A mother not only gives birth to a child, but also a family. Bjørg, you are a shining example of this. As you approach ninety and your hair turns gray, your hands shake more than ever when you hold your coffee cup, and the fear of losing you intensifies with every visit and conversation.
I think back to the bracelet you wore on your wrist when you were in your forties, and the aroma of blue java beans in the coffee I now make every morning.
That woman in her late thirties or early forties—with her dark auburn hair and cerulean eyes—hasn’t disappeared, even though you might have thought she was lost. Who you are will forever be etched in my heart and mind.
Like all anonymous and unrecognized mothers, you live to be the light, not to seek the spotlight for yourself. Your legacy is preserved in the most precious of books: the pages of existence itself, in the lives of everyone around you.
I cherish your explosive laughter and delightful giggles when situations hit you from a new angle. You always made sure we were aware and often had a piquant comment at the perfect time. You could easily be on “The Golden Girls,” but at this point you’re writing all your own jokes.
You remain the beacon and light in my life. When I was growing up, you told me about our earliest hugs, and from then on, I loved holding your soft earlobes. Your summer tan, that thin necklace that beautifully accentuates your collarbone – your scent lingers in this place, the place where I felt safest as a child. Moms like you create two worlds: the adult world of responsibility and the private world of intimacy and dreams.
When I sleep, you will sit by my bed and we will hold hands. You would sing melancholic Nordic lullabies that still bring tears to my eyes, taking me back to my dark bedroom to sing with your crystal clear voice. Maybe the sadness in your voice comes from the gentle goodnight rituals and kindness you missed as a child? Instead, you gave me thousands of memories. I discovered the depth and extra dimension you brought to our world and it followed me as a permanent companion. This sensitivity comes from you.
The years you spend fighting the disease are terrible. I remember you reaching your forties, looking pale and ashen, spending months and even years in bed, frowning as the pain came flooding back. I hold my breath for fear of losing you. The world we shared still exists between us, even though your disease has created an unprecedented distance. And you are resurrected.
Even though life has separated us geographically, our connection remains. You sent me wonderful “letters” (others call them text messages) that poetically and succinctly wrote about your current life after nearly 70 years with your father. Recently, you wrote: “There is no escaping this grief; just adapt to it. As we are both healthy and old, this long-lasting phase limits our experience.
Before the age of 10, you had experienced war, domestic violence, drug addiction, divorce, and abandonment by your mother. In 1945, the war ended, but the violence and drug addiction in the family continued for several years. I grew up in safety, kindness, love and care – in the family you created. Mothers like you have the power to change lives. As a single father of two, your example still inspires me to keep going when times get tough.
Your determination, joy, and warmth are always intertwined with the depth and complexity of your emotions. Your worries and uneasiness are transformed into tireless care for everyone around you, never missing a detail. To me, this shows your love. The works of maternal love that tirelessly change the world live in my heart and will never be forgotten.
You haven’t neglected any part of your home. Ironed sheets and sheets (your favorite part of the day is sleeping on freshly ironed sheets). Clothes are folded. The mirrors and windows were wiped clean, and the floors sparkled. The hum of the dishwasher at night still calms me and evokes my childhood. Your home expresses your morals and deepest values. take care of. nest. family.
Although you are a keen observer of human nature, you seem unaware of your own strengths and talents. You are sincere and work tirelessly. You own and operate your business, a sanctuary for women to train, dance and move. You broke new ground when women demanded liberation. With your creativity, you shape spaces for dance, expression, and safety. Your pioneering spirit and dedication to empowering women continue to inspire us.
Later, I came to you and shared my life. You would listen, almost live with me, and offer words of wisdom: short and smart insights that I wish I had paid more attention to. You taught me not to build up a facade, not to show a mask, but to be open and have a trusting, soft heart. How do you do this, given your traumatic past?
When the mother dies, the love in the world does not diminish because her acts of love have multiplied through her presence. The world still needs your labor of love and the labor of love of all mothers. Your love shapes lives. I cherish every day with you. Even if you are gone, I will carry on the legacy of love.