Tweet23-04-2010 om 09:07 by Sueli Brodin

Perhaps the spinning class at the gym had been just a little too strenuous for one of the women. As soon as she arrived in the changing room she sat down on a bench and leaned forward, holding her head with both hands. Worried, I put my hand on her shoulder and asked her if everything was all right. When she looked up I saw that her face had already brightened up.

“Yes, I just need to catch my breath a little,” she explained. “It’s been a stressful day at work and the spinning class felt harder than usual." The other women in the room and I gave her a sympathetic smile that made her laugh. And suddenly I knew what she was going to say next.

Can you guess?

It’s an expression the Dutch use very often. For me it is characteristic of their positive state of mind and optimistic take on life. In the almost two decades that I have lived in the Netherlands, I have time and again been struck – and impressed - by the ability Dutch people demonstrate in dealing with adversity. It’s a mixture of humble acceptance and strong will power to move forward.

“Het komt wel goed,” she grinned, standing up again. All shall be well.



It occurred to me that I had heard those same words a few hours earlier, in other circumstances.

That morning my husband and I had attended the funeral ceremony of our elderly neighbour Sjo who passed away last week.

When we paid our respects to his widow, she assured us in a steady voice that in spite of her grief, she was at peace with her loss and would manage to pick up the threads of life: “Het komt allemaal goed.”

We were gathered after the afscheidsdienst (lit. farewell service) in the coffee room of the crematorium in Geleen with a large number of invited guests, family members, close friends and neighbours.



Everyone was chatting, drinking coffee and eating cheese or ham broodjes (sandwiches) and Limburgse vlaai. The atmosphere was relaxed, even cheerful at some tables.

It is a typical Dutch tradition for people to come and enjoy a meal together at the end of a funeral ceremony. It surprised me very much the first time I heard about it but after experiencing it a few times myself, I have come to understand its value. The underlying thought behind this custom is that it is important to go on with our lives after the death of a dear one and that sharing a meal together will give us the necessary energy to do that.

Since I haven’t attended any funerals in other countries, I don’t have any point of reference, but I often think that that the Dutch show a sensible, pragmatic, healthy way of dealing with death, in keeping with their overall balanced attitude towards human matters.

The funerals I have seen in the Netherlands have always been beautiful, emotional yet unexpectedly heart warming, and have left me with an almost serene feeling.

All the people who had known and shared a special bond with Sjo had been invited to commemorate him together. The master of ceremony recounted Sjo’s full and varied life as a husband, a father and a grandfather, as the owner of a popular café in my village many years ago and a former Prins Carnaval. I learned many attaching new details and anecdotes about him, such as the fact that he loved the Tour de France and was convinced that he could speak French better than anyone else – with his hands and feet. Or that his favourite holiday destination was Austria, so much so that when his illness became too severe to be treated, he told his wife and children that his greatest wish was for his ashes to be taken and scattered to the four winds in the Austrian countryside.



Prins Sjo I, 1977

Sjo had also asked his coffin to be transported from the hospital in Maastricht to the crematorium in Geleen by water, on the Juliana Canal. His presence could be felt during the entire service, not only through the words that were spoken, but also the various pieces of music that were played and which had been carefully chosen, either by him or by his wife.

Once again I was impressed by the highly personalised aspect of the ceremony and the freedom that had been given in accommodating Sjo’s wishes. “Perhaps that’s the secret of the beauty and the strength of Dutch funerals,” I thought.



Austrian countryside

As we left the crematorium, my eyes were caught by two sentences written on a wall:

Vergeet niet te leven: don’t forget to live
Leven is doorgeven: to live is to transmit

Comments

Leave a reply