My dear sister Tineke Liong-A-Kong passed away on September 1st, after a month and a half of illness. The day after her 50th birthday, which she celebrated in style, she had a third brain hemorrhage. This raises questions for every person. I, as a sister, have also asked the most fundamental questions in the past period, but above all learned about a dignified farewell.
Gail, my Dad and Tineke, this year in Spice Quest during the launch of Going Natural Hair Care
Aunt Irene, Tineke's good, sweet neighbor, whom she called every morning, rushed my sister to the AZ emergency room after she had measured a very high blood pressure. Exactly where the medical staff could and should have intervened, Tineke suffered the ultimately fatal third brain hemorrhage. Simply because she had to wait too long.
Even after Aunt Irene had indicated that the situation was very serious, no nurse, no receptionist, no one made any move. Only when foam came out of her mouth and Aunt Irene desperately shouted with her arms in the air "do people here have to die first before they get help!", did help arrive. Of course that was too late. My sister even had two epileptic attacks afterwards. Unconscious, she was transported to RKZ where she lay in a coma for a week, because AZ had no room.
We, the family, all feared the worst, but after a week Tineke miraculously recovered. The period that followed was a heavy emotional ordeal, with lows but also highs.
This time her right half had failed. She could no longer swallow. She did open her eyes and raise her eyebrows. There was some movement in her left arm but she could no longer talk.
During these difficult weeks I got to know a whole different side of my sister. I knew she had many friends, but so many and so loyal that there were visitors almost every day she was there, touched me deeply.
Friends, girlfriends, nieces, nephews, aunts, bought aunts, people from the neighborhood, colleagues, all came by to give Tineke a pat on the back. Everyone with a good word about Tineke, a song or a prayer. It was beautiful, wonderful to see. Despite her sickbed and the difficult situation, I often left her room with a lightened feeling. First the Acute Care and then room 146 in Neurology.
Of course, there were also days when it was less. It hurt me to see my oh so lively sister lying there without us really being able to communicate. There were times when she tried very hard to say something. I saw her racking her brain sometimes, but no sound came out and I didn't understand what she was saying. That was cool.
I massaged her with coconut oil. Her arms, legs and the fingers of her left hand that could no longer stretch due to the second brain hemorrhage years ago.
The burial order
There was still strength in her fist. That way we had some contact. Sometimes I sang for her, Amazing Grace, one of the few songs I still knew from the time of the Christus Koning School. I thought it was fitting, the grace she showed after yet another ugly stroke was miraculous.
The moments when she smiled were the best. When she saw my dad, when she saw her daughters, and when she made a fool of me to show the speech therapist that her tongue still had movement, the whole room was in stitches.
The day before she died was one of the few afternoons I was alone with her. Her temperature had risen again, her breathing was labored. I said, 'You have a fever again, gudu, it's not going well.' I asked the nurses if the expectorants had been administered yet. Yes, and they would only be administered after visiting hours.
I grabbed her fist again. There was very little strength in it. I sang Amazing Grace, hoping she wouldn’t get bored of the only song I could really sing. Not at the top of my lungs, but softly, because that’s how it felt, not realizing it would be the last time she could hear me.
The next day the phone call came. There were many tears, despite the fact that it was to be expected. I think we all intuitively realized that it was an unfair fight. We wanted the best for our Tinke who was a sister, daughter, mother and grandmother. Soon it was said, she has been released from her suffering. That makes it a bit easier in some ways, but the loss still takes some getting used to. Tineke, my sister, is no longer there.
The funeral
The funeral was beautiful. All 225 chairs in the auditorium of Hodie Mihi Cras Tibi on Dr. Sofieredmondstraat were occupied. The rest of the people who had not been able to get a seat stood against the wall in the hall. Not only family, but also friends and girlfriends from Wageningen, Yellow Birds, Condor, Stichting ALBUFLO, OASE, colleagues and old classmates came to greet my sister.
Mr. Sno, from the Ministry of Sports and Youth Affairs, spoke, as did her daughter Tyra, my brother Jeff, my dad and I. The children of the ALBUFLO Foundation, who trained Tineke until the end, stood crying by the coffin with a basketball to pay her their last respects.
When it comes to sports, Tineke is one of the most talented women I have ever met. As a young girl, she represented Suriname at the Interguyanese Games in Guyana, playing table tennis. At 15, she was asked to join the swimming team in Badhoeve village in the Netherlands, where she lived for a little over a year. She also excelled in basketball and volleyball at Yellow Birds and Condor.
Once she had completed the COAS sports education, she joined Sports and Youth Affairs, where she was always on the field, among children. After her second stroke, they gave her a desk job because she was no longer able to walk well, but in no time she was back on the field. She did not let her disability limit her.
In fact, despite her disability, she walked about 5 km from her home every week to give the kids basketball practice. If she was absent one day, I'm told, they called her. They will miss her too.
As my brother said in his speech: for the last time Tineke has attracted a full house, unfortunately without her lively infectious smile. With the party on her 50th she said goodbye. Our mother will be waiting for her, but she can expect a buck because she left much too early.
Soso lobi Sisa. Read In Memoriam: Tineke Liong-A-Kong
