Goodbye to My Danish Days

I wrote this letter for my Danish grandfather’s memoir, My Life and Times, which wasn’t published until after he passed away. I called him Morfar, which means maternal grandfather. I was close to him and my grandmother, Mormor, from spending childhood summers and later one or two weeks a year visiting them in Denmark. My mother, their only child, passed away in 1993 and while tragic, it strengthened our bond. My visits to Denmark shaped who I am in a myriad of ways and fostered my love for travel.

November, 2013

Dear Morfar,

As I write this, it’s been about six months since you died. I miss you. Sometimes I catch myself planning my next cross-Atlantic voyage to visit you, and I remember that you are no longer over there in your little house, walking your little dog. To remember causes a physical pain in my chest and stomach. On October 16, your Facebook account reminded me all day that it was your 92^nd birthday, and I wished I could call and hear your voice. When I get sad, I try think of wonderful times we had together and focus on the privilege of having those memories.

You were 57 years old when I was born, quite a young man! You and Mormor (grandmother) were in Ohio helping Mom and Dad with Brian and my arrival, and you held me when I was brand-new to the world. I know you had many plans for us! My first trip to Denmark happened six months later, and I continued to visit you every year for 34 years. You taught and showed me so much, more than could fit in a book of this size. You visited me in Florida, Washington State, and Spain, where we had adventures and saw things you never imagined you would see, like wild alligators, a NASA space shuttle launch, and the giant cedar and Douglas fir trees you managed in Danish forests, growing in their native lands. I am so happy I could give a little back to you for everything you did for me.

Then I had the amazing privilege of saying goodbye to you before you died. I held your hand and missed you even before you were gone. You were so peaceful in your final days, still offering smiles and gestures of love and gratitude to your visitors when you had so little energy during that time to give. We all appreciated that very much.

You seemed every bit as young to me these last few years as you ever did, and though your body slowed down, your mind stayed sharp and ready to laugh at my attempts at humor. Your death marked an end to a very large chapter in a great book. Not just for me, but for all of your beloved friends and family. Lucky for us and for future generations who didn’t get to meet you, My Life and Times offers a brief glimpse in to the 91 years you spent on Earth. Even though you aren’t here with us anymore, I can read your words, your thoughts, and glean your humor from the stories in this memoir. I can refresh my memories when the edges start to blur. I can remind myself of your perspective, your roots, and how they helped shape me. And in that way, you live on in me, as I would not be the same person I am had you not been my Morfar!

Jeg elsker dig (I love you),

Jen