Live!

-       Write something on the wall to let people know how you are.

Sara Lidman was a much loved and highly respected Swedish author, still no doubt one of the most important. A strong storyteller, a rebel, an agitator, outspoken about everything she was on fire about. She was born in this northern region, Västerbotten, and most of her novels take place here, around the turn of the last century when Sweden changed into modernity. “Jernbanesviten” is the epos about the trials when building the railroad connecting Norrland (Northern Sweden) - rich of natural resources but far away from the power of governance, with southern Sweden - in need of waterpower, timber and minerals, but not of the poverty and distress from the people here.

About a hundred years later a different railroad is built, now following the coast. This week the new Central Station in Umeå was inaugurated. The choice of artwork connected to the terminal was a natural, intelligent, warm, humorous, respectful and beautiful one: A selection of quotes from Sara Lidman, covering  light birch green glass walls, making a tunnel under the railroad something very rarely seen: an inviting, safe and attractive place, worthy of the title European Capital of Culture 2014!

Two years of planning and fruitful discussions between politicians, artists, officials and The Sara Lidman Society preceded an unanimous decision about the artwork, and the name for it was as natural as rain: Live!, one of Sara’s call to everyone who wanted to listen. There were no signs that this suddenly would turn to one of the most upset situations in Umeå for decades.

This is what happened: a couple of days before the opening two of Umeå’s top politicians decided on covering one of Sara Lidman’s quotes with asphalt. Pretty radical. The reason: her appeal for people to speak up and tell the world about their situation might be an invitation for doodling, ruining the new artwork!

-       Write something on the wall to let people know how you are!

The asphalt didn’t happen, but a hefty tape did. A shame for the European Capital of Culture to be. Sara Lidman was an artist. As the group FA+ who created the artwork Live! For a week now the two politicians who interfered with the freedom of expression have defended themselves, changed their versions, lied, and in one case said I’m sorry, I did wrong.

The tape was removed before the inaguration. 5000 people came together in the dark November evening to behold the light from the glass walls. Sara Lidman’s quotes and the official opening of the terminal, a link in the new millennium connection to the southern parts of the country.

Yesterday the City of Umeå decided on that Live! won’t be changed in any way. And no surveillance cameras. A decision to trust the citizens, and the public eye being the best surveillance. And of course, there is no way to silence the rebel, firecracker and comforter Sara Lidman. Not in her lifetime, and not after.

I haven’t seen the artwork and the tunnel yet. Me and my back are still flat on my couch. But my friend Agneta reported from her first walk through this new landmark in Umeå: It was a wonderful treat, Live! will put Umeå on the map for sure!

As for myself I am listening to Sara’s words picturing the light green glass wall here in my corner. Live Maria, Live!

With a little help from my friends

My friend Maria B is downstairs making dinner for me. She just assisted me to the bathroom. She came all the way from Umeå this dark November evening to be an angel. The knife in my back that I am always fighting and fearing cut right in to my right hip this morning. I’ve been having scares the last few weeks and now it’s for real. And this time it’s bad.

When it’s this serious I can’t get in and out of bed myself. I can’t go to the bathroom. I can’t make myself anything to eat. It’s a very scary place to be in. Rolling back in bed this morning I did what I hate doing: started calling around for help. Hoping to find anyone available. And I was lucky, cause I did. Agneta S came here, fixed me breakfast, filled the dishwasher and put me under a blanket on my couch. And now Maria B is here feeding me a wonderful soup and omelet, emptying the dishwasher and the washing machine, and taking me to the bathroom again. She is now about to leave and Trouble 1 is taking the night shift.

Tomorrow and the following days will be trickier as the workweek is starting. My neighbor Isa, who is a young senior, has promised that I can call her when in need. I am so grateful. But I hate to be in this place. I have had back problems for close to 27 years and they have escalated over time. Neither traditional Western medicine nor any alternative can tell me what’s wrong with me. Uncountable highly skilled practitioners from different fields have tried to help me over the years without lasting results, leaving them and me equally frustrated. And I don’t even want to think about how much money I have put into this. As there are no treatments available within the Swedish healthcare system.

Calling my sister today she comments there has to be some assisting help to get when you are a single person suffering from something acute that makes you immovable. I am thinking she should be right. This is after all Sweden. And there are of course people who don’t even have friends or relatives to call. Checking into it, the answer is no. Unless your condition hasn’t been investigated and approved for home care services and safety alarm from the City, there is no assisting help to get. You just need to take care of things yourself.

Last time my back was this acute was in Seattle, during the Democratic Party’s convent. I remember listening to the speeches about a more human and friendly society finding myself thinking “I want that for Sweden too!”

Tonight I am thinking that I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to turn to get some answers and help for my long time suffering which is only getting worse and making me more limited and restricted for every year. And I don’t know how to solve my day-to-day situation. I will keep calling my friends, neighbors and family. It makes me uncomfortable and vulnerable, but that’s the only thing I can do. And I am lucky to have that opportunity. There are people who aren’t. And they will not make it. In Sweden.

