Your beloved hands

You lift the little baby boy high up over your head with your still so strong hands and arms.
He looks at your face and laughing loudly.

You walk slowly up to the window and let the little one have a look at the world outside.

I look at you and try to catch the laughing eyes of the baby.
Your warm beloved hands are still so full of power but I know how soft they are when they handle a child.

Your wonderful dark blue eyes are still that lovely as they was the very first day we met. Though your hair is grey now: It had already turned into the colour of mourning when we lost our first little girl:
Before the mother of this little one even was born.

You keeps looking rather healthy considering the years of sickness and your high age:
If you will get some more mercy time you will be 84 into spring.

I who know you as good as I know myself has seen the sings long before your first stroke.
Small thing like a sudden tiredness after the grandchildren?s visits or the tiredness during a theatre evening.
Even before you get so sick the years took out their tribute.

Those beloved wonderful hands of you!

How much have I and the rest of our family to thank them for?

They have warmed us during cold nights, they cradled new small people throw their first nights here at earth and they always comforted your love ones.

They helped delivered three small wonderworks to us but they also had to berry one of them in a white little coffin.

Day and night they have worked for all of us and still today your hands are marked from labour.

If I asked you to take down the moon I know you would try it.
In fact you hade done more difficult things for us than that.

As I see you smile at the baby I remember another time in another life in another country where a miracle just had taken palace. You carried your first daughter with so much pride and love that I just law quite in my bed watching you two.
This was a moment for your two alone: A time for a father and her daughter.

I always loved your hands.

But the first time they carried me I cant to my sorrow remember.
The year was 1945 and the war was over.
You and your mum was at home in Sweden for visiting your family after 5 difficult years.
And someone in the family had dragged a boring foster baby around.
Could you possible take care of the baby so the older people hade a chance to talk in peace?

I know today that you had a rough time behind:
You was interned in on of the Germany working camp and there you ended up whit the tuberculosis.
At the peace came you was at hospital.
You recovered. The girl you loved didn?t.

But you took care of me and I know today that I was in good hands
Cause I was that foster child.

Since then you have taken care of our children and now you do the best you can for our grandchildren.

Carefully I take your hands in my and kisses them whit all my love.

I feel as if an is could shadow behind me make me remember that soon I and the rest of our family have too manage our live whiteout you and I can not just handle the thought.

The very last day


Every time summer is hot like this one I’m regularly dreams the same dream. 
In this dream is it a warm day in the end of August and you ran before me towards the beach too bathing. It’s a unusually hot summer and you almost can swim now though you only is 3 yeras old.The phlegmatic dog who when its opportune listen to the name Lorry jumps around your feet, full of joy. His best number is to run out to the end of the pier an then take a big jump into the water. That dog likas to swim

He loves you to. There Desire is you can find her dog.
You took your first steps whit a steady grab at his tail. Hes  patience whit you is unlimited. You can even takes things out of his favourite food and taste it. That delicateness he usually guards whit his live .He just stand there looking at what you do whit his food.

 In  my dream you laugh the whole time and we are swimming and swimming.

In the garden I had hanged your clean laundry :all your colourful clothes is blowing in the wind. I still not know that you never need them again.

The little dollhouse your father is building in the garden is nearly finished. Today he shall do the last painting. I know its Sunday today because your father is at home and swims whit us the whole day.I  can feel warmness  and I can feel love even in my dreams because this moment of my life I gladly dream about again and again. I will make the time standing still this last Sunday in  august at a sunny beach  where three lucky people and a happy dog goes on enjoying their happiness for ever and ever.

Like all dreams can do  even this changed the scene.
The see is windy, the sky is dark.
Thunders rolling throe the mountains and the rain on my body is cold.I know that its later now:
 Very much later.

 The dog is howling heartbreaking right out  in the rain there he runs in circles looking for you.
 He tried to stop the  rescue team take you away and he is expecting you to be back soon.
 His howling eats me from inside but I don’t do anything to stop him!
Against what happened their is no comforts. Not today and not tomorrow.  Never. 

