Schiehallion & my dad, Bengt

Today it is one year since my dad died.

A few days before he passed I got a message from my two older siblings who live in Stockholm. They'd been out to visit our father at is dementia home to most likely say goodbye. He'd taken a turn for the worse, after many years with Alzheimer's, and had become bedridden. Staff did not think he had long. So the two eldest of his children went to say bye and let him know everyone was well; that his grandchildren were all well.

When I got the message about his deteriorating health (at the time we all still thought he might have weeks or months to go) we were snowed in here in Scotland with the "beast from the East". I was 38+ weeks pregnant with our third (who we knew had to be born by C-section for a safe delivery). So I was in a position where I knew there was little I could do other than focus on the life that was about to enter the world.

Then the 5th March, 2018, the day before our son's scheduled section, I got a message that our dad had died in his sleep. I'd probably have been a lot more upset, but I knew our son (my dad's first grandson, having 5 granddaughters already) was being born the very next day and we'd already chosen for him to have my dad's name as one of his middle names. I also knew that my dad would've liked to have gone peacefully. He'd struggled, alone, with Alzheimer's for so long he was but a shadow of his former self. I was mostly relieved his suffering had come to an end. 

I hadn't seen my father since August, 2014. It had been a happy meeting but he was disappearing fast by then, I'm glad our last reunion was a good memory and I had made peace with the possibility that we wouldn't meet again so by the time he passed I feel I had already said goodbye. My father had a drinking problem from my early tweens on wards. He was a very melancholy alcoholic and our relationship was bad for many years after my parents split. I'm just grateful we had time to make peace and he got his dementia diagnosis so I could forgive his drinking. I know realise he must have felt so scared and alone when his memory started going, turning to drink must have been easy. Now I know he wasn't ignoring me on purpose but simply did not have a grasp on the passing of time. I'm glad I stopped being angry at him in time because he was my idol and hero growing up. A kinder and gentler man would be difficult to find, I just wish he'd have been more confident and happy in himself.

The hardest part with his death was knowing that there was no way I'd be able to travel up for the memorial ceremony. I was about to have major abdominal surgery after all. Fast forward a year and unfortunately I was in a position where I couldn't partake in the burial of his ashes on the 1st March, 2019. His final resting place was next to his parents, Signe & Eric, in the family grave. A place he always wanted to be in, a place I'm sorry I did not see him sunk into but will visit upon my next trip to Stockholm. My other three siblings were there as well as my mother, one of his four siblings and my nieces, but sadly I could not make the trip over the North sea.

View of Schiehallion & Loch Tummel from Queen's view
taken a month ago.

For my own peace of mind I felt I had to think of some way to honour his memory in tandem with his burial and the anniversary of his death.  I decided to do my first Munro (Scottish hill over 3000ft/914m). My husband suggested I walk up Schiehallion; the Gaelic name meaning "hill of the faeries", in honour of my dad. My idea being that I'd carry a stone to the cairn (rock pile: used as landmarks and memorial sites) at the summit of the hill. My dad had always wanted to explore Scotland, his family had a hereditary title as Scottish barons despite being from an old Swedish family. The Sparre's had come over and aided King James the sixth of Scotland (first of England) and he had bestowed the title upon them. My father took great pride in his connection to this beautiful country and loved telling me about it in his later years especially as I had met my Scottish other half. It felt very apt to leave a stone in his memory somewhere with a view he would have loved to have experienced first hand. My younger sister sent me a stone from one of his (and our) favourite places to walk in the south of Sweden, Stenshuvud. I painted the stone with our family crest, the image comes from the truss in a roof, which fortuitously also happens to look an awful lot like the view of Schiehallion from Loch Rannoch. Both painting the stone and doing the walk was good for the soul, few things are as good for reflection as nature and walking. I'm glad I could take the time to be alone and think about the man I adored so much growing up, I still hear him in a lot of my daily business.

I miss you, I cry when I think about you often (not always), but I'm not sad you left us - just sad you were ill in the first place; but such is life. You left the world and at the same time an amazing little soul, our son, your grandson, entered the world and he fills it with light, laughter and love daily.

Losing a parent is difficult. The thing with Alzheimer's is that you lose them long before their bodies leave us. We all deal with our grief differently; in my case, much as I miss my dad, I am glad he isn't here any longer. Not because I wouldn't trade most things for some happy moments together, but because I know that time is long gone and he deserved more than to suffer. I love my dad enough to know he's in a better place and I will instead cherish his memory and hopefully live a life he'd be proud of. 

The speech I wrote for the memorial service I missed last year.