The Two of Us

The two of us, still crazy in love, by the River Muse, Tuesday,  April 15, 2008.

Martijn and I honor our  vows to love, honor and cherish each other, in sickness and health....I am heartened by my husband's strength of character, intellect and spirit. His pain from the growing tumors is increasing, yet he cherishes each new day for what it brings. Still able to walk, albeit very very slowly, we try to journey the three (now long) blocks to our spot by the river. Martijn likes to make his own breakfast, since standing gives him relief from the increasing pain of sitting or even laying on his back. Our doctor, Maurice Bom, typically makes a house call twice a week; his palliative nurse, Vincent Janssen, comes also twice weekly. They are working with Martijn on a pain medication dose that fits his need to stay fully lucid and clear. One of our dear neighbors, Dirk Peek, happens to have been Martijn's anathestiologist during his surgery, and is one of the leaders of the pain clinic at the hospital. On his own time he checked in with us this weekend assuring us that he is available to collaborate with Maurice Bom should Martijn need additional advice. We also are meeting with a wonderful progressive retired priest, Carel van Tulden, as we plan Martijn's memorial service, which will truly be a celebration of his life.

But I am in a different kind of pain for which no medication can help. It is a pain I acknowledge and endure, knowing full well that I am already in mourning a loss of a love that will never be replaced. Through the Toon Herman's "Huis" (house), the Netherland's cancer support organization, I am working with a wonderful therapist whom I see weekly. Alied van der Aa, trained also in the US, helps me to cope with the natural grief I already feel. Martijn's condition and inevitable death weigh like a lead ball in the pit of my stomach. My old vitality and zest for life is currently subdued and I am in a heightened awareness of the joy I experience at his physical presence, his touch, his voice, his smile, his laughter. I memorize these times yet, naturally, grieve their eventual departure. Sure there will be the transformative love everlasting between us. I know this, I feel and believe in this. But I remain flesh and blood and so am aware of my loss.

I told Alied that I must be depressed. And she said something so simple yet so profound that now, even in my deepest sadness, comforts me. She said: "Depression is an abnormal reaction to normal events; grief is a normal reaction to abnormal events." Martijn and I should be looking forward to the best years of our life together. It is terribly abnormal that he departs me so prematurely. I am in grief.