I can see myself standing as paralysed in a little crowed of people  when they drag you up from the water. At once I understood that you was dead. You was just not there anymore. My only clear thinking was about what grief this would cause your farther. You who was his proud and joy.
Since his past 40 when he became a father he saw you like some kind of miracle. 

In my dreams the past appear like fragments and suddenly I’m standing at the stairs outside the hospital so absolute frozen in chock that I remember it like I had been  turned into salt like  Lots wife in the bible.
We drove home as we didn’t could think of any other place to go .
Their I took a black plastic bag and just throw all your clean clothes away. After that I  took a big hammer and  smashed the beautiful doll house. 

I am nearly awake now and try desperately to go back to sleep!
Till the time before…
Then three happily people not even suspect that they were going to lose everything. Then you could not imagination that this is your last day on earth so you could dance and sing and play in the water whiteout one single thing to worry about.

 But shadow hide the sun and I se the little white coffin at the chapel. Her  we had to say goodbye, me and you. The very last time I kissed you .Your skin felt cold within my summer warm arms and my hands couldn’t not get your face warm again.Your special smell of flowers and wintreapples don’t exist any more. You are so pale and my mind catches a silly questioning:
 How can death get this sunburned face that pale?

 Now I want to wake up but when the dream comes to the chapel they usually turns out to nightmares and they are difficult to wakeup from.
 I walk in the wild thunder night out into the see. That very see which took you. The warm august water in the see seemed comfortable when I just had my body wet through of the is could raining.
 -You are not allowed to swim  in the thunder! I laughed high at all foolish thing I learnt you.
I start to swim. Right out against open see.The only thing I thinks about just I at that moment is your name: Desire. The very wanted one .

Was ever any other child as wanted as you was?

In my dream my naked  feet pains when I run whiteout clothes or shoes for reach the chapel. Your daddy stops me: I cries out that you was so scared of the thunder .How can I leave you alone with it?
Someone pushes me a little.
 -Wakeup mam: You are crying.
 As usually it takes a little while for me to reconnect whit my present live.
Another daughter, this time a grown up looked troubled at me.
-Did you dreamt about Desire she ask softly. She’s not expecting an answer: she knows. She smiles at me and said:
 -Happy and I are in the pool.  Come  and join us and swim with us:
-its such a lovely august sunday!  
Happy:  The daughter of my son . She really is my pride and joy and she looks very alike you now at the same age. It will be fantastic to  be allowed to watch her growing.
As I looked out of my window  I had to  agree: Its really an unusually beautiful august Sunday:
A day wart remembering.
Cause you don’t stop living even when the worst things happens .Sadness will stay around as long as you live but you v can learn to handle lt. I’m still again allowed to enjoy living and be a happy person even whiteout you my little unforgettably miracle.


To loose a Child


Your birthdays comes and passes but we don’t celebrate them since you are not around anymore.Privies years I used to cry myself thou them in desperately greif. Nowadays I enjoy my happiest memories. That much I own you
Every time I want to I can close my eyes and see your laughing eyes before me. My hands remember every  details of your perfect little body and I still can feel your tiny arms around me. My whole body remembers you :the tenderness of your softly skin and these  unique smell of yours .Like flowers mixed with jasmine soap and  fully grown winter apples.
I mourning you whit a sadness so separatly that it feels close to anger

I don’t just mourning over my little girl. I miss the young women you never was allowed too be.
The happy mother, the mature woman. The old lady sitting in the sun watching her grandchildren playing while se was complain over her bad knee. That old woman  the time had not allowed me to meet but she had still remembered me than and had been a part of me.None of that persons was allowed to live.
You took them all with you when you died.
I use to believe that somewhere out there that’s a young man who you was meant to fall in love with. Some other woman gives birth to his children :Those who should have been  yours and mine too as a grandmother.
And he does not even know about you.
That you once where.
He may had made you happy?
Just like your father made me.
But somewhere it may be another man out there who should have broken your hart? Well it will just not be. We, your daddy and I are still here and as long as we live a big part of  you  lives in our memories and in our hearts. I am scared to be the last one of us to go cause when your daddy dies there are no one left for me to remember you together whit. They all are dead now.
I sometimes meet parents who have lost their children and promoted them into angels."Our little angel child" they said with a special kind of voice
It makes me so angry.I understand their desperate need for some comfort but for me I don’t like to fool myself.
Hell no you wanted to be an angel!

