Today it’s seven years since we buried you.

Such a cold day. The night before the funeral I slept in the cottage in the company of two of my brothers, and little Lucas the dog. The temperature outside was somewhere around -30 C and the cottage wasn’t very warm either. I remember you once made a joke about people not having decency enough to pass away during the warmer seasons… Again with the irony.

(the cottage, 17.30 in the afternoon)

(two photos to show that the temperature inside the cottage wasn’t amazing upon arriving… it got better during the night though)

I don’t really remember the funeral itself very clearly. It was painful and surreal. Some music I had made and other music my second oldest brother had made were played on CD. I couldn’t bear to sing myself on that harsh day. I know you would’ve understood.

One thing I very well remember though, is something happening a few moments before the funeral started. Your brother entered the church. Approached the place where the coffin was, stood there a little while, and then he very gently stroke the surface of your wooden coffin. This brief moment I will remember forever.

Us siblings and one of our cousins carried you in this coffin to your grave, and there we laid you to rest.

Never in my entire life have I carried something heavier.


And by that I think I will leave this subject. Just a few more things that have been on my mind.

Death is final in many ways but it shouldn’t be for the ones left behind. We should live, embrace life, do all these things we want to do before our time, too, is up. I am striving to do this.

Still it pains me that there’s so much you’ll never know. You never got to know that your little girl one day got married. You never got to meet my husband, my best friend, my rock. You never got to know that we’re crazy enough to surround ourselves with six furry friends that the both of us love, and I really missed the possibility of picking up the phone getting hold of you when one of these furry little ones went blind. I missed not being able to tell you about it when I suddenly found this job that I enjoy so much. I miss not having you around during each and every day, and sometimes, when something more important happens in life, that feeling gets so much stronger.

It’s been seven years. Seven years during each of which I’ve missed you tremendously. But life is good. Your daughter has a lot to be happy about, and I know that you, too, would be happy for me.