MY HEART UPON MY SLEEVE

"It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself;
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am."

From William Shakespeare's Othello (Iago's lines)

 Painting by Elin Setara

By being honest and truthful about my situation I lay myself open to extreme vulnerability, but also to incredible love and compassion. I wear my heart upon my sleeve and invite people into the raw emotions that define me now. I might even say that I force them to make a decision as to whether they would like to be a part of this emotional journey - or not. Those who decide they want to be a part will probably find that they reflect a bit upon vulnerability themselves. At least this is what I am told by all my wonderful and caring friends out there.

The price we pay for love is vulnerability and ultimately grief. The day we decide to love someone we invite vulnerability in. And the day we decide to have children we ask vulnerability to be THE huge factor in our lives. No more peace and quiet, no more floating along in a carefree world. Welcome in, worry! Welcome, sleepless nights! Sit yourselves down on my shoulders and pull at my hair and give me headaches!

I spend nights at the Hospice now. Not every night, that's a bit too unpractical, but now that Norwegian Easter is on the threshold - with an enormous amount of public holidays compared to the rest of the world - I will be there continuously. I love being there - having him close.

During a very enjoyable jazz concert (Django Reinhardt style) at the Hospice this week, holding hands, my husband suddenly whispered in my ear: "What would you like, sweetheart? Shall I get you a glass of wine?" Oh, the bittersweet nostalgia of this question, the heartbreaking memories! Wheelchair bound and blind, he suddenly imagined us together in our living room, listening to music. As we have done so very often. And he thought of me and my needs.

Sushi & maki for me while watching over my husband

Colourful paintings by Bengal artist Elin Setara adorn the walls of the Hospice

My spare room at the Hospice

And our toothbrushes are together again... 

Jazz concert at the Hospice! 

Snow fell on Oslo again on Thursday, and everything was chaos. You should have thought we were used to it in this northernmost outpost, but well… when we've got accustomed to spring having arrived we're completely overthrown by a snowfall. Let's put it this way - Norway is the only country in the world where spring precedes winter and winter precedes summer… or something like that. No, I take it back! I spent a week in New York City some years ago and during that week there was summer, winter, spring, autumn - in that order.

Thursday also happened to be my youngest granddaughter Mira's 10th birthday and we went to a steak house to celebrate. This was Mira's own choice, and I thought the time was not yet ripe to discuss sustainable food with her. Mira and I unfortunately both love meat, and my perfectly cooked rack of lamb that I made us last weekend certainly had me hesitating yet again about becoming a total vegetarian.

AND we both love those unhealthy English breakfasts, complete with an authentic English sausage! 

My beautiful granddaughter is 10! (She's on the left - the other one - daughter - is checking her phone for later appointments…) 

Getting a delayed bus back - due to the snow chaos. Mira always delights in seeing me on public transport - "You're sort of always in a car, Mimmi…" (Another environmental challenge for me, I see that). 

Painting by Elin Setara

Love, vulnerability and sorrow have been important themes for me and my best friend Grete during our conversations this week. The initial words of this blog post were bits of the heartbreaking but oh so healing dialogue we've had.

I am paying the price now for having loved with open arms and wearing my heart upon my sleeve, and not least having been loved back - unconditionally. But this is what I think: Would I rather have been without it all and spared myself the grief I'm going through now? Would I have been happier without the deep fear that grips me when I watch my husband in his bed getting weaker by the minute? Would I have missed out on the nerves that practically vibrate on top of my skin while holding his hand, knowing that I'll lose him very soon and that his warm hand won't be reaching out for me?

No. Never. I'd do it all again.