You loved and enjoyed  live and you lost it in a tragic and unnecessarily accident. Than what was not allowed to happen happened and I do my time of my punishment every single day the rest of my life and I will have to pay on my gilt as long I can breath.  MY loss is unbelievably hard but yours was complete.
 You loosed the only live you ever had a chance to live If I Had belived in a Gud I never would have forgiven him for thatYour are shore no angel but a little put whith ashes inside my closet. Times goes on and on :Faster and faster or so it seems.Your birthdays comes and passes whit the same pain in my heart cause time did not mend every thing even if we tries to believe it does.

But you get used to that little sting in the heart and learn to livewith it.Every year you get a little more piece of resignation.

We have Christmas parties and the midsummer fiestas. Your sisters and brother whit their children fills the house with life and laughter, love and joy and make us a very happy family.Sometimes the whole house is like a sparkling fiesta. Christmas tree and a lot of present’s .Children and pets are playing everywhere Still I never miss you as much as then.

The second letter to my Father

    Late summer 1996 

 Dear father!

Summer still out there but winter in my hart. I cant let go of you. Not quite yet. I feel more and more sure of what I will do.The very thing scaring me: Finding  my sisters and brothers and perhaps find out who I really am.Just for me and my children. I don’t have to think about your reaction anymore.

 Do you remember another summer very long ago? I wrote you so many letters. Then I get lovely and well righted charming letter of that kind I received nor before and not after.I vas ever so happy about your letters. That very summer get magic because of them! If you should try to remember something of all things that a little teenage girl confirmed you in that letters:
Did they not make you just a little bit shamed?
Everything you wrote was lies and your kindly mails was just written to get  me  trapped so that you could show me  what you called a fathers love: It  was concentrated one single thing.Your next sexual kick! 

Whenever I chose I can see that serious, pathetic little girl sitting in the room of some friend or in  someone’s old car. Many times I red and writhed my letters in any sleepy public library. You used post restante  like me but in your case it had to do with your crime against my little sister : A sister I then did not know existed. Had the girl who was me funded out that this fatherly letters came from  a closed prison even she had reacted.  
 I was happy. Now I would get a family at last at my fathers and his new 
I remember being very nervous about if the wife would like me. Looking back on the girl who was me I can feel a little sting in my chest but more than this I feel irritated and  frustrated over her naiveté. 
That girl does not exist anymore.
 Today I am another person. My hair is turning grey and I am a grandmother witch feel realy good. The only thing that connected us is the fact that you are the father of us both. Or was I would have to begin write now. 
 I should liked very much too read some of that letter you wrote me  but thy all stayed at the police together with my dairy.Evidence they called them.But I am shore of that your letters was a warm and happy: Just that kind of letter a lonely child wanted to read

I remember them reading parts from the letter at the court. It was a closed court but they could not keep the foster mother away.She waved with a tiny part of paper contained the advertise in the paper she once had read about me as a baby.
-Here it says that this child has healthy parents, she cried out.
-He ie not very healthy,she said pointing at you.
-I want compensation. 
I do remembe in that very moment you stand up  and confessed you guilty. I didn’t know   if it was for the sake of me being questioned or for the sake of you like a hope for an easier judgement? Probably the last: You was always taking care of yourself first. 
 I don’t even remember where I slept during this trail. Probably in some sort of hotel for I could not be trusted. A child without an address.
 In the pauses I saw you and your guards in the corridor outside the courtroom and I envied you your guards and your lawyer. Your face was the only one I could recognize among the strangers of grown up people.

