Anne-Bo Raasveld (19, student) died on October 13, 2019 as a result of myocarditis. She was the daughter of Annemieke van de Wouw (51, headhunter) and she had one sister, Annemieke (18). Her parents were divorced.
Annemieke: ‘It was Sunday morning and I came home at a quarter to 11 from spinning at the gym. I was soaking wet, so I threw my workout clothes on the floor in front of the washing machine and put on a bathrobe. I hate bathrobes, but I had a meeting with a friend at 2 in the afternoon, so I had plenty of time to cook an egg and eat a sandwich. My youngest daughter Annemieke, who still lived at home, went to work in Toujours, a restaurant here in Haarlem. While I was just sitting quietly, a friend texted her that she was cycling through the city and if I had time for a coffee. I texted back: ‘If you can take a bathrobe, you’re welcome.’
Moments later, when we were having coffee together, the doorbell rang. We used to joke about who that could be on Sunday morning. Unsuspectingly, I opened the door. I only remember that there were two tall cops standing there, I can’t remember their faces. They said, ‘We have bad news, can we come in?’ My mother, it flashed through my mind. They asked if I would like to sit down. My girlfriend had gone to the bathroom and they were waiting for her to come back. When she was sitting too, they said, looking at me, ‘Your daughter died last night.’ I looked at my girlfriend and said, ‘What a strange story. What a very strange story, I must say.’ The officers said she would be transferred to the AMC. They did not say anything about the circumstances, it was unknown. An investigation had been launched, because a young girl of 19 does not just die. The house was locked up as a crime scene and detectives were on the scene. I asked and said nothing at all. I just thought: this story isn’t about me, and it certainly isn’t about Anne-Bo. The officers asked where Anne-Bo’s father and sister were. They left to brief them and would return later.
Anne-Bo had moved to Amsterdam a year ago, where she studied International Business. She had a fantastic year, she was on top of the world† She lived in a house with Youp, Jesse and Johan, three friends who had asked her to come and live with them. She loved sharing a house with those guys. She once said: ‘Mama, every day when I come out of my room, Youp says: ‘Good morning, beautiful.’ I replied, “Enjoy it, because you won’t get that back for the rest of your life.”
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After the officers left, I took a shower. Then I put on black pants and a black turtleneck. Once downstairs I called Annemieke, who said she was coming. Then I called my brother, he immediately went to get my mother. We arrived at the AMC at the same time as Anne-Bo’s father and his brother. We were led to a consultation room, where we first had a conversation with the detective. Then Anne-Bo was wheeled in on a hospital bed. It was surreal, totally unreal. I thought it wasn’t true and I still think it. I didn’t even cry when I saw her. I wasn’t shocked either, for me she wasn’t dead at all, I don’t even use that word. Nice young body, I thought. Her face had already changed a bit, but that was nice too.
I stood above Anne-Bo together with my best friend, who is also called Annemieke. She had a small tattoo that I hadn’t seen before. I never let her do that, but she’d had one put in before. The two of us took the sheet off to look at the tattoo, it was a scorpion, her zodiac sign. Annemieke said: ‘It was always a thunderstone too.’ We had to laugh about that together. That’s how we stood looking at her. I can really grasp something in life, I can take on the world, but this shock is so big. You get to a certain point, but this is still miles above it. I will never understand and I never will. We were told that she would be transferred to the hospital in Leiden for examination.
Her roommates had found her at 10 o’clock in the morning. The boys had no idea what had happened. The night before, her boyfriend had texted Splinter on his way back from a party if he would still come, but Anne-Bo didn’t have to, she was going to sleep. At 5 o’clock in the morning she still went to the toilet. Nobody knows what happened after that.
To investigate
She was supposed to come home on Tuesday, but she didn’t come home until Friday afternoon. Research followed research. Autopsy by the doctor, autopsy by the detective. They found nothing. She was immediately tested for drink and drugs, and that was immediately ruled out. My kids were both averse to drug use, but I’m not putting my hand in fire for anything. Of course it crossed my mind: surely she’s not the one who just took the wrong pill? I was glad that was ruled out, because of course the Indian stories were already going around. But what was it? Huib, a good friend of mine who is a surgeon and professor, said: ‘It doesn’t matter what the cause is, because the result is the same.’ And so it is. What does it solve? We couldn’t have prevented this either. And apart from that: if you could have prevented it, it is of no use to you, because you did not prevent it.
The results only came after seven months, the report had been delayed due to corona. She died of myocarditis, an inflammation of the heart muscle. The same as the football player Nouri, who crashed on the football field and was resuscitated on the spot. Myocarditis can be caused by a virus or a bacteria, an ear or throat infection, it can be anything. It’s mostly bad luck.
You learn to live with loss, apparently, because life goes on. But you can’t really live with it. I feel incomplete and have a wind chill that is continuously minus 2. I am not unhappy, but I am in mourning for the rest of my life. Those are two different things. The mourning always travels with me, will always be there in the background. I’m on a forum of parents with deceased children. We have exactly the same dilemmas and pain points; it never goes away and it never goes away. It gives a form of comfort, and especially of recognition. Because the rest have no clue.
What remains is Anne-Bo’s love that I can live on, the extreme love she felt for me and I for her. I can live on that for the rest of my life. I’m still alive, but every day that has passed is one day closer to Anne-Bo.’