December will be magic again... i hope

Now it has been an awful long hiatus again; i've simply felt too blank and overwrought most of the time. Now i'm back to whine about the weather again; this autumn was unusually warm, and after the two last winters being all they should have been with snow and mostly cheek-pinching cold, this december has been hopelessly warm and damp with merely a little frost and absolutely no snow. Today has been grey and rainy and i wonder when and if this will turn. This is sweden, mind you! -and yesteday was able to eat a wild strawberry from my own balcony, as much as i love wild strawberries that only adds to my distress. I really don't like this at all and desperately hope that december, at least the remainder of it, will be magic again!

Kate Bush: "December will be magic again", Christmas special from 1980:

LOSS.

My father, painted by his good friend, the late Stig Claesson.

Four weeks ago my dear father died, aged 86.
He got pneumonia, and as he had COPD after a lifetime of fervent smoking, and stubborny refusing to quit, his lungs could no longer cope. He moved to a nursing home about a year ago, as he had gone weaker and weaker over the last years.

All my life i've been aware that i would lose him while i was young, -it's not like when my mother suddenly died, aged 64, more than five years ago, -that was a shock i haven't quite recovered from today, if i ever even will... -But it's still sad, as i had naturally hoped for him to get better, though it seemed more and more unlikely. In the past five years i have watched him... like land eroded by the sea, more and more bits of who he was falling away and his clear periods getting fewer and farther between. Because of his diabetes and stubborn refusal to do any kind of excercise offered him, he had also lost use of his legs.

Over the years there have been so many scares and false alarms. He had fallen numerous times, there were so many nights waiting for hours in the emergency room, thinking, and fearing that this might be it.

So the night before he died i was with him for a couple of hours. He was in a morphine haze and unaware of me being there. He was just lying there twitching slightly and breathing strenuously. Shortly after ten i tried to say goodbye to him; i took his hands, -his hands that he would normally have clasped firmly around mine, but now they were all limp, and i should have recognized the signs, but still i went home, strangely convinced that he'd be alright. So i got home and went to bed, and at about six in the morning a nurse called and told me that he had passed away. I went there immediately, and then i just stood there, all numb, looking at him. His hands were still warm, but there could be no doubt.
He was no longer there.

One of my father's self-portraits, probably 1980s

I regret that i might not have visited him as often as i could have since he moved to the home, only a few times per week at most. -sometimes he would call me at four in the morning, thinking it was afternoon, and asking me where the hell i was.
I went there as often as i had could of course, but can't help but feeling like i just dumped him there. That i abandoned him.

My biggest comfort is that I did spend so much time with him in the years between my mother's death and before he got too weak to do anything at all. I tried to get him out of the house, go to see exhibitions and go to museums, movies, restaurants and for long walks. And it's also comforting to think of what a long and eventful life he had after all.

So now i am an orphan. -though at times i've felt like i was his parent, i often feel like i have the mental capacity of an eight-year old. I've been held back by all of this, hardly realised any plans, if i ever even had any... i haven't had the energy to take up studies or do anything at all. In a way i am now free to start living, but i don't know where to begin... -and sometimes, i must admit, i feel uncertain whether i even want to, and just falling asleep forever seems so incredibly tempting, but as i have a fear of blades, heights and pain in general, and have no doctor to give me any kind of pills i guess i'm going to have to go on living.
Hopefully someday i'll even learn to enjoy it again.

Me, aged five, photographed by my father.

One of his favorites with Jussi Björling.

Lamentation.

Now temperatures have risen again, so that it snowed almost all of yesterday and that it's snowing richly today, is neither here nor there when it all melts away before it reaches the ground. The ice that had spread out across riddarfjärden is now slowly melting away. Allover is that depressing, dripping sound from drainpipes. I can't stand this!

The feeling of winter is now completely gone again, it has been replaced by this tepid humidity. The honeysuckle on the balcony might be budding soon - wich i would love if this was in may and not the middle of january...now it's just saddening.

It looked like the water on riddarfjärden would freeze as it's done as long as i can remember -then it would turn into this huge open space where you can walk for several kilometres, not last year though, or the years before that -the last time was in the winter of 2005 wich was remarkably cold. As it looks this winter might turn out to be just as mild and dreary as it was last year - just like five months of march, wich is really the dingiest, dullest month of all.

It is just as depressing as a summer that completely rains away -or that has no rain at all...
We have had mild winters before, but nothing like this. This just feels like the end of the world. I so miss that exhilarating feeling of walking in this magical, pristine winterland, over frozen waters, the brightness of the snow, the frost crystals on the windows.


Illustrations by Johann Heinrich Füssli and myself

An icy blast, at last!

Ok, I might have whined too soon - yesterday it felt colder and the air was crisp and cool - I even think i saw a light sparkle of frost in the grass and the ground felt harder, and this morning it was positively freezing out there. -though i won't be fully satisfied until there's a blizzard or even possibly complete snow-mayhem and that i'm able to walk across the ice to the City Hall!


Top-illustration by Wenzel Hollar
Bottom, Moa with the City hall in the background.