In Loving Memory of My Oma

Some out there are aware that last Monday, Easter Monday, April 17th, my Oma (which is the Dutch word for grandma) passed away. She had suffered from Pick’s disease , a degenerative mental illness. Strong as she was, she lived on many years after the disease made itself manifest and even survived a broken hip. Yet these past months, she was fading. Two weeks ago she became ill with pneumonia. She stopped eating, and weakened.

The funeral service was yesterday. All things considered, I believe she would have liked it. My cousins Shawn and Daina sang, my mother read a poem and my uncle Francis read a scripture from the bible. My aunt Margaret wrote a beautiful eulogy. A lady from the church spoke on behalf of her friends from church. I also spoke. I felt it was necessary to address her illness, something that had caused much pain to those who love her. What I said is below. The minister, who knew Oma, said a nice service. We sang her favorite hymns.

It has been a very tiring and emotional week, and I haven’t yet shed my last tear over my loss. Oma was much loved and will be greatly missed.

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I would like to start by reading a passage from the Tao Te Ching, which is Chinese philosophy. This is chapter 50:

Between birth and death,
Three in ten are followers of life,
Three in ten are followers of death,
And men just passing from birth to death
also number three in ten.
Why is this so?
Because they live their lives on the gross level.

He who knows how to live can walk abroad
Without fear of rhinoceros or tiger.
He will not be wounded in battle.
For in him rhinoceroses can find no place to
thrust their thorn,
Tigers no place to use their claws,
And weapons no place to pierce.
Why is this so?
Because he has no place for death to enter.

There are two things Oma did not want in life: she did not want to end up in an old’folks home, and she did not want to lose her mind. These two things were given to her. What more, she had to live with these for the last 6 years of a life that had already been quite trying. To watch her mental health deteriorate was difficult for all those who love her. It was also very frustrating. That question, in the deep of our hearts, was (and is) unavoidable: how could her god, whom she loved so much and served so faithfully, do this to her? How could he afflict her with the two things she wished to avoid? Personally, I couldn’t help but wonder how cruel this god she loved is.

At the same time, I am 30 now, and one thing I’ve come to know is that what you want is sometimes quite far from what you need, and sometimes what you want comes in a shape you originally despised.

I was speaking with a co-worker this week who lived a similar experience to mine. His grandmother passed away last year after living the ten last years of her life with Alzheimer disease. In our conversation, he mentioned the Pope John Paul II, and what he said I found particularly interesting. The Pope, though suffering from Parkinson’s, another degenerative disease, and a number of other ailments, refused to abdicate his position. Throughout his papacy, John Paul was a staunch defender of human life. This was obvious by his opinion on abortion, capital punishment and euthanasia. Yet his example gave a different twist to staunch Catholic beliefs. This man, who was extremely athletic in his youth and active throughout his life (like Oma), accepted his illness as a part of life, and refused to hide this part in the confines of the Vatican’s hospital. Using himself as an example, he showed the citizens of the world that life does not stop when the body is frail, when speech is difficult, and when reasoning may come to be blurred. He showed us that human life in all its forms is life. And all these ideas we have of strength and health and performance as defining factors of a human being must be seriously questioned, because being human isn't something you prove, it's just something you are no matter.

Moreover, John Paul had an interesting view on the spiritual life of those who suffer degenerative diseases. He mentioned that such a disease allowed him to live his spirituality differently, in a way that could not be experienced when full of health.
At this point I would like to bring to your attention the Beatitudes, which Oma always wore around her neck in the symbol of the Huguenot cross. I would like us to think of the 6xt one, from Matthew 5:8 that says, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” Now, we all know that God works in mysterious ways, and we know that the brain is a mystery. We cannot possibly imagine what was going on in Oma’s mind in those last years; we can only guess. She might have forgot the Beatitudes (and hence not mind losing her cross). She might have lost all notion of religious theory. She might even have forgot the word “god.” Her mind might have become a tabula rasa, which would have left her her heart, pure and glowing. What we saw in those last years was not Oma “degenerated,” but Oma as she was in spirit, the essence of her humanity. This disease with which her god afflicted her might have been a gift in disguise; it might have been a way for Him to share with her, in her human form, a spiritual closeness to Him that cannot be known. Pure of heart, she might have had the chance to live those last years closer than ever to the God she loved so much.

I would like to finish by sharing with you a poem by Emily Dickinson, that I dedicate to my family.

After a great pain, a formal feeling comes—
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs—
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?

The Feet, mechanical, go round—
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought—
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone—

This is the Hour of Lead—
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow—
First—Chill—then Stupor—then the letting go—