Two Souls Destined Together

Two Souls Destined Together, Jang's Garden, Tilburg, June 1995 (Rob Chizek, photographer)

Friends have asked me how I’m feeling. Really feeling. The pat answer is that depends on the moment – and there’s a lot of truth in the answer. But naturally there are traceable underlying feelings about this situation that remain consistent regardless of how I perceive Martijn is or isn’t doing.

I am deeply and profoundly sad. I miss Martijn as a part of my daily life. Even when we argued and bickered, when we got on each other’s nerves or pissed each other off, we ended almost every night of our “going on 13 years” with a cuddle, snuggle and backrub (for me). We have spent a total of only five or so weeks apart in all this time, period. Martijn accompanied me on almost every business trip I ever made. Many of our other coupled friends have spent much time apart due to the travel schedule of one or the other partner. Martijn and I always joke that this meant we’ve really been “together” at least double our 13 years since we’ve been almost inseparable. And we like that. Really enjoy each other’s company. Aside from partners and lovers we are best friends. So, my sadness at being apart runs deep.

I am scared – frightened that this blackguardly foe, this formidable enemy, cancer, has only momentarily been hacked back, chopped away from Martijn’s body in a most brutal excision, but only temporarily foiled. All my spiritual energy and positive beliefs don’t fully vanquish this niggling fear. How can they? If I succumb to the light and energy and Martijn is ultimately taken from me – what will happen then TO ME? To me? So the fear lets me prepare for this impossibility, or so one stubborn part of me believes. I perform my morning meditations, say my childhood “now I lay me down to sleep,” prayers, light candles at every shrine in Maastricht in the sincere belief that each candle, each meditation, each prayer is in fact a powerful healing beam lasering this cancer, this foe to be respected for its destructive force, its perseverance. I light the candle that our dear friend Audrey offered with it’s mixed Buddhist/Christian prayer pinned on it, recite the lovely Native American Indian prayer to the Creator offered by dear friend Michael, whose unwavering faith serves as beacon to me, light the candles sent by dear friends Jang and Marion, candles of natural bee’s wax filled with their pure love and friendship, and light my own dear Shabbat candles feeling deeply the primal brave resolve of my Jewish ancestors. Yet I remain scared.

I am angry. You even get angry with the patient. How could Martijn who was never sick a day in his life let this cancer in? Angry that our life together which has certainly not been easy by a long shot but was finally settling into a nice prospective future is now shattered, really as shattered as Martijn’s lovely body that has been sliced and cut and radiated and chemically burned. I am angry that this tumor which was so large, 7 x5 CM was not seen, not detected by all this medically advanced equipment so that Martijn didn’t have to go through his last months of agony. Angry that the hospital now isn’t more attuned to the extreme needs of someone so traumatically dissected and flat on his back – serving heavy food that makes him sicker. Angry that I have no work, no career at present to keep me sane, on track, productive. Angry that my Dutch is yet not good enough to talk in meaningful nuances to my mother-in-law, Geri, to Marcel, to the nurses, and to the many others here who are so supportive and kind. So angry, so scared, so sad.

And then, just as these feelings wash over me, there come these intense feelings of gratitude for my very unique life, a life shared with someone as rare as Martijn. His unconditional love has bathed my soul for all these years; his contrarian nature, whacky humor, gentleness to the extreme, have fed me, nourished me, guided me and wrapped me in a protective sheath that many individuals will never know. We have a funny kind of love. People know we are oddly matched, that the relationship seems a bit imbalanced, tilted to my strength on the practical side of the ledger – the worker, the bringer home of the bacon. But the truth is so plain for any who choose to see it: I couldn’t have done any of my so-called “business” feats without this great man beside me. Martijn and I often say to each other how truly amazing it is that in this great wide world we met and grew together. The true odd couple.

On our bedroom wall is this wedding saying from the Kabbalah: From every human being there rises a light that reaches straight to heaven and when TWO SOULS that are DESTINED to be TOGETHER find each other, their strings of light flow together and a single brighter light goes forth from their united being.

Today one little soul realized that that other little soul’s homemade cooking was better for his mind, body and soul that that of the hospital. Having spent another bad night due to extreme discomfort from having chowed down on heavy meat and veggies, he didn’t eat much all day. I steamed up some organic carrots, blended them together with organic whole yogurt and honey with a dash of ginger syrup. Like the old funny American television commercial for a new cereal, I can say “Marty likes it!” I added some small cubes of fresh goat cheese with a few “leafs” of salted rice crackers as a side dish, and added mashed banana and honey to the hospital's truly gruesome rice gruel, rendering it tasty and healthier. Honey is a miracle food and it is light on Martijn’s freaked out tummy. Thankfully he began to eat this with some of his former gusto. Now more than anything Martijn needs nutrition and digestibility. I'll happily do the cooking. I spent an entire summer learning about food, nutrition and healing when I worked at Philly's first health food restaurant owned by one of my longest term best friends, Nancy Carolan. I've practiced healthy eating my whole life. It feels like a dress rehearsal for this day.

When we had our goodnight call, Martijn told me he was feeling better, watching a “quality” program on Dutch telly. Now I can rest easier.

My feelings mostly ebb and flow with Martijn's well-being. I was told today to try to take some distance to help preserve myself. While that is good advice I guess I'm satisfied that our feelings like our souls flow together from our united being.

Good night, sweet dreams. Suze