It takes a village

To be driving towards my place in the dark November evening, seeing a light at the end of the road that hasn’t been there before. Driving into my new carport and the inside fixtures lights up by my car entering. Magic! Stepping out of the car under a roof, drumming from the rain.  Putting the engine heater in the outlet and the sound of the fan tells me my car is going to stay warm. Going outside watching the exterior fixtures light up the façade in the most beautiful way. And from inside my house looking out through the north windows where it’s always been pitch black, seeing a small building shining! This was the day when the power work was finally done, and there was a new functioning home for my car, at last!!! I tell you, I was almost crying out of happiness for having accomplished this project.

The need for this addition to my place has been there since I moved here to my grandparents homestead close to 32 years ago. But it wasn’t until two years ago that I started projecting for it. I knew it would be a lot of work, but I had no idea how much. And it started out in the worst possible way, an obstacle that looked like there would be no way to get around: It suddenly seemed like the location for the carport wasn’t even my property!

To make a long story as short as possible I want to say that it took a village to realize this project. And I am so fortunate to have a village. To be a part of a village. My little Swedish village.

My next door neighbor Melker knows every land document for the village hundreds of years back in time and spent hours talking to authorities, and I don’t know how he did it but eventually they agreed on them being wrong and that piece of land actually being mine. Thank you so much Melker, without you, definitely no carport!

Bertil and Clas took down the forest north of my house, letting the light in and room for my new addition. I know this is what you love doing guys, but thank you anyway!

My second cousin Roland and neighbor down the road, Erik, did all the land planning, assisted by Bernt and Jonas. Scooping up uncountable big rocks and truckloads of dirt and soil, exchanging with tons of gravel and concrete blocks for foundation. And although that was heavy work the hardest part was fighting the evening mosquitoes. Thank you guys, you are my heroes!

Bengt and Hans were the carpenters sent from heaven, as my first solution fell through late May, and it’s easier to find a needle in a haystack then a carpenter that time of year. So the day they pulled over at my place was my lucky day! They put the carport up in a little more than a week and we had so much fun I am still laughing out loud thinking about them. Thank you thank you thank you Bengt and Hans, you were my life saviors!

So, when the carport was almost there I felt safe and took off for Seattle late August. Trouble 2, his girlfriend (let’s call her Audrey, that’s the right name for her) and friend Jonatan moved in to my place, house sitters and carport painters. Only, that’s when it started to rain. And it rained. And it rained. For weeks and months. Those poor painters. So, there is still some paint job left for Trouble 1 next summer, but my beloved kids, you did such a good job! Moving to Paris (that’s where they are now) was just the right thing to do following that frustrating task.

Per was the one taking care of the telephone cable touching the roof, moving it up a bit, hopefully safe for the snow, thank you Per!

And now, this week, the final touch: power! My long time electrician Broman and colleague Jonas spent two days mounting 120-meter electric cable and all the fixtures. They did such a great job; you can’t even see those cables! The light I first saw driving towards my place the other night was the light at the front, telling me from far away that the work was done. That my carport was all done and finally there. 32 years later. Before I went to bed it started to snow. And I wasn’t panicking. Thinking: Let it Snow! Thanking my village. Being very happy.

A dancing angel

/Are you still walking here with us, my love.

Although we can’t see you anymore?

Are you still here on earth.

As you are in our hearts?/

I am having my breakfast Wednesday morning. I am crying over my morning paper. I am in despair over life and death and lifeanddeath. As All Saint’s Day is coming up.

I am reading the obituary of a woman who I didn’t know. Or, should I say, I knew a split of a second. A split of a second when we crossed each other’s paths in the cafeteria at the Oncology Center, I doing my yearly check up, she starting her final battle with a cancer spread in most of her body. This was in April. And now she is gone.

/An angel who was here with us.

Was given her wings too early.

Where are you flying, angel of ours?

Are you our Guardian Angel now?/

I liked her at an instant. I felt like we could be good friends. And knew that I probably wouldn’t see her again. We chatted about our cancers and swore over neglecting physicians, it was an experience we shared. But, although my diagnose and treatment were delayed I am still here. I was spared. This far I am spared. She isn’t. And we knew. In that cafeteria in April, at the intersection of life and death. Telling our stories half standing half sitting, I think I was drinking my tea, and did she have a coffee?

She was so beautiful. She was so much life. And she was so loved. And I am crying over the beauty and the pain giving up your life in such love. And the loss for those who are still here. The loss of such a loved life.

/Hearing your dancing bells in the sky.

We know it is you/.

We are alone. We come to this world alone and we go alone. The transitions that puzzle religions, philosophies, cultures and you and me waking up every morning going to sleep every night, we do those transitions alone. Facing a deadly decease, we are alone too. No matter how many people are there for us, at the core we are alone. Nobody can face my death for me. I have to do it myself.

But I can’t help thinking it must be a grace, at that unbearably lonely core, being surrounded by true human love. By close ones who will never ever leave your side. Who will keep you safe in that abyss of abandonment. Who will stay with you, day and night and strong and week and laugh and cry and shy away but hold your hand and touch your scarred and tortured body until it can’t take any more. Until time is up. Until it’s time. For that inevitable transition.

And it must be a comfort, letting go, knowing that your loved ones will be there, together, when your body is gone. Be there for each other. Taking care of each other. Loving each other. Always. Together. As long as they are still there.

/Fly free, my love. You are free now.

Until we all meet again, fare well, our beloved dancing angel./

(Excerpt from poem by family)