Verslagenheid, was the word my brother mentioned when I talked to him last night. I couldn’t find the right word in English, but the Dutch word is the perfect one to describe the situation.
It’s that feeling of losing a football game and all you could do is watch the ball going in the wrong direction. Over and over. It’s like running around in the rain hoping it may clear up, but knowing it will not because the forecast told you so the day before. Pouring. Cats and dogs. Or it’s that feeling of hurt somewhere inside of you and you pray to everyone to let it go away, but you know it will be there until you see a doctor. If you’re not religious, every reasonable question leads to the one answer and the inevitable outcome. Verslagenheid.
Last Friday, the mother in law was taken to hospital after suffering a massive stroke. A couple of months ago she had already suffered a minor one: amazingly (and much to our surprise) she overcame that one and returned to almost hundred percent of her pre-stroke capabilities.
There are so many questions how it could have happened, but all the questions seem to lead to one answer: there is none, but the outcome is death. Nobody is sure when she will be breathing her last breath (it could take days, weeks or even months). Braindead. The day before she suffered her stroke we were both joking about the sesameseed and the yeast I bought the other day (earlier). Cooking generally. Like we always did during weekdays and during my daily visits. She was ready to make donuts and I was going to make a couple of loafs of bread. She needed sprinkles. And I needed sesameseed.
Verslagenheid.