Sunday, December 24, 2017


Grief is a journey that is
yours alone
Never let anyone say
I know how you feel, or
It’s time to get over it,
or even
You will get over it

It stays with you
You learn to live with it, and
Sometimes life is livable, and
Sometimes it is unbearable

So even though I'll have a wonderful time with my family this evening,
holidays suck. 

Saturday, April 22, 2017

The strength to carry on

People keep telling me that I am strong. 
I have to admit that I have always considered myself a strong person. But in my former belief system the accepted idea was that you are GIVEN the strength you need, when you needed it.

So I used to believe in something outside of me. 
I used to think that I was never enough. 
But since then I have learned that I am. 
I am me.
I am enough. 
All I will ever need is already in me.

Last summer a very dear friend reminded me that 
I am not here to learn how to be me. 
I am here to remember and recognize who I already am. 

I am grateful for the freedom that lies in knowing that I don't have to depend on anything other than me. I am enough. 

I have written more about my beliefs in this blogpost. 

Monday, April 3, 2017

Vilja Marie's big day

April 2, 2017 was my granddaughter Vilja Marie's christening day. 

It was a day to celebrate her arrival to her life on this earth,
and she is already a huge joy and blessing to all who love her.

6 years ago I made the gown for her eldest brother Helmer. In order to symbolise continuity, the tulle layer covering the gown is made from Hilde Marie's bridal vail. In our tradition it's called a christening gown, although for our family the christening aspect bears no significance. However, celebrating rites of passage has been significant to humans for thousands and thousands of years, and the birth rite is one of them. 

Vilja Marie has two very proud big brothers.

Helmer got to pour the water into the christening bowl, 
and Leon got to wipe Vilja Marie's head.
I love that they both got to take part in the ceremony.

Three generations of Maries.


Friday, November 4, 2016

My new granddaughter

I am grateful, happy and proud 
to announce the birth of my 
Vilja Marie, 
born on October 22, 2016,
3366 grams and 49 cm.

Vilja Marie is the 5. generation on my maternal side with the name Marie. My paternal grandfather came to Norway from Finland as a young man, and the name Vilja is of finnish origin. The finnish meaning of the name is goodness/kindness and riches; in norwegian the word 'vilje' means willpower. My Finnish great-grandmother's name was also Maria. There's a lot of ancestry in her name :-)

Monday, February 15, 2016

What if it was easy?

Norsk tekst under bildet.
I'm not saying that life is easy. 
We can't control a lot of what happens to us. 
But we definitely can control how we deal with it. 
We get to choose positivity or negativity, and I'm sure we all know which is better for us. 
We can set our minds to hard or easy. 

My word for 2016 is EASY, 
and I have already experienced that thinking something is easy really works.

But then there are some days when I don't want things to be easy. 
It's like I want and need to feel the struggle.
So, so what if I sometimes choose to stay in the pit for just a little while? To acknowledge my losses, to feel my pain and my grief. 
For me, this is an important part of the process, to know that I'm not sweeping my feelings under an imaginary carpet. 
To face my grief head on. 
Not all the time, but every now and then. 

And then, to tell myself that, "yes, what happened to you is hard, but that doesn't mean your whole life from now on has to be hard." 
And I can tell myself that I get to choose when and what has to be hard or easy. 

And no, this process is neither easy nor automatic. It's a continual recommitment. It's hard work, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But for the times when it does work, life gets a little bit easier, and that makes it worth it. 

Jeg sier ikke at livet er lett.
Mye av det som skjer med oss kan vi ikke kontrollere.
Men vi kan kontrollere hvordan vi håndterer det.
Vi kan selv velge mellom å være negative eller positive, og vi vet vel godt hva som er best for oss.
Vi kan bestemme om det skal være vanskelig eller lett.

Mitt ord for 2016 er LETT,
og jeg har allerede sett at å tenke at noe er lett faktisk virker.
(Og la meg presisere at med lett mener jeg ikke lettvint.)

