View from a Prairie Home

By Hege Herfindahl, Columnist

I am sure you all agree that there is more between heaven and earth than we can see with our eyes or hear with our ears. Most of us can feel when a storm is coming. We can feel when the people around us are stressed. Or angry. We can feel hostility or love. We can also feel when someone is sad.

And that is me. Feeling sad. With a broken heart. My heart actually hurts. Even when I am not thinking of losing Erland, my heart hurts all of the time. It is just who I am right now. Losing him so quickly left me emotionally paralyzed for a long time. But it is real now. Very real.

We just went to Springfield, Va. Which is a suburb of D.C. To have another memorial service for Erland. He lived there for about 14 years and his friends and colleagues were there. So it was only natural that we should have a celebration of his short life there. So that his friends could attend. 

Our whole family went. We rented a big house in Springfield and again, the outpouring of love, compassion and concern amazed us. People stopped by with flowers. With food. They stopped by for hugs. For conversations. It was so touching and heartwarming. But, for me, it was also hard. Erland’s friends were there, but not Erland. And in the middle of it all, I had a birthday.

I wanted to ignore it, but I have this amazingly considerate daughter. Ingvild came to me and put her arms around me. She asked me how we could celebrate my birthday in the midst of all and I said, maybe a cake. Not only did she get a cake with “gratulerer med dagen” written on top. She had hats and noisemakers, streamers and silly costumes. And we all got dressed up. They put 72 candles on my cake. We realized we didn’t have matches, but our friend, Jill, managed to improvise with a bamboo stick and the broil setting of the oven. I tried to blow them all out. My grandchildren commented on how many boyfriends I had, but that made me blow them all out. And everybody cheered, even my boyfriend of almost 50 years. 

The next day, we went to church for the service. We have been there multiple times in the 14 years Erland lived there. And somehow churches always make me cry more. And this church held so many memories. My legs collapsed under me and I quickly found a chair. Suddenly I felt an arm around me. A young and strong arm. And then I felt another arm. Two of my grandchildren, Hanna, 16, and Anders, 18, lifted me up and holding me, they escorted me into church. 

After singing a few of Erland’s favorite hymns, the U.S. trade ambassador and a member of the cabinet, Erland’s immediate boss, spoke. She spoke of Erland’s competence and compassion. Of his skills as a diplomat and his kindness. She also told about how he never could be replaced and that they would now give an award every year to a U.S. diplomat who best replicated his many skills as a trade negotiator. Some of Erland’s other colleagues spoke and then, again, came our amazing daughter, who has endured so much, but with grace.  She again spoke of the brother she had lost. She was funny, but also serious. She ended by saying we should all be curious and explore the world without prejudice, just like Erland. 

I am sad because I have lost my son, whom I loved. Grief is part of love. There was love in the world before we lost him, but there is love surrounding us now. It is in the hugs. The cards. The phone calls and texts. The visits. Love will remain because love is all there is. Love is all that matters. Thank you, my friends.