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Christina de Jong Lantinga (daughter)
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(7:50)
I am Christina, de jongste dochter (youngest daughter) of Herman
and Stiny, commonly known as one of the twins...
My dad was good at so many things. He was a Renaissance man. What strikes me
though... and not just me, but my twin brother Paul too... was that he was
really good at BEING... actually, this morning at the graveside I heard that put
more poetically: he lived the mystery of being. He was very much a contemplative
person. In fact, I think Dad saw life as a series of opportunities for
contemplation. But even in his contemplation he was accessible and ready with a
smile, and, if we were lucky, a story or two.
To look at the externals, one might only have a seen a placid Dutch immigrant
who smoked a lot, read a lot, and ate a lot. These externals cannot explain why
we will all miss Dad so much.
Like the Brandaris, a lighthouse on Dad's beloved island of Terschelling, Dad
was a large presence and not so sophisticated to look at. He was quiet much of
the time (the Brandaris is a silent lighthouse). But his light shone steadily
and brightly and I had only to look toward him to be reminded of where home was,
and to be guided there.
I think I had to grow up a bit before I was able to perceive some of what went
on with my dad. Initially, as a child, I experienced him primarily as a
protective, loving bear. A sure way of knowing someone loves you is when that
person tells you (repeatedly) voorzichtig! Watch out!
As I grew up, when he didn't quite abandon that role of protector with me, the
baby girl of the family, what I might have experienced as comforting as a child
became a source of irritation as I tried to spread my wings. For instance, for
some reason I was not able to get my driver's license until I was eighteen. My
brother Paul got his immediately when he was sixteen. Paul maintains that I WAS
quite scary behind the wheel, and so dad hated to see me there, but even two
summers ago he wouldn't let me drive the car on the way to the family reunion in
Quebec and I had to remain squished in the backseat with Simon and Gabriela, my
children. Of course, when I did manage to break away to drive Gerine's car for a
while, we lost track of each other and what followed was a tense couple of hours
in which Dad, Mom, and Gerine probably worried themselves sick that they would
never see me again.
That said, he didn't so much like letting Mom drive either. Ever the protector
of those he loved.
Probably against his better judgement sometimes Dad supported me in the steps I
took to claim my place in the world, allowing me to experience the consequences
of my decisions--not always easy for a parent to do, I know that now. When the
consequences were good, he was proud and happy, and when they were bad, he was
empathetic, supportive, and never said, "I told you so." He knew that not only
would I need to make decisions for myself, I would insist on it. Sometime he
caught me off guard though, and saved me--together with Mom--from something that
might hurt... or cost a lot of money. I remember once a couple of years ago Mom
and Dad were visiting us and I was having a big argument in the kitchen with Mom
about something that I very much wanted to do... probably I wanted to travel
somewhere. Dad was resting on the bed upstairs, reading. I was feeling SO
frustrated, and when I had to go into the bedroom to get something I told Dad
just how frustrated I was. He listened, having already turned his book upside
down, and then said with a little smile, "But you know she's right." DAD! But
somehow, with those words so gently said, he diffused my frustration completely
right then and there and I had to laugh.
In my life Dad was the eye of the storm: a calm centre in what could feel like
so much chaos and busyness. I said that I think he saw life as a series of
opportunities for contemplation, and in his all of his contemplative
pursuits--digging in the garden (or burying the odd fallen tree or broken-down
piano), reading, writing, playing music, listening to music, stoking a fire,
smoking a cigarette or a pipe, eating favourite foods--he was virtually
undistractable. He did what he was doing, no matter what anybody else was doing,
or what anybody else wanted him to do. He simply didn't seem to be bothered by
the expectations of others... except maybe my mom's from time to time. I
remember all too well him hurrying me to get my room or some other part of the
house cleaned up before she came home from her shift at the hospital! Op ruimen!
Everything he did do for us was not because we expected something from him but
because he wanted to do something, to make something, to help in some way. These
are gifts from him which I will treasure forever. I wish I could tell him that
the pine night tables he once made for me and my husband Paul were used as
"base" in our moving truck three weeks ago! When I asked the movers what "base"
meant they said "solid support structures, on top of which everything else is
piled."
I did not know that just over two weeks later from that day I would be losing a
solid support structure myself, and so I find myself teetering now. But
amazingly these last few days I have begun to feel Dad around me and I know he
will always be with me, guiding me with a strong, bright, steady light, guiding
me home. I know I will see him again, and we will be together in the arms of our
Heavenly Father. I look forward to that day with all my heart.