The Siroker Brothers

In Memoriam of My Opa, Frans Kortie

Last week hundreds of friends and family came to say their final goodbye to my grandfather, my Opa, Frans Kortie. I flew to the Netherlands from San Francisco and stayed with my mother and uncle for four short days in the home that my grandparents had lived in together for almost half a century. I decided to come in order to be with my family and to say goodbye.

Here is the eulogy I delivered to a church full of friends and family:

One of my first memories of my Opa was when I was ten years old and trying to fall asleep upstairs in his house. I was scared to be so far away from home and I was freezing under my blanket during the cold Dutch night. I remember hearing the sound of the TV downstairs while my Opa was watching the evening news. The sound was actually comforting. I knew that my Opa was awake downstairs protecting me. No burglars or boogeymen could come and get me as long as I could hear my Opa downstairs.

As I grew older I began to appreciate more and more the time I spent with my Opa. Some consider the Dutch word “gezellig” difficult to translate into English. My definition is simple: Opa, Oma, my mother, my brother, and me sitting together around the dinner table at Jan van Eyckgracht 63.

At this very table my Opa actually taught me the meaning of patience. Ever since I was a little kid he would tell me to slow down, take my time, and enjoy my food. It took a couple of years, but I actually started to follow his advice. I remember going back to America and eating dinner with my friends. They were rushing through their food when I heard myself say: “slow down, take your time, and enjoy your food”.

One of my more recent memories of Opa was in March when we were on vacation together. My mother, Opa, and I drove through the Netherlands, Germany, and Belgium until we finally stopped in Luxemburg at hotel called “The Old Mill” where my Opa and Oma had stayed almost two decades ago. At the hotel restaurant, on the night before my 22nd birthday, my mother, Opa, and I had a wonderful dinner together. After my mom went to sleep, Opa and I stayed downstairs in the restaurant. We shared a moment I will never forget. We drank French cognac and talked about everything from life, work, and family to women, love, and heartbreak. I can’t imagine a better birthday present than that.

Soon after I learned that my Opa had cancer, I started wearing this yellow bracelet. The words LIVESTRONG are inscribed on it and embody the life of my Opa. My Opa lived his life with strength. I felt that my commitment to wearing this bracelet helped my Opa livestrong with his cancer. I have been wearing it every day for ten months and today I am ready to bury this with my Opa.

A few weeks ago I asked my Opa how he would like to be remembered. He smiled and said, “As a good Opa. As a good partner to my wife. And as a good father to my children.” He went on to say that he has done all he wanted to in his life and there was nothing more he wishes he had accomplished. He was ready to die.

My Opa will no longer protect me while I sleep. My Opa will no longer be there for me on my birthdays.

My Opa is no longer alive in that casket, but my Opa will always be alive here [point to my head] and in here [point to my heart].