My mother and what I became.

I love my mother.
I love my mother immensely.
I am so happy that I still have her.
At 86 she is still there in all her glory, even if she has gotten a little bit thinner.

We meet in the cafeteria of a hospital. Mothers husband is here to have his eyes examined. Mothers work is to wait for him. And I am there to join her.

We sit in the cafeteria. I look at her. I listen to her. I notice her wrinkles. I notice her smile. I notice her concern. I notice her words. And I notice her love.

We talk together. Talk for real. I am really interested in hearing her views on things, and also interested to hear her responses to what I am saying. We are really two maturing women listening to each other.

There was one thing that gave me the impulse to write this. It’s a bit taken out of context - and still it feels important to write this. Also to help my memory.

Both my parents were born into well of lives. Their parents had money. They were well established in society. In my grand parents generation - and in their social environment - status was crucial. To behave in certain way was crucial. To show a perfect facade was utterly important.

And since both my mother and my father suffered fromt this in many ways, they wanted to choose something else. They were seeking authenticity. So they moved from the upper-class quarters in Stockholm to a little place 300 km away. And they wanted us, my brother and me, to be ”real” people.

And there we were, children to parents that disliked some of the authorities. They listened to us, we were important, our opinions - even as children were important. Thet wanted us to be almost like a new species - children who would get a lot of culture and quality. Beautiful books - no Donald Duck in our home, beautiful toys - no plastic. Good food - made from scratch. It was sort of a world of quality, a world were I an my voice actually counted.

So I got a thing in my blood - and that was that people need to earn authority, that authority (like teachers) could be questioned. I had the courage to speak against injustices in school - or in the world - at age 9! And I really thought that they should listen to me. And often that happened. My point of view often counted.

And still, the harm reduction thing still lingers in my system. I think it’s an interesting paradox.

And I had an aha… me being a warrior of love, might have been born from that idea my parents had - that I had the right to express myself, and that my world counted.

What I also learned was that the world wasn’t really prepared for a child like that. I was unusual, I guess… And even if I was listened to at home… I was also lonely, because the other kids lived more traditional lives, and I maybe was a bit to much at times… even if I learned, the hard way, to hide, and show a like-able person.

I was actually raised to think for myself. Interesting.