Ex-pat Newlyweds

This morning in Vancouver, Opa passed away. Today marks the one year anniversary of our departure from Vancouver and never could I have imagined that I would lose both grandparents in the span of one year. Oma was sick already when we left and although we hoped to see her again, when we parted at their doorstep one year ago we said our goodbyes knowing that it might be our last. However we always assumed that on our next visit, Opa would be there.

Both were regulars here on our little blog. Opa did most of the typing and in his broken English passed on words that I now cherish. With gems such as, “I enjoyed your story of the Paris visit. You guys love to eat everything! I don’t have to ask how you are doing. Love Opa”, both Sabine and I looked forward to what comment would come next. And yes, we do love to eat everything (almost)!

Throughout our planning and our relocation Opa was always positive, always supportive and best of all always excited for us. This typified Opa throughout it seems. While Oma was sick, Opa was her rock. He was always there, always supportive and always strong no matter how much pain Oma was going through. Driving her around, helping her with the every day tasks that become difficult to do when you are so ill. He truly lived by the vows “’till death do us part” (although they probably sound a bit different in Dutch).

I suspect that in some ways his early days hardened him and forced him to be positive to survive. As a Dutch citizen and soldier living in Indonesia during World War II, he was interned in a Japanese POW camp in Nong Pladuk, Thailand near Kanchanaburi. Enslaved, starved and forced into hard labour by the Japanese, my Opa worked to build the now famous Thailand-Burma railway, aka The Death Railway. The railway was built from Bangkok, Thailand to Rangoon, Burma by the Japanese to support their efforts in Burma which they had invaded and taken over from the British. When I traveled to Thailand in 2000, I made it a point to stop there, visit the cemeteries, memorials and museums. I saw photos and reconstructions of the living conditions that they were forced into. I can’t describe what I saw and can only imagine that describing what actually happened is even more difficult. Suffice it to say, Opa survived unlike thousands of others that perished on that railway.

Despite his unfortunate past he somehow saw through it all, whether by choice or by necessity. What came out of his experiences was a man that was intelligent, resourceful, kind, generous and believe it or not, quite funny. His sense of humour is, in a way, renowned in my family. Quiet yet sly, he would always get a great quip in whether he knew it or not. Since English was his second language, I think part of it was that he didn’t realize how funny he actually was. Somehow that made it all the better.

It is with indescribable sadness that I say goodbye to my last living grandparent, Marius van Harte. Opa, you are my hero and we love you forever but know that you and Oma are together again, free of pain and looking over us. Farewell Opa.