One week

It's been more than a week since I saw Sjors standing in the cold of Amsterdam Centraal.

I think that something is dead.

It was real.

Thank you for giving that to me.

Please don't hurt me.

I never have. I never have.

I do not believe in the strength of men

I feel their weakness.

I feel pity. And anger.

Sjors was weak. He blames me for trying to free him.

He says that I have harmed him.

I have never harmed him.

I believed that he was strong.

But he gave me up when the price was high.

And he betrayed me because he feared for himself.

I have lost everything that matters to me.

And I do not believe in the strength of men.

Conversation tomorrow

For the first time in more than a year, I will see S again. I have fought hard for this. For the chance to meet face to face. He is not happy about it. His messages to me have been unkind so this new message does not surprise me. It is difficult to maintain clarity. I do not want this to be ugly. What do I want? I still want him. But not this nastiness.

I asked Christine and Eve for advice. They have watched this unfold with every painful, awful break.

My plan is to treat S as a helpful (if reluctant) stranger when we meet. I worried about the first encounter. I don't want him to define the first exchange by being angry at me or refusing to be friendly towards me. I plan to look pleasant and welcoming and to shake his hand. I will be the first one to speak. I will not try to hug him and
I will not say anything shaky or personal like, "it's been a long time" or "you look good." I will simply pretend that this is a person who has come to assist me in an investigation and I am appreciative of his cooperation.

"I know you are not happy to see me. I appreciate your coming anyway. I would like to sit someplace where we can be comfortable and have some privacy because we need to talk and I don't want to make this more difficult than it is.

I want to establish the rules of engagement here so that you know what to expect and so that we can get the best benefit from this interaction.

First, I acknowledge that this will be difficult. If your messages are any indications of your feelings then you are very angry with me. For my part, I am concerned that it will be difficult to have the right kind of discussion because I still have powerful memories and thoughts of you. I don't think that it will be helpful if either of us become upset. Therefore, I propose the following:

I want you to disassociate yourself from this situation. I recognize that you have already likely done this in many ways. I have been painted with many brushes during the past two years: unstable, "the other woman", home-wrecker, needy girlfriend, stalker. These are useful labels and cliches which allow a person to become distant and
emotionally removed. I want you to put these labels aside and I will give you a different paradigm that I want you to enter with me: I am an investigator.

I want you to consider that I am investigating the disappearance of someone I care about. I want you to consider yourself as my ally in this investigation. You are not a suspect. I am not looking to "catch you out". I am not looking to blame you. Rather, you are a witness. You are also my partner in this investigation. I want to do this with you. I feel that this is a useful paradigm because it will allow both of us to look at something difficult with objectivity. Is this a paradigm that you can adopt with me? Will you help me do this?

Next, I want you to know that I'm not recording this conversation and nobody on my side is listening in. My intention is not to get evidence against you or to set you up for anything. May I ask you, is anyone listening into our conversation from your side? It would help me to know if our conversation is private or not. I expect that I can have
my side of the conversation if someone is listening in but it will make it more difficult. And I worry that you may feel constrained about what you can and cannot say.

The person I care about went missing very suddenly and under mysterious circumstances. There were many factors involved and, when I tried to find him and find out what happened to him, I was told that he had never existed. At one point, I believed that he was still alive but that he was trapped. I did my best to get him out but I was unsuccessful. As a result of my attempt, I paid a price. I lived in uncertainty for my own safety. Friends of mine were ordered to pass over their correspondences with me and people I work with in the Dutch Navy were told untrue things about me.

Now, I am not sure if the man I care about is alive or dead. I have not stopped trying to find him. When you love someone, you don't stop hoping; you don't stop looking.

In order for me to close the door on this investigation, I will need the same thing as in any other "missing person" investigation.

1. I need verification and validation that he existed. I have my records, I have my memories. I have pictures. But you are the only person who can verify this for me. You were the sole witness.

2. I want to know his status. Is he alive? Is part of him alive? Is he dead? In order to know and understand this, at this point, a verbal answer will not be enough for me. I need to have confidence in the answers. I know it is possible that you don't have the answer. I know that I have had several hypotheses about this during the past two
years. So I need you to have patience and help me to come to an understanding.

