went their own way. Oma's birthday was the one day per year all of us got together. All my uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces, nephews.. even my brothers and sisters and my father and his wife.. I usually only saw them on oma's birthday. At one point in life I lived only 10 minutes away from oma, and especially during that period I saw her a lot. It was great to be with her, sitting in her huge garden drinking tea, discussing all sorts of things. Her usual comment to my life and my lifestyle was; "well I don't understand much of all those wild things, child.. but I can see you are happy and that is all that matters." When I told her I was divorcing my kids' dad, her response was "Finally! I was wondering how long it would take you to discover he's no good".
Oma was extremely healthy up to a very high age. I still remember phoning her one afternoon, and it took a while before she answered. She must have been in her early eighties, then. When she did answer the phone I apologized and said I didn't mean to wake her from her nap. She almost exploded. "Nap? NAP?? Naps are for old people. I had to climb down the ladder because I was fixing the roof!".
Her biggest fear was to become old, and helpless. She signed several papers stating that if she would become "a vegetable", or totally demented, or too sick to ever recover, she wanted her life to end. She showed me, and probably everybody else as well, those papers. Urged me to help actively end her life, if it ever got to that point. I told her then I wasn't sure I could do that, and she gave me her usual "pfft, of course you can".
At around the age of 90, she did become that old, that demented, and that sick. She was hospitalized and grew weaker and weaker. She didn't recognize anyone anymore. But the doctors would not help her die. Because she wasn't capable of actively stating that was what she wanted, at that point. The papers she signed when she was still very much there, mentally, weren't enough. She slid further and further down, her body weakening, her once so strong mind gone. I haven't seen her during that period. I couldn't bring myself to visiting her. I wanted to remember her the way I knew her: strong, healthy, independent, opinionated. And I knew that, in spite of what she had told me to do if it got to this point, I wouldn't be able to end her life. I could say I couldn't do it because it would surely mean I would end up in jail, since under our laws it would have been murder, and that I didn't want my family to go through that. But I very much doubt I would have been able to do it, even if I had been single. I suppose that makes me a coward.
Why am I sharing all this? Because she died yesterday, at the age of 92. And even though I am tremendously sad, I am also majorly relieved her battle has finally ended.
Oma.. I haven't visited you alot in the past years, and I'm sorry for that. I also know you understand the reasons, and that it had nothing to do with not loving you. You were the closest thing to a mother I have ever had. I will miss you, an awful lot. I know one day we will be together again. Thank you, for everything you did for me, everything you taught me, and for every time you accepted me for who I am without judging, no matter what stupid things I was doing. Rest in peace, you have earned it.
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