Rest in Peace, Oma.

My grandmother, Marijke, passed away on March 6, 2026. I was 30 years old when she died; she was 98. She lived a long, full life marked by love, laughter, hardship, and resilience.

In her hometown of Amersfoort, the Netherlands, she was known as "The Pearl of Amersfoort," a title bestowed upon her by the local newspaper. Amersfoort was where she was born, where she spent her entire life, and where she ultimately passed away. She never wanted to live anywhere else and often spoke of her love for that simple yet beautiful town. She could talk endlessly about its streets, its history, and especially its famous clock tower.

It was in Amersfoort that she experienced World War II. One story in particular makes me proud to be her granddaughter.

During the Hunger Winter of January 1945, food was scarce throughout much of the Netherlands. While some people survived by eating tulip bulbs, her family found another way. They sent Marijke to visit farmers in the eastern part of the country, where food shortages were less severe, and she was more than willing to make the journey.

That winter, she embarked on a three-day bicycle trip, riding roughly 100 kilometers each way on a heavy old bicycle. She spent two nights on the road and returned carrying precious supplies for her family. The journey back was physically exhausting, but it was also emotionally devastating. Along the way, she witnessed another young woman cycling beside her being struck by a Nazi military truck and taken to hospital.

By the time she finally reached the entrance to Amersfoort, she was alone, exhausted, and arriving after curfew. German soldiers stopped her and demanded, "Halt, was machen Sie hier?" ("Stop! What are you doing here?")

She had reached her limit.

Instead of apologizing or explaining herself, she fired back: "Was machen SIE hier? Donder op naar je eigen land!" ("What are YOU doing here? Go back to your own country!")

Fortunately for her, the men she encountered were ordinary German soldiers rather than members of the SS. By that stage of the war, many were young men who wanted nothing more than for the fighting to end so they could return home. Germany was losing, and everyone knew it. Somehow, whether out of shock, sympathy, or simple exhaustion, they let her pass without touching her or confiscating her supplies.

That was Marijke. Faced with fear, hardship, and occupation, she still found the courage to stand her ground.

She was, quite simply, a badass.

I was amazed by the number of people who attended her funeral. It was a testament to her warmth and kindness, and to the many friendships she cultivated throughout her life. She loved to travel, although my father often told me that she suffered terrible migraines on road trips. Fortunately, that seems to be the only hereditary trait I inherited from her—and even then, I've only had one migraine in my entire life.

Food was never particularly important to her. Apparently, she had very little appetite throughout her life. In her later years, however, she became famous within the family for wandering around the house at three in the morning looking for cookies and biscuits, despite barely touching the dinner that had been prepared for her.

She was full of stories and eventually wrote many of them down in a book of her own. I now have a copy with me; several copies were printed for the funeral. Reading her words feels like spending time with her again.

The funeral was bittersweet. Stories were shared, memories were revisited, and I said goodbye to my last living grandparent. As painful as it was, I also felt a sense of peace. She had struggled with dementia during the last years of her life, and she deserved rest.

I love you, Oma. I hope you're at peace. ❤️