3. I want to know what happened to him. Once again, I need the complete answer here. A partial or dishonest answer will not give me the resolution I need. I am a clever person and I know a lot of information already. If I am given a false answer (and I have been given many), my mind will not rest and I will continue to seek out an answer until the day I die. I understand that this may be difficult because, while my goal is complete knowledge and complete disclosure, the goal of MIVD is obfuscation and hiding. I need them to understand that I cannot let this be until I have the complete truth.

4. If something has happened to the person I care about, I need justice in some form. Alternately, I think I need full disclosure and an apology.

I do not think that this single conversation will get me all of these things, but I think that we can take some steps towards the first and second point."

I know I've written more here than I can speak but I thought it would be good to get the major ideas on paper.

A night in Paris

I remember when we met up in Paris.

It was just before Christmas and I had a layover  in CDG on my way back to visit my family in Utah. I'd rented a room in "Le Senat", a hotel by the Luxembourg Gardens and down the street from La Sorbonne. I was so excited to see you, I couldn't bear it. My heart felt like it would pound out of my chest.

You have always had that physical effect on me. Whenever I've seen you or heard your voice, my heart raced. In that last phone call before we traveled to Gabon when I wanted to be able to walk away from you completely, my heart ached and raced to hear your voice again, even though your words and voice were hard.

But this time in Paris, your voice when you spoke to me was not hard. You were tender towards me and you understood the effort I made to stay open towards you, to trust that you would find a way to be with me.  You saw and understood the tremendous effort I made to see you whenever I could.

The flight from Naples to Paris was cancelled at the last minute due to a snowstorm. The 200 passengers of the flight stood in line to be re-routed the following day. I fought my way to the front of the ticket line and, rather than miss the chance to see you, bought a last-minute ticket on EasyJet to ORLY (as it happened, it was the only flight that would go to Paris from Naples for the next 48 hours) The flight departed only 15 minutes after I completed the purchase and an airport worker ran me through the airport and onto the tarmac just in time to board the plane before it left.

As it turned out, you had difficulty meeting me, as well. You were held up at home and the trains from Amsterdam were delayed by the weather. I waited at the Gare du Nord train station for hours and you arrived long after midnight. Was it 1AM? Two? I ran down the platform to see you. You were leaving again at 0700 - so we had so little time together. We did not sleep. We had our pictures taken together in one of those passport photo booths and I sat on your lap (we cut the strip in half - you took two of the photos with you and I took the other two) We took the train and walked to the hotel, hand in hand, through the drifting snow. The streets were silent, muffled by the snow, and the street lamps cast halos of light. I remember a snow covered park and you raced me to the doorway of a beautiful stone building and you held me there. It felt like a ceremony, the two of us perched in front of the great wooden door. You said something about marrying me right there.

We ate dinner in the Saint Germain District. I remember you wore a nice shirt and spoke French to the waiter because you said  you wanted to impress me (although you did mess up a little in ordering the water. Do you remember? I wanted sparkling water and you ordered water sans gas). But you did not need to. It was YOU I wanted to see. YOU I needed. You were, in yourself, the most impressive person in the world to me. You had already won me - I did not need anything else. I just needed you.

In my journal, I did not write about our conversation that night. I wish I had. I thought I would have so many more nights and so many more conversations with you. I remember you were full of practicality and plans. You talked about logistics and and how you were arranging separate finances and budgeting so that you could divorce. We talked about my first meeting with Edward - and you were curious to hear what he said about you -  the way he had described you when you were a boy. I remember lying next to you, my head on your chest, listening to your heart.

You gave me your copy of "Birdsong" and I folded my black-and-white photos of us inside the cover. I gave you a copy of the children's book "Where the Wild Things Are" and I gave you my ticket stub for the Easyjet flight so that you would remember that I would do anything in the world for a moment with you. You told me it was precious to you. You told me that you had difficulty meeting, as well, and that was precious to me, too.

We showered together - you with your "efficient Sjors" submariner-speed shower and me with my leisurely "clean-every-part-of-me" pace. It annoyed you, a little, to see me be so inefficient in the shower (and neglecting to dry every part of me) but I made you laugh when I imitated your style.

We walked together to the train station in the morning and you waited until the last possible moment to board the train, until the conductor became angry with you. I remember how closely you stood to the glass doors and how you looked at me. There was nothing false or held-back with that expression. You loved me and I felt it.

