Jun 18, 2017

Alida a hundred years

Writing the birthday card from Trouble & Trouble and me I am struck by how fast it is writing the number 100. It is like I was expecting it to be more complicated and take more effort. But it’s ridiculously easy and done in a heart beat. 1 0 0. An impressively long life with all it’s hardships and pleasures, struggles and joys, sorrows and blessings takes no more than three seconds to note in figures. It’s almost offensive.

Alida is my neighbor. The woman next door. She has been there all my life. All my children’s lives. All my mother’s life. And half my grandmother’s life. Alida carries all generations within her.

When Alida for some reason was away, I felt like my backbone was gone. When her house was empty I was unguarded. I dreaded the day she would be gone, and it happened soon to three years ago. She moved away, into a nursing home. 97 years old. And I have had to learn to live without her.

There is this Swedish very cheery birthday song, Ja må hon leva. The lyrics is something in the neighborhood of “Yes she must live for a hundred years”. Alida’s dear husband Värner passed away at the age of 98 when Alida was 91. Her older sister and best friend Sigrid died at 97 a few years ago. When singing Ja må hon leva to Alida on her birthdays the last 6-7 years I used to joke about she only had to make it so and so many more years to reach the 100. Her eyes and ears started failing her, she often fell over badly, all her friends were gone. Her life was more or less a past tense. 

We weren’t really aware of it, but it seemed Alida made it a goal to live to her 100. And Monday June 12 she reached that goal. And was honored a telegram from the Swedish king and queen. Among other things.

Her granddaughter Josephine and I visited her on Wednesday. I hadn’t seen her since she moved away from home. Alida had turned into a close to deaf and blind little sparrow over these years. They had told me, still I was not prepared. But oh the joy, when I placed myself infront of her and she lit up. She must have recognized the shape of my body and my voice after all!

It was a beautiful pre-summer day. I had brought the Swedish book of hymns, the songs which have been a foundation in Alida’s life ever since her childhood. I sang her the Swedish summer hymns. Den blomstertid nu kommer. I denna ljuva sommartid. En vänlig grönskas rika dräkt.

Her face became still. Her eyes bigger. It was like singing to a baby who stops crying, meeting your eyes in complete contact. Clear. I could see Alida’s mind become clear behind her shadowed eyes.

Help, she said, help. It means help me remember. And we remembered together. Martin and Kerstin, my parents. Carl and Signe, my grandparents. Erik, my sons’ father. They were all so kind, she said. Good neighbors. Our families have always been good neighbors.

Alida’s husband Värner passed away in June 2008. At his funeral I sang Bliv kvar hos mig - Abide with me, the beautiful and poetic evening hymn which also feels so right at the end of a life. And I promised Alida that I would sing the song at the end of her life as well.

On Wednesday, after remembering all our loved ones in the summer afternoon, my body was tired and couldn’t take much more. Alida lasted longer than I did, still we had to call it a day. I asked if she wanted me to sing Bliv kvar hos mig - Abide with me, and yes could I? Of course.

I couldn’t do it that well though, as tears came in the way. But I was in good company. We all cried, Alida, Josephine and I. Little whimpers came over Alida’s lips. Home, she said, home.

These hymns are the blood in Alida’s veins running through her body. To hear them is like transfusions bringing memories and feelings to life. Familiar words shaping her parents, siblings and children. Sensing them. Seeing them. Her home. Djäkneböle she says, with a whimper. Djäkneböle. That’s our village. The village that was her world. The village containing everything and everyone she needed.

Josephine and I are driving back through Umeå, white, pink and violet from apple trees, cheery, mountain ash and lilacs. The birches are full but still light pre-summer green. This is our city on the 64th latitude when it’s the most beautiful and magical.

We are sitting quietly together, filled with Alida. Our afternoon has been powerful and emotional. It’s sad to know Alida won’t remember. She is already back in her shadowed mind. It’s a comfort though knowing she isn’t suffering in there. And she is well taken care of. And we are so grateful to have had this moment with our beloved Alida together.

To Josephine I am the woman next door. The one who is always there. Which is such a gift to both of us. And I know, when my ears and eyes start failing me and my mind becomes shadowed, Josephine will help me. She will help me remember.

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