I haven’t updated my website, kept writing or recording podcasts, or videos (aside from Teaching Tangents, that has still been going strong, thanks to my friend and co-host James D’Souza.
I have been busy with teaching classes in a formal setting for the first time (with ISCOM, Higher Institute for Communications and Advertising), and more or less set other projects to the side for the past few months. I probably just needed some time, which I think is fair and fine. Grieving is a process, as is mourning.
As the title indicates, my father, Klaas van der Horst, died on the 8th September 2020 – just a few weeks after my aunt Arlette died. They were in different health conditions, but to make it short, both died of cancers that were diagnosed after the COVID-19 lockdowns in the spring of 2020.
Some family members and close friends couldn’t make it to the funeral, and 2020 being as strange as it is, I set up an international video conference of the funeral ceremony that took place on Monday 14th September 2020, and I recorded it too.
The audio and video quality are pretty dreadful, though if you’d like to watch the actual video, you can click here and make a request for it to be privately shared with you. My mother and our family wanted to share it for others who couldn’t be on the conference call and may want to see it, and simply to share the eulogies told during the ceremony, both in writing, audio, and video.
Klaas van der Horst’s funeral ceremony
This Dutch folk song played as people entered the room; Ik Hou van Holland (I love Holland):
His son, Willem (I acted as master of ceremony, the following words were spoken in French, translated in English here)
Hello, welcome, and thank you for joining us here today – in person, and this being 2020, also via video conference. We are gathered here to celebrate Klaas van der Horst’s life, with his wife Azucena; his children, Björn who is in Sri Lanka, Willem right here, Morgan, and Saskia. His grand-daughters Anahí, Mei; and his nephews in the Netherlands, Iwan and Mark Nilsen.
(the following was said in English) And welcome to all the English speakers attending via the video conference, and thank you for joining us in celebrating Klaas van der Horst’s life. Though we will conduct most of the ceremony in French, emotional language doesn’t need translation – and there will be a few bits in English too.
My father was a pragmatic man. He appreciated punctuality, accuracy, common sense, as well as humorous puns, and witty play on words.
I wasn’t with him in person, though I like to believe he would have appreciated that the time of his death, Tuesday 8th Septembre 2020 at about 3:40pm, coincided precisely with the moment his heart stopped beating.
74 years, 4 months, and 4 days earlier, the exact same heart, a little younger, started beating on the 10th May 1946 in Rotterdam, The Netherlands.
His was a full life, fully lived, all the way to the end.
We will paint a picture of Klaas through a few words, stories, songs, memories, and sensations.
My father was a man of few words.
Words were precious to him, so I think he used them sparingly.
He had a big heart and a huge presence. Qualities curiously combined with a grouchy, grumpy personality, sometimes even difficult to be around.
The technical term his friend Gene came up with describes it best, it’s being an Asshole – International Asshole, even (those words said in English during the speech).
As a point of proof, our childhood friends used to be terrified of him.
I remember the biggest party I’d organized at home as a teenager, I was sixteen. Over a hundred people in and around the house, in the far parisian suburbs where we grew up, in Neauphle-le-Château.
I had organized things so that my parents had given me the green light for the party, and were saying at a friends’ place for the night.
Except my father changed his mind about that, and showed up as the party was roaring, around 3 or 4 am, and loudly declared the party was over.
In short, thanks to his big and grouchy presence, all my friends fled in terror.
And then he told me I had to clean up.
He settled in a sofa, and watched while I cleaned and mopped the floor, pointing out any dirty spots still left, whatever wasn’t impeccable, till dawn.
Suffice to say I wasn’t thinking of his big heart at that particular moment.
I experienced it at plenty other moments though. He loved his wife and children, simply, and fully. He was happy with us and didn’t need much else.
I lost my biggest fan. He listened to every episode of my podcast, read all the articles, videos, and images I posted on my website or on social media.
He was a traveler, as am I. And he absolutely didn’t want to us to worry about him.
We chose one of his favorite John Denver songs for this last trip of his.
His nephews, Mark and Iwan Nilsen (patched in on the phone from Rotterdam, spoken in English during the ceremony)
Klaas,
You cannot say that your life was only doing the same each day.
Quit a person who was doing his own thing and following his own path.
I do not know exactly, but you went from Rotterdam, to Switzerland, to London, to New York, and from New York, to just outside Paris – Neauphle-le-Château.
And so when we were kids we would visit him in England, the United States of America, and France for example.
For us this was very interesting, and as we grew up we remember the good conversations we could have with our uncle. He was never afraid to tell you the truth or how he thought about certain things.
We had many laughs and good glasses of wine during these conversations that we will never forget, thank you for that.
The death of our uncle Klaas came very sudden and unexpected, we hope he has not suffered very much and we want to wish our aunt Azu, Björn, Willem, Morgan and Saskia and their children a lot of strength to get over the great loss together.