I remember a man who fought to visit me in Paris for the few hours we could spend together. I remember a snowy night and walking hand-in-hand with a man I loved more than I loved my soul. I remember the struggle and the determination I saw in you - and the love-light in your eyes when you saw me.

This is the man I remember.

Ghosts on the Base

I've spent the past two days on your base in Den Helder. As I write this, I'm sitting on a bunk in the Officer's Quarters on the 13^th deck, overlooking the construction of the new building. Beyond that is the water. It is grey and blue and the wind is picking up. I went for a run and I saw three of your Submarines and I remembered talking to you when you were on Watch one evening and I remembered you telling me that you wanted to bring me aboard. I remember the fantasy we shared. 

I am here because your Navy and Marine Corps requested my support in putting together an assessments plan for their Deployment. It was such a difficult decision to say "yes." I like and trust the guys I'm working with and I'm giving them my best analytical work. But I knew that I would have to spend time in an environment which was, everywhere I looked, a reminder of you.

Everywhere I look I see men in the blue jumpsuits you used to wear with the beret at the angle I used to love. In the Cafeteria, I see the submariner group with the Dolfins on their chests and it makes me hurt and die a little more. I both wanted and feared this. I long for the man I remember. I long for the time I knew you as you were. When I look in the mirror, I see the hollowed out pieces where you used to be. It is difficult to work and give your navy support when I know what they've taken from me. I can only do it because I like and trust these particular men and because this is a field where I can excel intellectually even when I become overwhelmingly sad.

The irony about my current work space is that it is the desk and chair where Mac used to sit. It made me a little sick to be there. His name and e-mail address are on the whiteboard in his priggish girly handwriting. Mac was not the evil genius or author of my pain. But he pulled the trigger on you. He ratted you out to your Company when you spent time with me, and they talked to you and put you back in line.

I've learned a lot more about your organization in my time here. It wasn't my intent when I arrived, but I know more now than I did before. I know now that I never had enough leverage to get you out if you weren't willing to come. All I had was enough information to blow Mac's cover sky-high and now he is working some open-source job in the Hague where he can't cause too much trouble (I learned this last month from someone else who saw it happen). When your company "talked to" you, they reminded you of everything you would lose if you ditched them to be with me. They showed you all the perks of being part of the secret brotherhood. They welcomed you back into the fold and made you one of them again when you decided you would stay away from me after all.

I have never had anything to offer you except my love. It is all I have ever offered. It is all that I can offer you. It is not something which has ever diminished with time. I wish to god that it would fade because the pain of being separated from you or feeling your betrayal when I feel such a desire for your well-being and such a longing for to be with you, is hell. I used to fight this feeling, try to kill it, because I knew it was killing me. But after all this time it is still there, bright and true as the first day I met you.

Last night, John talked about his experiences with men in your line of work: how they create double and triple lives and how your company reins them back: reminds them that they have a life and home back in the Netherlands. The irony (in my opinion) was that your home life was never where your heart was. Your sons had your heart (certainly) but home, for you, was always the cover. I knew you. I loved you. I got to see the real Sjors. You loved me more than you had ever loved anyone and I made you happy. And that wasn't part of their plan.

I do not think that the men you work with and for have any comprehension of what that love was. I don't think that anyone whose job is so covert and who must hide and double-hide himself from the world can be sufficiently emotionally naked and intellectually unguarded enough to trust someone enough to love like that.

John told me that your decision to re-enter their ranks and recommit and be a good little soldier was a pressured decision but that it was your decision. It was John's opinion that you could have gotten out if you were willing to pay the price: and that, if you had loved me enough, you would have done so. You would be with me now. He believes that you were weak and that you did not love me enough and, ergo: that you are unworthy of my action and love and that I should forget you. He says that there is no distinction between you and your organization now. You are "the Company". He buys into one of the three assumptions I wrote about you. But if he is right and you were a coward - if you destroyed the man you were with me then it means the man you are now is my enemy.

I blew Mac's cover (or he blew it himself) after he'd been working in the field (albeit with marginal competence) for 10 years. That gives me some level of satisfaction. I don't really wish him ill, but I know the impact that his actions had on you. I know the impact that they had on our relationship, and I despise him for his cowardice and his weakness. I don't think that the loss of his talents was mourned by any of your colleagues.