You hade called my biological mother as a whiteness: Your defend would try to prove that you wasn’t my father after all. A useless try since you was  married to her at the time of my birth.  I was very thrilled over  having a chance to get at least a glance of this strange woman. But when she enter the room I could only see her neck: I  not existed in her world. Obvious she didn’t want me to be abele too recognise her. Today I ask myself  if its really  cheaper to rape another mans child? 
The verdict becomes 4 ½ year in prison: that was hard for the time being but  considered that you was an ex convicted  and hade done the same thing with my baby sister. But It was not me who turned you in and I refused to witness against you. What god should it do  me? The readed loud out of my dammed diary! It took me many years too be able to write diaries again. 

After the 2 days of trial the first act of you in my live was over.I stood there at the pavement and felt totally empty inside. What now? Since I had nobody too ask this I had to think it over myself and I started my walk to the main driveway out of the small town. The truckers went my family. This gays provided me with possibilities too sleep on longer rotes and they gave me food and became my family like they used before I met you. Thou I don’t have access to your letters to me I am certain that it was very merry letters who lighted up the world for a lonely child for a while. This time I am the writer but since you are gone I can write too you in my own terms. I never will have to consider anything about you any more.
 God night pa.
Sleep well.
Always your doughter

The first letter to my Father

Juni 1996

Dear Father!
 I writhe to you because I never will speak to you again. Even thou we didn’t spoke to each other for the last years had my silent dialog with you in my mind kept going.

 After all you still lived at the same place not far from here. All my Way?  And How could you even think about it? Questionings that hunted me up from my bed in the middle of the night wanted to confront you! I did know that I asked for the impossible ting so I refused my   instinct and forced myself back into bed for another sleepless night.You never would answer that kind of question except whit a lie and I am finish with your lies.I had to hear every vision over and over again until they made me feeling sick!
To go on listening would have made you too important in my live.  After all: I gave you twenty years of my life. Of our lives: me and my children’s.
Every single day I hoped the time had come for an excuse or at least a god explanation.                
But this would never happen as you was not even aware of what your actually had done. A paedophile always believes that children respond to his sexuality.

You spoke sometime about how sorry you was and what sadly your life was wasted .Then you thought about your years in prison and at closed mental hospitals’.
My questions was never answered and I stopped hope for an answer long before we stopped see each others. 
Today in the chapel your coffin looked so small. How could you be inside it? I remember you as a tall big man. I do think you really was a big man even in the eyes of others? I am aware of the impossibility to look at someone close objective? Your widow passed me on her way out of the chapel without giving me a look. Why should she?
She is free now and I am the last person in whose arms she should cry. After the long years of forced family live whit us she hates me with a strong feeling .I could never feel so much for her as hate takes. I was your only child who refused to obey her directive: No contact at all.  I should like to know what she plan for your body? I understand clearly that the family grave up in the north is impossible for you. Maybe she would have you cremated? A clever move if she want to make it impossible for us children to visit your grave.But I dont think this is a big risk?

The priest had seen me in the back of the chapel and came towards me too comfort me in my presumed mourning. Then suddenly my Dear One stands by my side.
Law but very clearly he said: I do hope this old  devil  will burn in hell! Forgive him the bitter words, father!
He had followed me on my way  since I was left alone.
 Before the priest had time finding a suitable reply the Dear Onehad got me out of the chapel.
It was over.

 I’m sitting in my garden and its just one of them miracles’ summer evening  we only have in Scandinavia.As I wrights I wonder what kind of death you got ? Did you just fell asleep like after a long days work? Or was it a painful disgusted death? I don’t know and I never will. From now one I save my pity for your victims.Like my little sister!

My sister!She has to be told  that you past away.Tomorrow I must get in touch with her .When I met her as a teenage I remember she wanted so badly pee on your grave: Its relay a modest payback for six years in terror.


 I’m just sitting here  thinking about how strange it feels that you not exist anymore.
 My lonely dialogs whit you in the sleepless night are finally over now father.  I will try to go to bed and get a little sleep but first I must talk to the children who waits inside for me. They look pale and worried over me and I must tell them don’t.I’m  a big girl now pa!

Goodnight and sleep well.

Always your Daughter