A wedding and a funeral

As I wrote yesterday, my departure flight for Stockholm was scheduled on July 11th. I could have left a few days earlier, but then I would have missed my friend Mati’s wedding. My parents and I were invited to attend the church ceremony, which would take place on Saturday, July 9th at 3 p.m. at our village church. Later in the evening, there would be a banquet and a dance party, to which we had also been invited. As I have known Mati since we were three, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

This picture is actually very appropriate
as my friend Mati's mother is Polish!
Photo: google images

The first weekend of the school holiday was uneventful. My mother and I started thinking about what to pack for my trip up north. What would the weather be like? Did I need summer clothes, or should I take some sweaters and a warm coat? On Monday, I went to the bank to exchange some Belgian francs (this was pre-euro days) for Swedish Kröner. In the evening, my father came home and handed me my plane ticket. “Sweden here I come.” was still ringing in my head … less than a week to go!

And then it happened. On Tuesday morning I was awoken by my mother storming into my room … in complete panic. “Your grandmother just passed away.” she said. For as long as I can remember my father’s parents have lived with us. My grandfather died in the late sixties, but my grandmother, who was then in her eighties, was still living with us in 1977.

The rest of the week was hectic; with my parents arranging the funeral, friends and relatives coming to our house to offer their condolences, me packing and at the same time asking myself whether this was the appropriate moment to go on a holiday. I was also wondering whether it would be fitting to attend a wedding when my grandmother had just died. In the end, it all worked out rather well. The funeral took place at 11 a.m. on Saturday, July 9th . In the afternoon I attended Mati’s church wedding. I went alone, while my parents stayed with the funeral guests. I didn’t go to the banquet or the dance party, though.

The next Monday, my father drove me to the airport. I felt somewhat guilty leaving my parents so soon after my grandmother’s death and funeral, but both my mother and father insisted that I should stick to my initial plans. So off I went.

Having a free ticket implied that I wasn’t sure about having a seat on the plane, although my father had booked well in advance. People holding a paying ticket always get priority. At the check-in desk at Brussels airport, the clerk said that there was no problem for the first part of the trip, Brussels – Copenhagen, as there were only 12 passengers. However, he couldn’t guarantee that I would have a seat for the second part, Copenhagen – Stockholm …

“Sweden, here I come” might very well become “Copenhagen, here I am and here I stay”! …

(yet more to come)

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