I don't know if I did you any favors by not blowing your cover. I kept your name off the criminal complaint and I received quite a lot of push-back from my folks for using a pseudonym for you when I talked about the situation. I thought I was protecting you. But if I can't do anything for you in any real sense, maybe I should have made it impossible for you to work in a field that you felt, at one time, was ethically questionable.

My work ends today and I leave from Schiphol tomorrow at 1400. 

If you are here in the Netherlands now, I ask that you meet me in Schiphol before I fly out tomorrow. I want to see you. I want to talk in person. The men you work for must know that the only real threat I pose at this point is only to your cover and that I can chose to blow that any time I wish anyway. Against your colleagues I only have my unflagging determination to ensure that they suffer for what they've done. But this determination will not be enhanced nor diminished by seeing you. I want to have a real conversation. I want to see you. Tell them they should give me that. They owe me much more than that.

The brain, body and soul of the man I remember

I remember the first time I dumped analysis on your head.

It was after you left Naples the first time. I thought I would not see you again.

We had the tinknptr gmail account. We’d named it that way because I called you "Peter Pan" when I Skyped you from my conference in Germany. Something about you seemed so “second star to the right and straight on till morning” to me. And I would have followed you to Neverland (I would have followed you anywhere). And you called me Tink (which was appropriate, because I have no interest in being Wendy). But then you said it was because I had Julia Roberts’ bottom. And now I think it is because, if it ever came to it, I would drink poison for you.  I think that I did. I think that I do.

I was in the middle of tremendous heartache. It was the beginning of December and I was supposed to spend Sinterklaas in Haarlem with Hans. I wasn’t sure what I should do. Hans was my rock; the caretaker of my soul. We’d been together for nearly two years. He had been the most tender and beautiful relationship in my life and I loved him so much. He had put his condo on the market to be sold so that he could move to Italy and work on our relationship. We were going to get married in Italy. Before I met you I would have happily married him. But I loved you. Meeting you changed everything for me.

It changed everything for you, as well. In December, you wrote to me from Doorn. You said: “I will be very honoust with you. I wanted you to leave me alone. I thought things could be the same as they were. Something inside me changed. I don't know if I want it to change back, and I doubt the possibilities. Secretly I fantasise about seeing you again, knowing it will not be possible on short notice. I thought it would be good to cool down, to let things be. Instead I am breaking and have broken every rule I had and that has been enforced upon me. Worst of all is that I don't feel bad about it. It is you I fear most. Don't feel bad, feel strong. You are in my heart no matter what happens, always.”

I was trying to analyze things because my heart hurt too badly to understand what step to take next. I thought that I should be able to stand back at a distance and make a decision from my head because I was in such grieving. I am a physicist. I analyze everything. I wrote some of my analysis to you in an e-mail message (with bullet points - because I'm analyst!).  And then I decided that I ought to retract it, or at least apologize. I have always had to apologize for thinking. I read so much, Sjors. I take down five or six books a week. And I always have five or six projects I’m working on. When I’ve dated men or make friends, or even have projects at work, I downplay these facts, or hide them. Most people don’t like the way I dig deeply or want to understand everything or can’t stop my brain from consuming and creating. I think I make people uncomfortable when I let them see who I am. Not you.

You wrote this message to me:

“My dearest dearest Tinker Bell,

1. STOP APPOLOGISING FOR YOUR BRAIN ACTIVITY. I LIKE IT. I LOVE IT. IT IS PRECISELY THAT THAT MAKES YOU YOU. DON'T BE SORRY FOR BEING YOU.

2. I largely agree with your assessments. I do have some small modifications which I will let you know later.

3. Read remark 1 again!”

I kept this message (of course, I kept every message from you). It amazed me. There was something about it – and every conversation we’d ever had – that made me understand the truth: you saw me. Not the person I needed to show to the world: the edited, softer, more reserved person. You saw ME. I could be as loud and bright and analytical as I really am around you. I could be as full of dreams and ambition and hope and idealism as I really am. You were not afraid of me. At all. You didn't need to make me smaller to fit into some preconceived notion of "feminine". I didn't need to be a shy violet around you. It didn't threaten your manhood when I fought for things. You wanted my mind. You loved my mind.

