There and back again
Just got back last night from Sweden.
We had a lovely time despite the funeral and the rather depressing weather (rainrainrain). We got to meet everyone, including the newest family member who is the cutest being on the planet, I swear. Four weeks old with a constant look of surprise on his face, gazing at the world with huge eyes of delight. Made me almost want to cancel my hysterectomy. Almost. And we relaxed, ate a lot of good food and even went shopping. Bought shoes and tights and a sweater but not the Sam and Dean Winchester pop-vinyl figures I stumbled upon because I felt I was already spending too much, a decision I now of course regret. *pouts* Oh well.
The funeral went as well as a funeral can go. My sister and I read a poem by a Sámi poet that my grandfather (on my mother's side) had translated into Icelandic and was read both at my grandmother's funeral, by him, and at his own funeral. We couldn't get the local Icelandic choir to sing so we ended up doing it ourselves. There were only six Icelanders, of which two - the little guy and my sister's husband, who can't sing to save his life - mostly mimed. I'd started crying during the rehearsal earlier in the day but everything was going well at the actual service until in the final verse when my sweet girl suddenly burst into tears which meant I burst into tears which meant my sister did as well until mr Felis was the only one left finishing the song. Everyone came up to us later saying it was so beautiful anyway (we've all sung in choirs at some point in our lives) so it probably wasn't too bad.
I really liked the priest. Laid back, humorous and just kind. My father was pretty anti-religious and the priest joked about him probably having had the most wonderful surprise when he passed over. That whatever you believe in, heaven or another consciousness or Nangilima, he was sure dad's loved ones that were gone before him would have been there to greet him. Which I thought was lovely, even if I'm not religious either. He stumbled a bit when he talked about not knowing what it was like losing a parent. After the service my sister came upon him crying, turns out his own father had just had a stroke and was not expected to live long. :(
Anyway, after some thoughts and consideration we've pretty much decided to bring Dad's ashes home since he was otherwise supposed to go in an unmarked area of remembrance, which is something that's apparently become quite common there instead of having a grave. We just felt that it was too weird for us to not have his name anywhere and since we're not allowed to split the ashes they'll probably end up going to us. We're thinking of putting them in the same spot as our grandparents, his parents, and have his name added to their headstone. He won't actually be cremated until next week so my sister will take the ashes home next time she visits, sometime in February. (She makes a lot of business trips.)
The trip home was pretty unpleasant. There was something wrong with the trains to the airport so they were going to send busses to ship us over. After half an hour we were running out of time and pretty much drowning standing in the pouring rain waiting so we finally managed to hail a taxi and paid the driver a small fortune to drive us over the bridge to Denmark and the airport. We just had time to drop off our bags, pee and buy something to eat before slipping on board with the last passengers. Then had to sit wet in the cold plane for the next three hours only to land in below zero degrees with the car buried under snow. Never been so glad to come home even if the cat screamed half the night in protest for being left alone for a week. (The neighbour fed her every day, don't worry.) Been spending all day on the couch, doing nothing but surf the internet and catch up on my shows, feeling like I just went three rounds with a grizzly bear.
Actually think I'll go to bed now, even if it isn't even midnight. Guess old age is catching up with me.
We had a lovely time despite the funeral and the rather depressing weather (rainrainrain). We got to meet everyone, including the newest family member who is the cutest being on the planet, I swear. Four weeks old with a constant look of surprise on his face, gazing at the world with huge eyes of delight. Made me almost want to cancel my hysterectomy. Almost. And we relaxed, ate a lot of good food and even went shopping. Bought shoes and tights and a sweater but not the Sam and Dean Winchester pop-vinyl figures I stumbled upon because I felt I was already spending too much, a decision I now of course regret. *pouts* Oh well.
The funeral went as well as a funeral can go. My sister and I read a poem by a Sámi poet that my grandfather (on my mother's side) had translated into Icelandic and was read both at my grandmother's funeral, by him, and at his own funeral. We couldn't get the local Icelandic choir to sing so we ended up doing it ourselves. There were only six Icelanders, of which two - the little guy and my sister's husband, who can't sing to save his life - mostly mimed. I'd started crying during the rehearsal earlier in the day but everything was going well at the actual service until in the final verse when my sweet girl suddenly burst into tears which meant I burst into tears which meant my sister did as well until mr Felis was the only one left finishing the song. Everyone came up to us later saying it was so beautiful anyway (we've all sung in choirs at some point in our lives) so it probably wasn't too bad.
I really liked the priest. Laid back, humorous and just kind. My father was pretty anti-religious and the priest joked about him probably having had the most wonderful surprise when he passed over. That whatever you believe in, heaven or another consciousness or Nangilima, he was sure dad's loved ones that were gone before him would have been there to greet him. Which I thought was lovely, even if I'm not religious either. He stumbled a bit when he talked about not knowing what it was like losing a parent. After the service my sister came upon him crying, turns out his own father had just had a stroke and was not expected to live long. :(
Anyway, after some thoughts and consideration we've pretty much decided to bring Dad's ashes home since he was otherwise supposed to go in an unmarked area of remembrance, which is something that's apparently become quite common there instead of having a grave. We just felt that it was too weird for us to not have his name anywhere and since we're not allowed to split the ashes they'll probably end up going to us. We're thinking of putting them in the same spot as our grandparents, his parents, and have his name added to their headstone. He won't actually be cremated until next week so my sister will take the ashes home next time she visits, sometime in February. (She makes a lot of business trips.)
The trip home was pretty unpleasant. There was something wrong with the trains to the airport so they were going to send busses to ship us over. After half an hour we were running out of time and pretty much drowning standing in the pouring rain waiting so we finally managed to hail a taxi and paid the driver a small fortune to drive us over the bridge to Denmark and the airport. We just had time to drop off our bags, pee and buy something to eat before slipping on board with the last passengers. Then had to sit wet in the cold plane for the next three hours only to land in below zero degrees with the car buried under snow. Never been so glad to come home even if the cat screamed half the night in protest for being left alone for a week. (The neighbour fed her every day, don't worry.) Been spending all day on the couch, doing nothing but surf the internet and catch up on my shows, feeling like I just went three rounds with a grizzly bear.
Actually think I'll go to bed now, even if it isn't even midnight. Guess old age is catching up with me.