I won’t lie: I was nervous.
Not only was this our first ‘public appearance’ as a couple, but I had to meet the entire family and friend circle. Okay, “entire family” sounds bigger than it really was: he has one sister (at that point in time she was single), two parents, an uncle and aunt and two cousins, one with a partner. That was the entire family.
I’ll never forget it: me in a dress to attend my boyfriend’s graduation. We had only met a few weeks before and with him living in the south and me in the middle, we only really spent a few weekends together. But here I was: at the university campus, meeting the family.
They spoke funny. Local dialect, especially among each other. Couldn’t really understand it, but they all looked quite friendly. I couldn’t remember who was the mom and who was the aunt. Same for the males. Who would be my boyfriend’s father?
This bigger guy: he had sparkling brown eyes, like a child who’s up to no good. He seemed friendly, engaging, happy and energetic, and despite his funny dialect, and his loud thunderous voice and laugh, he seemed like a good guy.
Turned out: He was indeed the father of my boyfriend and over dinner we had a chance to talk. Me, in my spontaneous ways (especially when I am nervous I have a tendency to blurt) invited him over to stop by if he was ever close to the city I lived in. He appreciated me drinking beer (something his son or the previous girlfriend didn’t do). He liked that I loved food (the previous girlfriend apparently was anorexic and the father, a big ‘live in the moment’ kind of guy had lots of trouble with that), and my talkative nature.
I was surprised about one week later, when he followed up on my offer. I came home from work to find my boyfriend’s dad on my stoop. “I was in Amsterdam, and you said I was welcome to stop by.” I liked it. He took me out for dinner and I learned so much about him. We made plans to go to ‘carnaval‘ some time. We talked about ‘Koninginnedag‘ and how we would one day celebrate this. together. We talked about some bands we both liked. Right then and there I knew I wanted this man in my life.
My boyfriend became my husband and just like that, this nice guy with his mischievous brown twinkle eyes became my father-in-law. We had a connection from the start. He bought me a beer glass for when we visited, so I could have a beer in my special glass at their house. We did follow up on our plans and I went to ‘Carnaval’ with him and his friend group. One year we did celebrate ‘Koninginnedag’ together, where I nearly traded my boots for a pair of good old Dutch wooden shoes. 
His laugh, always loud and boisterous, his tickles left bruises, he tried to wash off a tattoo I had placed on my shoulder, he couldn’t believe it was real. When I was pregnant, we compared bellies (he won) and despite us moving to the US, I never felt our connection became less. On the contrary.
When visiting my in-laws, he and I would bike to get fresh cherries. He knew everyone. You couldn’t walk anywhere with him without having to stop every 30 seconds for a chit-chat with someone he knew. He was generous and loved to eat. He would teach his oldest grandson to eat ‘salted herring ‘like a proper Dutch man’. 
He would play tricks with my middle child, showing off his missing finger. He would laugh out loud with my daughter, with jokes that were neither good or funny, but made them laugh nevertheless. He was always willing to drive us anywhere and most recently he took my oldest son and his girlfriend and me on a college tour through the Netherlands.
And then, this Saturday, there was this phone call. I can’t say we didn’t totally expect it: he was a big guy with multiple diseases and could possibly benefit from a healthier diet and more exercise. But he always said he rather lived life to the fullest and drink his Heineken and live a bit shorter than to have to suffer through diets and other nuisances to increase his life span. His motto: “Je kan ‘t mae ‘g had èn …” (maybe this translates in something like ‘you’re better off just having it done’, although it sounds much better in this Dutch dialect!)
So on the last day of summer, on a campground near his favorite river, he took his last breath in the camper. So like him, to enjoy this last vacation. As if he knew.
And now my husband will fly to the Netherlands, 3400 miles away from us, to attend the funeral service and help his mother and sister sort things out. The kids and I can’t really come. Realistically, it’s just not worth the hassle. We discussed this years ago, my in-laws and I, we made a plan. The kids and I will come once things have settled and we can actually enjoy each other. When people will not be all sad or overcome with emotions. When we can go sight-seeing without feeling guilty of having fun in a time like this.
And so this is what will happen. We will follow a little bit of the service through WhatApp, Facetime or Skype. We, as a family ,planted a tree in our front yard in his memory. A cherry tree of course.
Double Dutch plus three 