Do heroes exist?

It has truly been a while. Glad to have you back though, both here and in Finland. This time I’m doing what you usually do, adding a soundtrack to the post. Turn it on.

My grandmother died very recently. Last weekend I attended her funeral.

Her death did not come as a surprise, she would have turned 90 this summer and she was ready for it. Had been for some years. Depression. I think she was very lonely. I didn’t visit her often, nor did my mom, who lives in Sweden (we live in Finland). I don’t feel guilty for not seeing her more often, but I feel sad for her being so lonely.

She used to be a strong woman. She wanted to study, to have an education, to be a teacher, but that was not possible. She was one of 10 children, her family could only afford education for one of them. Instead, as an adult she took courses in Russian and in several forms of art. She was an excellent painter.

Her husband died when my mom was 15. From then, she raised my mom and uncle on her own, never re-marrying. I think loneliness was her companion for a large part of her life.

My mom was raised to be independent. I can see where it comes from. She studied and became a teacher, which was what my grandmother wanted to be. When I was growing up, my mom would take me everywhere she went. I watched her in political meetings, in art courses, and out in nature, just as I’m guessing she watched her mom.

My grandmother’s funeral. A small funeral with family only. My mother looks at me with tears in her eyes. I’ve never seen her look so small and lonely. As the organ starts to play my mother breaks down in a million pieces. Her whole body shaking with the sobbing, with me and dad by her sides not able to do anything more than just hold her. It was the most devastating moment of my life.

I do not feel grief for my grandmother’s passing. She was ready. But seeing my mother’s grief… I don’t know. It made me feel a very deep sorrow, which I’m not fully able to place. To a large part empathy for my mother’s loss and grief, but also something else. A reminder of something? Of my own mortality? The mortality of my parents? A part of my childhood dying? A sorrow over the realization of how small and irrelevant we are in the grand scheme of things? Maybe. It feels like this is not a fresh, recent sorrow. It’s like it’s been there waiting but I don’t know where to place it.

My grandmother didn’t leave a huge dent in the universe of mankind, but she did in our lives. I put her picture here for the whole world to know that she existed and was once a happy young woman with hopes and dreams.

You ask if I believe in heroes. You say you don’t, but I do. My grandmother was part of the generation that lay the foundation for the well-fare state we grew up in and take for granted. She was a hero in her own silent way, together with millions of others. As a society we’ve come a long way since her childhood. Let’s remember their struggles and not take what we have for granted.