Men så er det noen dager da jeg ikke ønsker at ting skal være lette.
Det er nesten som om jeg ønsker og trenger å føle på kampen.
Så hva gjør det, om jeg av og til velger å bli i avgrunnen en liten stund? For å bekrefte tapene mine, og kjenne på smerten og sorgen.
For meg blir dette en viktig del av prosessen, å vite at jeg ikke feier følelsene mine under det innbilte teppet.
Å stirre sorgen rett i øynene.
Ikke hele tiden, men av og til.

Og så, å si til meg selv, at "ja, det som har skjedd med deg er vanskelig, men det betyr ikke at resten av livet ditt trenger å være vanskelig."
Og jeg kan fortelle meg selv at jeg må velge når og hva som skal være vanskelig eller lett.

Og nei, denne prosessen er hverken lett eller automatisk. Det er hardt arbeid. Av og til funker det, og av og til ikke. Men de gangene det funker, gjør det livet litt lettere, og derfor er det verdt det.

Monday, February 23, 2015

A Rite of Passage - Leon's christening day

Sunday was Leon’s christening day.

A rite of passage is a ceremony that marks the transition from one phase of life to another. This was a celebration of the birth and beginning of life for Leon.

It was an official welcoming to the world, and an introduction into the local community. This tradition is observed in most communities all over the world, irrespective of belief systems. It’s a tradition much older than known religions. It’s a reason for family and friends to come together to celebrate a new life.

Big brother Helmer was King of the Day!

It was a beautiful, but bittersweet day for me since Sigve and Geir Espen were not here to celebrate with us. I know they probably watched and took part from whatever dimension they now exists in, but the pain of missing them is excruciating, and even in the middle of my flock, the loneliness without Sigve is palpable.

The day had dual meaning for me. I am in the middle of my own transition. My status in society, and in my personal life, has changed from being a wife to being a widdow. I am trying to build a life on this new foundation. I am trying to learn how to live without Sigve by my side.  

Monday, February 2, 2015

Until death would part us

We were two individuals.

Rooted, confident, independent.
We kept approaching,
approaching and approaching.
It took many ”first sights”
before love came into the picture,
until eventually that day came
when we allowed ourselves
the luxury of saying
”I love you”

We loved each other.
There was no doubt.
There was no doubt
there was a future for us.
Together, we were so strong.
We were so together.
We were not ”I” and ”I” any more.
It would always be ”us” from now on.
Until death would part us.

Together, and between us,
we created life.
Two beautiful children
sprang from our love.
They flourished and grew
in age and wisdom.
How we loved them!
We kept them close
so they could become
rooted, confident, independent.
How we loved them!
The fruits of our love.

We grew too, in age,
and hopefully in wisdom.
We aged, and planned to
continue to age

Then the unthinkable day came.
we had to start grieving together.
So totally unthinkable.
Death did not yet part you and I,
but death parted us from 
our love son.
So unthinkable and so unbearable.

In the midst of all the unthinkable,
we were still together
to share that unbearable grief.
Together we managed to bear the unbearable
because we reminded eachother that he was loved.
Oh, so loved!

Our remaining love daughter,
with her own sibling grief,
became our rock and support.

Two grandsons joined us.
Even before they arrived
they were the apple of our eyes.
How we loved them,
our prides and joys.

Much too soon,
the next unthinkable day came.
I had to say goodbye to you,
the love of my life 
when death came barging in and said,
your contract is fulfilled,
I have to part you.
Again it was unthinkable and unbearable.
We had planned to grow old together!
But there is no arguing with death.

That afternoon
you drew your last breath,
and then you were on the other side,
where I could not follow.
We, who for 34 years
had been together through thick and thin,
were no longer together.

I am left here - alone.
Our love daughter 
with her own daddy grief,
is still my rock and support.
Oh, how we loved you,
and how I continue to love you!
Our grandsons are still my pride and joy.
How I love them!

But a large part of this grief is only mine.
You will forever remain 
in this torn apart heart of mine.

You, the love of my life.

* * * * * * * * *

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