I don’t think I was a planned baby, considering I was born only six months after my very young parents got married. My dad worked shifts at a newspaper and my mum stayed home in their tiny rental in Amsterdam to take care of me.
I remained their only child.

Nine years after my birth, my dad earned enough to rent a larger family home in the suburbs. Life in Alkmaar was good. I had friends and was a happy child.
For about a year.

Then, my life took a turn. Though it was more of
a turning point for my 30-year-old mum.
One day she got a massive headache.
My dad had to go to work, and I went to school. The GP, still speckled with glitters from graduation, diagnosed this headache as a severe case of ‘the flu’.
Over the next few days, my mum’s condition worsened rather than improved. She was eventually diagnosed with a severe stroke.
It was 1975.

My mum survived, but only just. She was left with classic stroke symptoms: partial paralysis on one side, difficulty swallowing and speaking. Plus a total loss of short-term memory and a change of behaviour.
Unfortunately, her recovery was very limited.