Memories, memorials, movement

In Memory of the Valor and the Sacrifices which Hallow this Soil

reads the stunning monument directly behind me at the American Cemetery at Margraten, the Netherlands, a short drive outside of Maastricht. It was to this still and truly holy place that Martijn took each of our guests without exception. And on Memorial Day Sunday, May 24, 2009, I was privilieged to be the invited guest of Democrats Abroad to witness the stirring ceremony that each year marks the gratitude of the liberated European for their American liberators.

Dutch vetrans honor the 8301 known fallen American comrades and the 1722 MIAs.

The reflecting pond at the entrance of the cemetery

On the trail from Maastricht to Eijsden a wildlife area features wild ponies. Friday, May 29, 2009.

My life has been filled with memories, memorials and movement. I now walk twice a week along the lovely River Maas towards the village of Eijsden. I'm now up to 5 miles. The movement helps put my memories of Martijn into a perspective. We loved this walk, although Martijn's favorite was on the opposing bank of the river which is wilder and less used. 

The days here have been mostly stunning - azure blue skies and mild temperatures. Soon I will begin with a bit of consulting work - the first in a long, long time. The spring has provided me a gentler backdrop for my grief, which continues to lodge deep in my soul. Missing Martijn sometimes becomes so visceral that I quake from the sense of loss. Mostly I propel myself forward into time and space for that is what MUST be done. But I've learned that only those with this same experience truly understand the how mystical this journey is. 

Rest In Peace

Frogs in love, Rotterdam 1995, photo taken by John Cuningham

Frogs dancing in the lily pond, created for Martijn's Memorial, Oostermaas Cemetery, Maastricht

The site is very peaceful. As Martijn wished, it is located directly adjacent to his grandparents final resting place, shown here to the left. The memorial is not quite complete - in the center of the circle an etched hand-blown circle of glass will contain the first photo taken of us and the wedding prayer from the Kabbalah that was our private theme: Two souls destined together...

In Memory of my Mother, Emma Schaefer

My mother, Emma, and me, in front of Steel Pier, Atlantic City, New Jersey

Summer 1952 - I was just two years old.

The following poem is from an collection entitled: Ride the New Morning, self published in 1983, Shepherd's Bush Press.

Emma

By chance I glanced at my reflection

and saw there – you.

I’ve not noted you in my face before,

but I’ve felt you inhabit my thighs and belly

so round like yours,

and at times my woman smell recalls

images of you and me together in

our claw-footed tub,

me so small next to your Boticellian swells

ripe in womanhood.

And in my bathroom now with

its claw footed tub

hangs our Atlantic City portrait –

you, Romanian, really, gypsy-looking

and me in the 50s sailor suit

posed in an-honest-to-God

paper moon.

 

Mommy

you were mommy

never mother

sometimes, ma

and so sadly

you were not all there,

not quite sane,

a little over ripe,

but a beauty in an aesthetic long departed.

And mostly you were mine,

though I never showed the love,

always called “daddy’s girl”…

but I loved, I love you still.

 

by Susan Schaefer ©1983 Ride the New Morning

Going Dutch

Café Zondag, Maastricht, ©2006 Susan Schaefer

Dutch life can be very very good. It follows a different pace, more liquidy and in harmony with being in the present moment than life in America. I've written extensively on the perceptions of my life here, but I must defer to a more skilled hand than mine to give you yet another perspective. The incredibly talented writer, Russell Shorto, has penned piece that captures Dutch Life through his unique lens. Please click on Going Dutch and sit back with a really good cup of coffee to enjoy. Martijn discovered Shorto when he read a review of his incredible history of the founding of Manhattan by the Dutch, entitled, Island at the Center of the World. Who could have imagined an historic epic to be so entertaining? What is better than to learn and savor simultaneously? Martijn devoured this wonderful book which he presented to me as a holiday gift. I have read and reread it. Shorto's writing is pure joy. He's a writer's writer and so the book became for me at once a guidepost to better understand many aspects of my adopted country while also providing a benchmark toward writing well.

Please read Going Dutch. You'll better understand my dilemma as I try to create my future life. Together with Martijn the choice to remain here seemed simple. My plans to bridge my own and the Dutch cultures seemed prudent. I continue to work towards a resolution that will allow me to build that bridge. Meanwhile, have a good read.

Cats, Hats, Friends, Family

Cat: See the kitty? Medieval house cat. Eupen, Belgium.

Hat/Friend: Ursula sits pretty on her Maastricht balcony.

Friends: Sandra, Maurice and children Brit and Levi on their Maastricht terrace.

Family: Me and Irma, my sister-in-law, at Wok Restaurant, Maastricht, celebrating Geri's 78th birthday.

Family: Mother Geri, brother-in-law, Janus and Marcel, in the backyard of our little 'cabin' in Lanaken, Belgium. 

Friend: Jacques finds a weed 'torch' to blast his weeds in a garden center in Berg en Terblijt, a village just outside Maastricht.

Each day a new beginning. It remains a task to move through life without Martijn. I schedule many activities in order to rise from bed and move forth. The house is so lonely. We were so affectionate - every day embraces, snuggles and hugs. Our affection touched also many others - friends and family. They were aware of our intimacy. The lack of this pure affection is like missing air, food and water. I can intellectually reconstruct my life, but for this loss there is no ready compensation.

There are some stirrings on the work front and I'm beginning to be able to envision a future life. But I'm very much in the present - aware, painfully aware sometimes, of the passage of time. 

Luckily, Maastricht is verdant green with outstanding weather and and long, light evenings which makes everything more bearable. Directly outside my floor to ceiling walls of windows the resident blackbird family cheers me. Martijn told me he would return as a blackbird with an orange beak, and morning, noon and night, there is that sleek winged messenger, mouth packed full of still wriggling worms, giving me hope of the continuum of our fragile existence. 

As these smiling faces show, I continue to be blessed by the presence of angels who masquerade on earth as humans.