Yesterday

morning my Farmor (paternal grandmother) passed away. 94 years old. Clear as crystal and a tougher cookie than most. Her four children sat with her this week even though she told them to "not sit around and wait for me to die". 


My heart aches when I think about her and the times we had together. Not all happy. Not all covered in a rosy shimmer. But all important and never dull. All things that made me grow as a person.
I have so many things to thank her for. The many times we spent looking through old photo albums from her youth when she told me the story of her family. Giving our family story a sense of adventure and mystery and making me feel part of that story. All our conversations about life and love. Her patience through my rebellious twenties when I among other things questioned the very essence of her world, marriage and children. And her knowing smile when I told her I was getting married when I met Diver Dude. Her blunt way of asking when it would be our turn to have children with the question "have you found out what's wrong with you". And her caring questions about reproductive procedures she didn't understand but knew was important to me. The way she would stroke my cheek and smile at me. 


This trip to Sweden will now not only be for a chance to start a new life but also about the end of a loved one's.


Thank you for everything dear Farmor, may you rest in peace. 

Tack för allt älskade Farmor!