Now between me and you one last sentence in Dutch: Het ga je goed daar schele en ik hoop dat je je zus tegenkomt en jullie samen kunnen lachen.
His sister-in-law, Alba (spoken in French, translated in English here)
While looking for a word that might qualify best to describe who my brother-in-law was, for me at least, excess is the one I’d pick.
An excess of laughs, good times, and beer in our youth and my holidays in Rotterdam; excess in his tone of voice over the lively discussions we had; and excessive silence in these last few years, following painful losses. And in an ironic height of silence, your way of shutting up your suffering, probably as a way to protect those closest to you. I often heard you grumble Klaas, but never complain.
Another side of you I remember is your… How to say it? Adventurer? Nomad?
Rotterdam, Perpignan, Cambrils where you first met Azu and I, TOulouse, Rotterdam again – married this time around, Lausanne, London, New York, Neauphle-le-Château, Paris, Lausanne, and Perpignan.
From professional adventures to a beautiful family adventure, you built your life in both commitment and risk-taking, while always finding the wherewithal to bounce back in tough times.
You headed a beautiful family and you were able to share your enthusiasm, humor, and work ethics with your children.
These last few years, your grand children’s presence gave you solace as your health diminished.
Perhaps never letting on or showing any issue, and never asking for anything were rules you had set for yourself. I’ll never know.
Ne rien laisser paraître d une possible défaillance et ne jamais rien demander pourraient être des impératifs que tu t étais fixés… Je n en saurai jamais rien…
Klaas, thank you for passing on those family values.
Rest in peace.
Hi wife, Azucena (Azu) (spoken in French and English, all translated in English here)
I asked to speak after my sister, because without my sister, I would have never met Klaas. I was shy, timid, and in front of him I became audacious.
You invited us, the whole crew of young people we were, to get on a pedal boat. No one accepted, but me. You and your friend Kun spoke a language I didn’t understand, but I was never afraid of going with you. Straight away, I was clear that I already knew you.
You showed me everything from your childhood. Rotterdam, the warehouse where the bananas were ripening. And then one day you decided to change jobs. And throughout your career, the different jobs you had revolved around the market: the produce market in Rotterdam, the money market in Wall Street, and the farmer’s market where you sold your olive oils in Morges. The only differences were the number of zeros in the figures.
You ripened 50 to 60 tons of bananas, I forgot for how long. I learned with your mother, your sister, not so much with your father’s family, we didn’t really know them, aside from an aunt, Annie.
And then we had this whole time in Paris, during which you followed me at Landmark, and then you did what I never expected you to, you committed in participating with the Hunger Project, and you created it in France, with Brigitte among others, and I will read what Brigitte wrote on Facebook.
“Klaas, you will always be in my heart. With your great soul, so full of love and generosity towards everyone, with your humor, and your commitment.
Thank you for all those good times together, those exploits where we created infinite possibilities.”
I saw you in those days, leaving in your suit, that team along with you, crisscross the streets of Paris, asking people to sign a piece of paper, a card. There was nothing to give, other than a commitment. Commitment was a leitmotiv for the both of us.
The commitment was to say that chronic hunger would have disappeared from this planet before the year 2000. You’re Dutch, and projects should be successfully led to the end.
I need to keep dreaming of it, while you did not accept that in the year 2000, what you found out was that even more people than ever were going hungry. We tried explaining that it was juste that there was a lot we didn’t know and understand previously. You threw the baby out with the bathwater. Later on, you’d always tell me: “But that was a long time ago.”
And now what I’d like to celebrate is your generosity, the fact that you enjoyed a good party. We threw parties all the time.
(Spoken en English during the ceremony) I don’t know if you guys are looking, but you guys in Wall Street, you’re the ones who had the funnest times together. I don’t think I have anything else to say, I don’t know who is on the line, and from those days.
And I want to acknowledge our son Björn, who is far away in Sri Lanka.
We continue having paperwork, paper problems, and even here in Perpignan, we have been continuing, I am continuing.
There’s not so much else to say.
I love you. Ik hou van je. Je t’aime.
Merci.
—
George Carlin on death (segue, I said this – Willem)
My father liked to laugh, and George Carlin was one of his favorite stand-up comedians. He had a few good words about death, and what is said of people who just died. (3 min audio from the following video)
His sister-in-law, Violette (spoken in French, translated in English here)
We always needed to specify your Dutch origins whenever mentioning you, or your first name, Klaas.
I’m 5 years old when you show up in Toulouse to marry my sister. You gave me and Hélios a book about New York, among other gifts. Later on you invited me to Wall Street, and then in London’s City.
I’m 10 years old, you gave me my first flight, from Geneva to Toulouse. I loved the place ride. It’s decided, I’ll make it my career.
I’m 15 years old, on the way to London in your big American car, the black Cadillac, you stop and take photos of all the cows we happen to come by. I learned much later that there are no 2 identical cows.
Faithful to your origins, close to painting, an art you will practice throughout your life.
