In almost all of Maaike Otten’s (46) childhood photos there is always one woman looking at her with a radiant smile. A cheerful woman with short, curly dark brown hair, who is visibly proud of Maaike. That woman is Maij, Maaike’s aunt, who was an undeniable rock throughout her life. “She was my second mother. I still think every day how much I would like to call her.”
Maaike grows up in Goirle, in a family where illness is central. Her mother is often in hospital and when she suffers a brain haemorrhage, she becomes paralyzed and her condition continues to deteriorate. In 1996, Maaike’s mother died after a long and painful illness. Maaike is only 16 years old. “It may sound crazy, but I am at peace with her death. My mother was in so much pain. The idea that she is now at peace has reassured me for almost thirty years.”
The void left by her mother was actually filled for a long time by Maij, her mother’s sister. “She took care of me from when I was a baby.” Maij took on almost all the tasks that her sister could no longer fulfill. “She washed my hair, cut my nails, gave me advice when I was a teenager and talked to me about my first period. She gave me the stability and security that my mother could not provide.”
Caring for others was deep in Maij’s blood. She worked in a nursing home, but outside of it she was always there for others. “If someone was sick, she would be at the door with a pan of chicken soup and she would bake an apple pie for every birthday boy or girl,” says Maaike. “She was a warm, sociable woman who loved parties and a beer, but who also worked for a foundation that helped families in Romania for many years.”
Due to the heavy work in healthcare, Maij later developed problems with her back and fell on sick leave. In 2000, her mother died, and Maaike saw her aunt deteriorate further. “I saw her slowly losing her sparkle.”
But that sparkle returns when Maaike gives birth to a son at the age of 19. “She immediately took on a grandmother’s role. She often babysat when I was having a hard time or had to work and went for walks with my son. I saw her blossom again.”
Yet life leaves deep marks on Maij when her brother took his own life in 2005. “From that moment on, she started to lose her cheerful self more and more. It was as if her heart was closing. I wanted to talk to her, but I couldn’t. I felt powerless.”
Slowly but surely, Maaike sees how her aunt continues to lose her cheerful nature. “We saw each other often and I took care of her when she needed it, but she became increasingly negative.”
But Maij never seemed to lose one quality. Maaike tells how, even at the age of 77, she still brought chicken soup when Maaike was ill. “She was so caring until the end.”
The bond between the two remained inseparable: “We sometimes called three times a day and every conversation ended with: love you!”
But in the summer of 2023, on July 20, something happens that stops the loving phone calls between the two forever. On that day, Maaike’s grandmother’s birthday, Maij lights a candle for her mother. “It was a warm summer evening, so she decided to open the window behind the table with candles,” says Maaike.
But then things go wrong. Maij’s nightgown catches fire. “She first called me in a panic and then my son. That shows how much of a family person she was. She didn’t even think about the emergency services.”
Maaike’s son rushed to her apartment and found Maij in the shower, she had been badly burned. She is taken to the burn center in Rotterdam. There she seems to recover temporarily, but when her organs start to fail, she is kept in a coma. A doctor delivers the bad news: If she were to survive, she would be nothing more than a greenhouse plant. “She would never have wanted that.” says Maaike. That same day, Maij dies in the hospital.
During the cremation the room is full of loved ones. Family members speak about her and the warmth she always brought with her. The funeral card shows a butterfly, painted by Maaike’s cousin. “She always said: if I die, I will come back as a butterfly.”
Maaike explains how the room looked out onto a large glass wall with a view of nature. “During the farewell we saw a butterfly fly by. That moment gave me goosebumps.”
Now, more than two years later, the loss is still great. “I want to call her so often, for advice, or just to chat and have a cup of coffee. Those moments are no longer there. It’s quiet.”
Maaike looks at the starry sky when she misses Maij. “Then I sometimes ask her: am I doing it right? Are you at peace now? Her body is gone, but her spirit remains,” she says. “And when I think about it, I feel her warmth around me again.”
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