You challenged and pushed me. Your mind was as quick as mine. You matched me move for move. Sometimes we fought because we both thought we had the "best" way for doing things. Once, when you were checking in at the airport (it was a tight moment at the Rome FCO) you directed me to "stay put" in the car. Of course, I did my own calculation and decided that there was a greater risk of missing a goodbye with you if I didn't try for a parking spot fast. I remember how pissed we were at each other - YOU: because you thought you were right and I'd disobeyed you, and ME: because I thought I was right and because you expected me to obey you!

Sometimes (particularly when we were apart for a long period) you seemed to forget this about me. It was always a bit shocking to both of us when we came together again and saw that the other person was our intellectual mirror - not the same skills or the same interests. But the same intellectual curiosity and passion and brightness. I loved that you understood and accepted me for my brain. It was not a detriment to you. You loved it! It was so inspiring to me to be able to write what I thought on our shared account and not edit myself, and to learn that you liked what I wrote.

There were other aspects of me which I also tended to hide or minimize - and which you called out and loved. I remember how enraptured you were about my least-favorite physical trait: my bottom. God, how strange that was to me. I suppose we all dislike things about our bodies - so I thought you were making fun of me when you first told me I had the "most beautiful bottom in the world". But you weren't. You just liked it. You liked my entire body. Maybe it was strange for me, as well, because I thought your body was amazing. There was not a single inch of you I didn't want to caress and touch and learn and taste. It wasn't because you were new and interesting to me (I have never experienced this with another man, before or since). I just loved every part of you: body, mind, spirit. It was amazing to me that you felt the same way about me. When we made love, I felt like the lines of my self became blurred and took you in completely. I think you felt the same way. Once, on Skype you told me, "When I see you, I want to be with you. When I'm with you, I want to touch you. When I touch you I want to make love to you." I felt the same way. And I felt one step further: when I made love to you, I wanted to be part of you.

In messages to me, you called me, “My dearest, precious most beautiful irresistable impossible Elisabeth” and I called you, “Most fantastic, delightful, elusive, adored Sjors”.

I became so sad after I ended things with Hans. I understand now that the sadness of that loss haunts me to this day. But immediately afterwards, it was acute. I would hold myself very still because I felt sure that something would break if I moved. I felt that the world was brittle and would shatter around me. Shortly afterward, you flew to Naples to see me. I had given up the most important thing in my life because I loved you and you needed me to know that you were married. You told me the conditions of your marriage, and that you had made a mistake. You told me you would end things and be with me. I needed your reassurances, but it was such a shock to me. So soon on the heels of the loss of Hans, this double loss began to work its damage. In early December, we were Skyping and your kids were around - I could hear them playing in the background. I was trying to be cheerful but I felt so heavy and tired. My head drooped to the arm of the couch. I was embarassed that I couldn't "pull myself together". I remember how kind you were. You wrote me a message afterwards, articulated what you felt:

"What happened yesterday during the skypecall I think has never happened to me before. I thought that I could feel what you felt. Not empathy, it was more than that. I can empathise, I do empathise, I can offer comfort or feel verry sorry for people and I can feel the desire to act in order to make a contribution to improvement. But now I thought, I imagined I could feel you, Your pain, doubt and helplessness. You didn't ask for this, why did it happen to you? Did I make the right decisions? How will it end? You need something to rely on and it fails you that. Your family is dear to you but it is impossible to turn to them for support, you ended your relationship with Hans, a decision that was huge and you start to doubt when things get emotionally bad and I am here but you feel you can't rely on me. I am only here when possible, I can not really be there for you when you need me. You don't want to say that to me because you don't want to make me feel bad but somewhere inside you feel a combination of anger and helplessess about it. Altogether this has caused a depression. I not only understand that, I imagined I could feel that. I also realised that I can not give you now what you so desperately need. That really hurt me because you, of all people, deserve it so much. And I want to give you too."

You were not offended that I was sad. You did not need me to be different - you loved me so much that you felt my sadness. 

This was the Sjors I knew: you loved me because I was me. You didn't need me to be different than I was. You loved my mind for what it was. You loved my body as it was. And I could be as sad or happy as I really was and not pretend to be different. How strange it is that we walk around in life only showing people the things about us that we think we can handle. We edit ourselves to fit other people's expectations. And then how amazing it is to find another person who is able to see all those things that everyone else misses - and who loves all the parts of us we usually hide. The Sjors I knew loved every part of me because it was me. And I loved every part of you because it was you.