My husband's funeral was beautiful. It was important for us that it was. It was colourful, friendly, dignified - but also a bit skewed (not least thanks to the funky and incredibly moved woman vicar). Never has the word "poker" been mentioned this often in a church sermon, that's for sure! It was all so definitely in my husband's spirit, the songs he liked, his granddaughter singing, and his brother-in-law interpreting the Willie Nelson classic "Crazy." Which he especially enjoyed when Patsy Cline sang it. Oh, my husband would have loved it all!
At least 250 people were there, many of whom I'd never even met, poker friends, childhood mates. Some hugged me, some explained who they were, some I've learned about later. I was deeply touched by the turnout - all people who respected and loved my husband immensely.
I wore a white dress with a red scarf and red high heeled shoes, daughter Johanne wore a bright yellow skirt, daughter Julie wore a white dress, daughter Sophie wore a peach dress, granddaughters Jelena and Mira wore flowery dresses. Son-in-law Josh wore my husband's favourite shirt from "Moods of Norway" - turquoise, yellow and blue-checkered with different coloured buttons. I was so delighted he liked it and wanted to keep it!
Looking for a black shirt or sweater to wear to work a few days earlier, Sophie rummaged through her Dad's clothes and found nothing. Only his dinner jacket and some trousers were black.
His gravestone will not be black.
His favourite colour was yellow.
I decided on a woven carpet of twigs and moss and grass entwined with yellow spring flowers to cover his coffin.
Below is my speech to my husband at the funeral.
"And so death did us part – Petter and me. And to tell the
truth there really wasn’t anything else that could part us, we agreed on this at the altar on July 2, 1983. And we have repeated this vow to each other – for
nearly 32 years.
Third time lucky. Anne-Kari – and Per – tried to bring us
together several times – and the third time, well no, actually the second time,
they managed. We just had to settle a few things first, respectively. When I
look at the sea of flowers here today I recall another sea of flowers sent by
Interflora to my bedsit in England in 1978. I knew then that the two of us were
meant to be.
It is not often moments of pure happiness are bestowed upon us, but I have experienced them with Petter. When we drove that
winding road to the summer house in Kragerø just after our wedding, when the
sun flashed almost epileptically through the green foliage of the roadside
trees, and I in the passenger seat was blinded – no, intoxicated – by the
beauty of summer and our own love – then I thought: Is it possible to be this
happy? This experience was something I brought with me into our relationship,
and even in my everyday life this became my guideline.
Yes – everyday life. Petter and I went on numerous travels
and adventures together. The hard but oh-so-satisfying travels at home, when we
were entrepreneurs together and worked side by side – our desks facing each
other for nearly 15 years. Then our travels abroad, to Jakarta, Bangkok,
Sydney, New York, London – ”What should I write on the immigration card, Petter
– Business or Pleasure?” "Why don’t you tick off both, sweetheart.” Always
with the entreprenuerial glance turned forward, on the lookout for new ideas
that could be implemented in Norway.
Yes – everyday life. Petter and I had a common belief in everyday life. Everyday meals, everyday conversation, everyday tasks, driving
kids, collecting kids – and not least, for Petter – the horse races at Øvrevoll
race course. And then, at the end of the day, snuggling up on the sofa to watch
a crime series or two. And perhaps discovering way into the plot that we had
watched it before.
We loved our holidays and our time-outs together. But we
both agreed that everyday life was underrated. And we always pulled in the same
direction. Whether it was Business, Pleasure or Family.
I’d had a relatively restless existence before I met Petter.
Many stays in foreign countries, many partings and goodbyes. One of the first
things he said to me was: ”I would like to grow old with you.” That was it.
The uncomplicated honesty, his generous sincerity – they won my heart right
there and then. Only – we wouldn’t become that old together, as we had planned,
in our house in France, where Petter had taught all the neighbours to play
poker.
He became my anchor. Our home became my harbour. I explained
this to him, and he said – ”Yes, it’s my harbour too. It’s OUR harbour. This is
where we rest and recuperate.” And I told him – ”Every time I hear you come
through the door I’m happy. I’m so afraid of partings, but I know that
you are always there, you enter and you yell – ”I’m home!” Yes, there you were, and I was grateful every time.
Many have said to me now that it was merciful that Petter was
released. No! This is wrong! Don’t say this to me again! Petter wasn’t released
– he let go by himself. My guy – always a master of timing and control – decided
himself when he wanted to leave us – Johanne, Julie, Sophie, Jelena, Mira and
me. The six girls who were gathered around him until the end and the entire night afterwards. The six girls that he loved
endlessly and who loved him back. A deep love and affection that he felt for us
all the time and that was returned. And he was blessed – despite everything –
with a type of cancer without pain. And yes – a longlasting illness – but with
a lot of time for long dialogues, sincerity and good words. We would not have
missed this for the world.
What an evening and night we had when Petter closed his eyes
and mouth and became himself again in death. Gone were all the facial distortions from the brain tumour, gone
was the swelling from the cortisone. I have experienced now that not everyone
understands what the six of us shared at the Hospice Easter Monday at 9.15 pm
and into the night, so we might not tell everyone about it. But be assured of
this – death is not frightening. It is in fact the opposite.
Petter – when we stayed with you after you had passed away
and you still lay there so incredibly present with us, I stood in your bathroom
at the Hospice and looked at our two toothbrushes that finally again had shared
a glass during Easter. I contemplated for a short while – and suddenly I felt a
bit mischievous and brushed my teeth with your toothbrush. You would have gone
nuts if you had seen me. But then I heard you say in your beautiful voice:
”It’s okay, sweetheart. Tonight you’re allowed.”"
