Thursday 29 March 2001

Pic of the day: The church in Holmedal, picture taken on the day we buried my mother's body. Nice place.

Not missing you

I think I missed my mother once. I was 4 years old, and my memories are a bit hazy to say the least. Someone in my family, probably one of my parents, followed me to the city, to Bergen. It was a day's trip back then. I was pretty excited. It was the first time I was to see the legendary city, where people spoke book language and had lifts in their houses. I remember sitting in the taxi - one of the few cars that I knew existed - on our way to the boat. I don't remember much from the trip. I know I met a girl, somewhere around my own age. No matter. My family member followed me to the hospital, and left me there. For a very few days, if memory serves.

It wasn't a surprise, I know I had been told what was about to happen. But I was just four years old, had barely left the farm before. I was the smallest, and the sick one. I was always attended to. There was always someone there for me, usually my mother. I don't think I could really imagine how it would be to be apart from everyone and everything I knew.

I think I missed my mother a little while there. But never again.

***

Being a small boy at the hospital wasn't bad at all. And they did not cut me open or anything, just put a lot of strange stuff on me to find out what I was allergic to. I got to paint with some really thick oily paint, and I found out that city boys knew almost nothing about life on the farm and were mightily impressed by the billy goats. But the meals were terrible, the nurses were adamant that I should eat meat. I cried on top of my lungs: "I want just dessert! I want just dessert!" These cries, I have been told, was how my family located me when coming to take me home.

The doctors found out that I was allergic to bunnies, of which there were no one for miles. I don't think they really found out what caused my asthma, but it left me some years later, thank the Light. As for me, I guess I learned something useful those days too. Like, you cannot always run to mommy.

When I was 15, I moved out from home. I did not miss my parents for as much as five minutes during those ten months until I saw them again. (And I liked them - I never had the teenage rebellion against them.) Then again, in all honesty, an aunt was looking after me. I was rather childish for my age so her help came in really useful. But three years later I moved on, and I missed my aunt no more than I had missed my parents. I guess eventually I found out that unlike other humans, I do not normally miss anyone.

Many years later I learned to love, sort of, albeit in a rather platonic way. (Don't blame me for that. It just happened. Or not, as the case may be. That's just the kind of man I am, I guess.) I found that love does not change this thing. I don't miss the young woman I love the most. As long as she is satisfied with being where she is, so am I. And my mother claimed she felt that way about me too. I hope she was as honest as I am. Anyway, it's a bit late to change that now.

***

I am a christian, of sorts, or at least a believer. (The practice may be open to debate, I guess.) Be that as it may, I do not believe in immortal souls leaving the body and fluttering around, looking into other people's homes. No seriously. Now that my mother is dead, I believe that her immaterial spirit has returned to God, who is spirit, while the body is left behind. A spirit is not a soul, but rather a divine spark ... lifeforce, creativity, the core of our being. I do not believe the spirit has a separate consciousness while it is with God. We'll just have to wait and see on that one, but that's how I expect it to be.

If I believed that my departed mother was now restlessly flickering around in the dark as a ghost, I would presumably feel pretty bad about her. But if my understanding is even remotely correct, there's no reason for me to worry. She should be in the best of hands. And if I don't feel sorry for her, I sure don't feel sorry for myself. I did not miss her while she was alive, I sure won't start now.

I consider it the ultimate success in raising children, that they can live their own lives without your assistance. It may take some time, varying from person to person, but that should certainly be the goal. If you need to feel needed, get a puppy. I was not born and raised to be anyone's puppy, but to be free. For that, I remain thankful.