Where I am from

 

In the fifties, my father took my mother to the family farm in Kjorefjord and showed her where his father is buried.  He said “there, that’s the hole my father is in” and he  walked away.  Almost a lifetime later I stood at the foot of that same grave and felt so alive and connected.  Here lies a piece of me, or I a piece it, the earth, of him, my father’s father. That same day, I stood in the room my grandfather was born in.  I closed my eyes and in my imagination, I heard his first cries.  I cried.  I was born in that room that day.  And at that grave on that farm in that village.   I was whole and complete and I drank wine and ate cheese and strawberries under the midnight sun.  Home.