I like to get out there and discover strange places. The other day a woman of age returned my letter and invited me to come over and talk about her life. I am writing a book now and I try to get some insights in the lives of people who experienced war. And so I went up to meet this woman who lives on her own in this big landhouse.
She was very kind to me. We talked about World War 2 and how she met her late husband. She has no kids. We had coffee and some typical Dutch cookies. She invited me to take a look at her attic. Why? This is why. ‘You ask too much questions, Henry. Questions I can’t always answer. I know a place where you can find your answers. Up there, history is still alive’, she laughed silently as we went to the attic.
‘Up there, history is still alive’, she laughed silently as we went to the attic.
She was too old to climb the stairs so she left me there all alone. It was amazing. I stayed there for almost two hours as she let me read her old diaries, look at suitcases full of pictures and so on. When it was time to go home I asked her why she was so open. She answered: ‘I am not immortal Henry. But if you write down just a little bit of my story, I believe I am blessed and I can go with a smile. After I finished my last coffee, I walked to my car. I looked back and the old woman smiled at me. She waved. I waved back at her. As I grabbed my keys out of my pocket I looked up again. She already got in the house and the lights went down.