Bestemor 1920-2021

Bestemor, Norway April 2018. The last time I saw her.

A 10pm conversation after putting away all the flowers she was gifted for her 90th birthday:

-Kristine, let’s have a wee one.

(Pours us each a shot of Aquavit and we sit down at her kitchen table.)

-Bestemor, now you only have 10 years left until you get a letter from the King!

-Ha! (skoffs) No! That is not going to happen.

It did happen. She died yesterday at 100 years and 8 months old.

Bestemor. It means “best mother” in Norwegian. I lived with her on three different occasions in my life. She had a basement suite where she would take in grandchildren from time to time. Or their stuff. In my case both.

Thinking about her now I see that each time I went to live with her was during a time of my own transition.

The first time I was transitioning from living in the US and returning to Norway. The second time I was transitioning from living in Arctic Norway and returning to Oslo, and the third time was when my partner had to return to Canada after spending time in Norway and left me alone with a swollen belly.

That was my favourite time because between my big belly and her ailing body we could both laugh about the wind coming out of it at inappropriate times. She would make me cups of hot chocolate and we would watch BBC television shows or Nordic skiing while making commentary about current politics. Which we never agreed on, but that didn’t matter. It was a relationship.

I’ve always felt lucky that I grew up with two sets of grandparents, a set of bonus grandparents in my dad’s aunt and uncle, and briefly met one set of great-grandparents. I think more importantly I grew up in a family where we spent time with our elderly. It was the most natural thing for me to hop on my bike as a kid, roam over to their homes and show up unannounced. I am not able to give this to my kids but trying to show them the value of our elders through finding them within our community here instead. I’ve always enjoyed talking to people who have lived longer than I have, they have a lot of life experiences I’m curious about.

Over the years I have shared my Bestemor, about how her giggles sustain me and how my relationship with her as an adult is so different from my relationship with her as a child. I feel fortunate to have formed adult memories with her alongside my childhood memories. While my childhood memories are filled with ice cream, picking strawberries in her yard, eating dried up Marie crackers, playing with her dog, touching her many trinkets, and eating Sunday dinners with expired soft drinks on the side, my adult memories are quite different. They are filled with identity and questions about our past, our ancestors and learning where we came from. It was because of those conversations I studied the Sami Reindeer herders who migrated to Alaska, and because of those conversations I learned about her generation’s complicated relationship with the Sami culture.

Those conversations led me to Nome (Alaska) in 2010 where I studied the impact of reindeer herding on the Seward Peninsula. There I found Dave, a Canadian biologist roaming the tundra studying the migration of Western Sandpipers. He’s my husband now.

Grandparents carry us. Within us lie their stories, their past lives, wins and mistakes. We inherit those, and often we are completely unaware of the significance they carry until we sit down and really talk with them about it. This is where my relationship with my grandmother as a friend rather than a source of treats became important in my story. Because she showed me sides of herself I had never noticed as a child, and by taking notice of them as an adult I started understanding where I came from. Through her stories I found permission to go look for answers to my many questions, however complicated and uncertain that journey would be.

I don’t think this is purely related to biology. While we came from the same DNA I think a huge part of this is related to subconscious things carried and passed down, and it is for us to decide which parts to keep carrying and which to let go of.

I learned so much from Bestemor and identified so many things I carry in me from her. Some will have permanence in my life. I will carry my grandmothers giggles, her love of the natural world, her love of animals, her curiosity and stubborn quest to find answers, some of her stoic nature, love of family, and sometimes scoffing at people I disagree with. In private. The primary thing I will carry with me from Bestemor is her honesty, it is a core value we both shared.

Today I will celebrate having spent the everyday with my grandmother, on the very first day I live in this world without her.

Tusen takk, Bestemor. Hvil i fred.

She is Oldemor to my children and Bestemor to me. With my first child, Oslo, 2013

Bestemor with me, Oslo 1978. Same house.

A conversation with Big Brother (3), 2016

-Oldemor is very old. Sometimes when I talk to Bestefar about Oldemor I get very sad, because I know she is going to die. That is why I am sad when I talk to Bestefar.

-Am I going to get old and die?

-Yes, I certainly hope so.

-I want to be old so I can die.

-Dying means you will never come back. You will be gone forever. Dying is not something we do for fun.

-Oh. Then I don’t want to die. I want to stay here.

-Yes, I want you to stay here.

-Can you be happy now?

-I am happy when I see you.

-And there is a bookshelf.

-Yes, there is a bookshelf. The bookshelf makes me happy too. .