Horror starts, like charity, at home. – Donald Davie

“Choose a piece of art that tells a story,” I was told.

I looked around my living room, searching for something that would fit the bill.

The painting I bought for Sean’s birthday? No.

The print given to me my a mentor? Also not quite right.

And then I saw it…the vase made by my grandmother.

Henrica Julia Volrada Elisabeth (Lily) ter Kuile-Nypels was an artist across multiple disciplines: a painter, knitwear designer, garden designer, and a potter. She still has pieces that come up for auction now and then, and one of the things I love about my husband is that he’ll scour the interwebs to find a small teapot or strange animal-shaped piece for me.

Moeka, as we grandchildren called her, said dismissively that she was “not a cuddle grandma.” She had little interest in snuggles on the sofa. What she cared about was the standard of our creative work.

Outside her basement atelier hung framed drawings made by her grandchildren—and it was a big deal if you made something that hit the big time. I was immensely proud to have one or two hanging there. My cousin Hendrik had SEVEN.

Because I grew up in England and my grandparents lived in Holland, we’d often spend two weeks at their home in the summer. They were wealthy, with a smaller second house on the property reserved for guests. That’s where we’d stay, but instead of sharing meals with my grandparents—and I thought this was completely normal until I was well into my 20’s—at lunch and dinner time, one grandchild would walk over to the big house to join them to eat.

Moeka wanted things done her way. That made her an excellent artist and a wonderful organizer of practical jokes; but quite a formal grandparent. And at the end of her life, she became an absolute terror to the people who cared for her. I think she went through forty two home health aides in the span of three years. Forty two. Truly shameful.

She had a searing tongue. My sisters and I still quote some of her most memorable snobby quips. Having grown up as one of the few families that would go to the Alps during the winter months, she’d say to us, “Well, these days, even the milkman goes skiing!”

And yet, my grandmother was also the only adult in my family I remember really sharing her spirituality with me as a child. She’d take me for a walk around her beautiful woodland garden and ask if I could see the fairies.

I told her I could.

Perhaps the memory I treasure most is the one time she met Sean, just before she died. Unlike my grandfather who’d accepted my uncle’s coming out in his twenties with grace and love, my grandmother had not reacted well. Sure, it had been the 1980s, but she still used outdated language when I was a teenager—so it was with some hesitancy that I brought the man I loved to meet her.

Sean didn’t speak Dutch, of course, though he’d learned a few phrases to greet her with. It was only a short trip, and so we sat down for tea on the terrace. Everything went well: there was laughter. Moeka and Sean talked about the garden. I enjoyed my favorite Dutch baked good: a stroopwafel.

And then it was time to go.

Moeka followed us down the stairs with some effort—she’d had a stroke a year or so before. And when we turned to say goodbye, standing in front of the rounded wooden door, my feet on the courtyard’s gravel, she suddenly grabbed both our hands, and with tears in her eyes, said urgently:

“Stay together. Promise me you’ll stay together.”

For anyone who has been together for over a decade, you’ll know of the inevitable ups and downs in a relationship. And whenever things get tough, I hear Moeka’s voice—the biggest gift she gave me.

Stay together. Promise me you’ll stay together.

I shared this story at The Jar last week: an event where a group conversation starts with a reflection about a piece of art. My friend Guy Ben-Aharon offered these reflection questions after I shared about Moeka. Perhaps they can bring you some rich conversation, too.

1. What is trait or behavior you’ve inherited from a family member that you’re ashamed of? What is one you’re proud of? Tell us a story about one of these.
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2. Tell us about a person in your life who you love, but who is “tough.” When was a moment when they made your life harder? When was a moment when you felt loved by them?
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3. What are two phrases you grew up hearing as a child, one that you still live by, and one that you’ve had to unlearn?
   

I’m very grateful Moeka was my grandmother. I can still hear her calling up from her atelier when I’d walk into the big house, “Yooooouuuhooooouu!"

I hope she’d be grateful that I’m her grandson, too.