Anita

While in Europe for a wedding (a great story in itself) three years ago, I had the privilege of visiting the Netherlands, the land of my ancestors. I was traveling with my husband at the time, Steve. My parents had help to arrange for us to stay with cousins in Friesland; family that I had never met, but with whom I share bonds of blood and history. My grandfather and Anita’s grandfather were brothers, and when her grandfather died young my grandfather did what he could to fill the void. When disillusionment drove my grandfather to move his family to America, Anita’s parents moved into the vacated family farm house on the edge of Opende.

We drove up the coast of that country, so tiny a spot on the globe, yet vast stretches of land, dikes and sea from my perspective on the road. Across the Isjilmeir, we entered Friesland, and continued through towns, fields and woods until we reached their town, and their house; a neat, modest red brick on the corner.
At Anita’s house I met her husband Feike and her beautiful children, Mathijs and Brigitte.
Anita was not yet home from the school where she was teaching, so I went outside with Brigitte and jumped on the trampoline. Warm late summer day, bees buzzing, birds singing, bushes and trees and flowers and sunshine. Everywhere around the world so much is the same!
Anita came home and fixed us dinner. Her English was the best, though they all managed it pretty well. We visited Folkert and Griete, Anita’s parents. While her mother plied us with goodies in the dutch fashion, Brigitte snuggled next to me on the couch and gigglingly corrected my attempts at dutch words over and over again. Back home, Feike & Anita shared precious brandy with us as we discussed life, religion and politics. The translation of terminology was often challenging, but Anita managed wonderfully. In relating some of the local church events she mentioned that a pastor had divorced his wife, causing friction at the church. I asked what her reaction was to people who divorce and she replied that she figures they suffer enough without having people judge them. I cannot describe how my traitorous heart warmed to her gracious one then.
Mathijs gave up his bedroom for us that night. The next day we biked into town, to a candy shop that had a hundred bins filled with different licorice candies. We sampled a good portion of them. We biked through the pastoral countryside, so lovely and sweet, to some very, very old churches, still in use. Warm memories of special people in a special place that whispers of home.

Since that time Anita and I have been occasionally in touch, and exchanged Christmas cards. This year the card I received was not in her hand, and it bore devastating news.
“Anita is in a rehabilitation centre, she had a cerebro-vascular accident on 25-11-07. She goes forward with small steps and it takes a long time to be better.” Thank you, Brigette, for the card. Strength and blessings to you. I think you and Mathijs are growing up faster now than may be comfortable. Strength and blessings to you, Feike and Anita. I am so far away, and don’t know what I can do, except let you know that I care, and that your tragedy has reminded me to be thankful for my uneventful life.

Mathijs Brigitte