You begin learning to play the piano later on in life. In this, once again, you hold on and succeed. Music is always with you: Frank Sinatra, Leonard Cohen, Joan Baez.
Tu commences l’apprentissage du piano à un âge avancé. Là, encore, tu t’accroches et réussis. La musique toujours t’accompagne : Franck Sinatra, Léonard Cohen, Joan Bez.
Thank you, Klaas. Good-bye, Klaas. For your last trip, on to new shores.
Rest in peace. Totzins. Daar Klaas 💕
Hi son, Morgan (spoken in French, translated in English here)
Dad, we did so many kilometres together. You gave me so much love.
We did so many kilometres together, laughing, and crying.
We did so many kilometres together, til only just a few weeks ago, to go and contemplate the sea one last time.
We did so many kilometres together, to get where we are now.
You always lived this way, as if there were plenty of kilometres left to travel.
And then the end of the road appears, unexpectedly, like when arriving at the entrance of the desert.
I just want to say one thing right now: I’m proud to be your son, dad. For ever.
And now we come to a fork in our roads and we go separate ways, I want to remind us of a quote you loved: “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.”
Salut.
Hi daughter, Saskia (message written by our dear family friend, Françoise, and read by Saskia, translated in English)
To Klaas, Azu, and our children,
It is still a time for tears, though also a time for memories that come along, and with it, smiles, and happiness.
Klaas,
I knew you were nearing the end of your life, but your death shook me greatly, and saddened me profoundly.
Over 30 years of friendship can’t really be summed up in a mere few memories, but evoking them make me smile for the first time in two days.
You’re there again, and your absence that I now know is definitive doesn’t weigh on me as much.
Klaas, I’ve loved going past your damn character and you rebuffs to keep talking with you when you didn’t want to talk to anyone.
I loved forcing your door open to share your grumpy silence.
Klaas, I loved walking through your door when it was wide open to sharing.
We have celebrated so much together!
I loved sharing our introspective conversations about our own self knowledge and the infinite opening of possibilities in our lives. And we created so many!
Klaas, I loved sharing your joy of cooking, and Ioved enjoying the small dishes you silently prepared with for us all, or specially for me.
I loved being at your table in the numerous houses you lived in.
In over 30 years of respective house moves, and moving further away from one another, our two families stayed in contact, linked with threads of friendships weaved by each one of our family members.
To encourage you to settle in Perpignan was a great joy for me.
I loved having the possibility of seeing you every year.
The last time we met, in February, we didn’t know anything of the illness that would take you away. We talked about healing, I urged you to take care of your health to get past the post-stroke period, a time I knew from experience can be tough.
And for the nth time, you gave me my favorite recipe: the chicken saté skewers with peanut sauce you made for me so often.
I succeeded in making them, they were delicious!
I’ll keep feasting in your memory!
Klaas, I will love regularly opening this memory door to you.
Thank you for all this and so much more…
Farewell, my friend.
Loving and tender thoughts for every one of you.
I will be with you in thoughts from Portugal.
~ Françoise Haubert Machado
His son Björn (patched in on the phone from Sri Lanka, the text was read in English)
Merci Papa,
You gave me life.
You opened a world of possibilities…
A vast, borderless and beautiful world…
Thank You
From the extensive global travelling to the always present copies of National Geographic and The New Yorker that piled high around the house you opened this world to me, and nothing was impossible.
Thank You
You took me on the Concorde.
Thank You
You took me to the Bahamas, we snorkelled and I ate the most delicious BBQed Barracuda with a wedge fresh lime…I can still taste it.
Thank You
You played the piano with me to keep me motivated.
Thank you
Through watching you Papa, I learned how to throw a party and how important close friends are.
I learned how to play music really loudly.
I learned how to laugh and tell a story and a joke and a little lie…
I learned how to be at a restaurant table…Beautiful Benihana comes to mind…
Thank You
I learned how to not drag my feet. Klaas did not like the sound of scuffling feet. There was a very public scolding in the streets of Manhattan that cured me of dragging my feet.
Thank you
Your generosity had no limits at times excessively so…almost to a point of ridiculousness…I too have that flawed gift…
Thank You
You introduced me to the finest things – foods – clothes – 1st class travel – shipping ridiculously large American cars to Toulouse…all very show offy of course…but hey! Who cares? It was the 70’s and 80’s…
Thank You
But more than all of those things…
You taught me that the most important things are not things…
You taught me to be a man…a big one…
You taught me to be a father…a just one…
You taught me to love unconditionally…
For everything and for who I am today…
Thank You Papa…
The stars will be happier now that you are dancing amongst them.
They Thank You.
That’s Life – Frank Sinatra
We closed the ceremony over Frank Sinatra, setting colourful flowers on his casket before it was taken away to be incinerated.
We plan to spread his ashes in Holland, hopefully some time in 2021, whenever the COVID-19 pandemic will allow the necessary travel plans to be together.
