On Saturday we laid Hans to rest. It was a very long, very emotional day. The whole drive up (“his” part of Holland is about a 4 hour drive), I was still in denial. I fully expected to see him, finger lifted in greeting, and then his head bending back down over his work bench. Even parking the car, greeting uncles, aunts, cousins and family, I still felt he would be there too.
We walked into the beautiful old church, the Sint-Mauritiuskerk, one of my favorite parts of being back in Europe, and immediately, as always, the peace and quiet fell over me. The old churches are made of stone, you can smell the years gone by, the stone mixed with wood, polish, old incense and crisp air. It is the smell of comfort and peace. I signed one of six registries, then I stepped out of the vestibule and into the nave.
My eyes took in the alter, the stained glass windows, and the completely full church before landing on Hans’ casket, two feet to my left. Stunning, colorful flowers on top of a plain wooden box and his “schieter” tucked in amongst the beauty. His schieter, his wooden paddle, what he used to load, and unload the vlaai’s from the oven. I couldn’t breath. My feet couldn’t move. It was real. He was not magically going to be there for a quick hug, a joke or a beer. He was no more.
Dave gently pushed me after the usher, to our place, my breath still not coming. I felt as if I moved through a fog. Only Dane’s quiet ebullience kept me sane. The service was beautiful. A simple mass with an amazing choir. The sound of their singing resonating in the chambers of the ceiling, enveloping me, giving comfort. I walked up the aisle for communion, eyes down, selfish, I couldn’t yet face my cousin or her children. And then we again walked up to each bless the casket with holy water. I again kept my eyes down, selfish, working on my composure.
My children were nervous, this was a first for them, each funeral is always a little different. I took the aspergillum from Father and made the sign of the cross above the casket and moved over. He handed it to Dane, who took it with great gravity and utter seriousness and enthusiastically blessed Hans’ casket as well. A smile burst from my lips as tears finally fell from my eyes. I inadvertently looked just past Dane and saw Leny (my cousin, Hans’ wife) looking right at me. A smile on her lips, tears in her eyes.
We said goodbye to Hans, but his memory lives on in all of us. Inside Leny. Inside me. Inside Dane.
These photo’s are not mine. I deliberately choose older photo’s to illustrate the beauty of the old Sint-Mauritiuskerk:
Sint-Mauritiuskerk, outside
Sint-Mauritiuskerk, inside
Very touching. My condolences.
Thank you for sharing such a tender experience, one that we all share at times in our lives. Such bittersweet moments. You expressed the feelings so poignantly.
Your photos and written narrative are a bittersweet homage to Hans.
You’ve reminded us all how important it is to scrap our photos and memories of loved ones so that their stories can be preserved for future generations.
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