To My Big Love

Dear Peter,

The first time I saw you was when you took a bottle of Coke out of Tom's fridge. I was just visiting, and you didn’t expect to see a guy coming out of the bathroom with only a too-small towel around his waist.

Your eyes gave you away in an instant – you saw something you wanted to know more about.

We went out to the lake and swam, this time without a single thread on – no need for a too-small towel around the waist.

We were from different countries, and the pine trees had shed cones that could be used both as boundaries and as weapons to break them down.

“Mr. Handsome, Break down this Wall.”

We were in Germany.

I traveled back to my northern home and sat on the terrace, calling you. The sun still shone over the horizon of the midsummer night. With you, it was dark. But my voice lit up the hope for a life together.

I will never forget the day you came to my town, knelt down, proposed to me, and I said yes – an unconditional yes.

Our shared journey was sealed.

You were so creative, could draw and paint, and a painting was sent as a gift to the Crown Prince for his engagement. You were so proud of the beautiful picture, though you never received a thank-you note.

The furniture at home could always be improved or rethought in a different way, and you were tireless in your ideas, wanting to make our shared home perfect.

You had your own refined sense of style for colors and wallpapers, and I allowed myself to be surprised and pampered.

You wanted something out of life. You learned another language and could quickly manage its tongue-twisting sounds. Your determination carved a path.

Job followed job, and soon you became a valued employee. The work was stressful, and at some point, your system said, “No more.” You ended up with a dismissal and a long period without a job. But you saw opportunities, not limitations. The job center offered you a place in elder care education, and you said yes.

This became a one year and six-month education, where you fought for the rights of your weaker classmates whenever someone treated them unfairly.

You ended up writing to the Ministry of Health about conditions in the education, leading to the national implementation of what you had suggested shortly after.

But you didn’t bask in this success – you remained loyal to your peers and the elderly residents in care homes.

The elderly loved you, and you loved them. Even old Anna, who was 104, wanted to wait until you were a widower so she could marry you. We laughed about that many times.

You also loved my elderly parents. You always happily accompanied me when my mother called for help. You were there for my father when he was dying of cancer. You were their son as much as I was, mourning when my father passed, even though you yourself had just been in a bad traffic accident. In our time of grief, you forgot all your pain and did everything to ease my mother’s inconsolable sorrow when Dad closed his eyes for the last time.

Later, when Mom lost her grip on reality and was enveloped by severe dementia, you were the one she remembered till the end. “But that’s Peter who’s coming – hello, my boy.”

You made an indelible impression on everyone you met.

Every summer, you performed at the Renaissance festival as King Henry VIII, so convincingly that everyone believed King Henry VIII had come back to life.

Winters were your worst time, when snow and frost kept you housebound. Your soul grew dark, and time felt long. But you were just my big bear that had gone into hibernation – I knew that when spring came, the ice around your soul would thaw, and you’d be brimming with life energy and ideas.

One day, however, your brain’s blood vessels could no longer function normally, and you suffered a stroke in one of the most challenging places in the brain to repair. Your right side would do nothing. You had accepted it and just wanted to be allowed to die. But I wasn’t ready to let you go. I called the ambulance, and you went through hospital after hospital, yet your condition did not improve.

Suddenly, you were confined to a wheelchair and dependent on others’ help. Mine too. I was determined that we could still have a good life together. Because when we were together, the sun shone, even on the darkest days. That helped you through the time.

Until the day something wasn’t right, and we had to call the doctor. She asked for permission to send you to the hospital for a checkup, and you agreed.

A few hours later, I was summoned. You lay motionless in bed with a peaceful expression. Your greatest wish had come true, and you had entered the light.

We said goodbye to you in church. Sent you off on your last journey in your earthly shell.

My great Viking, my big bear, my great love was no longer among us.

Thank you, my love, for all the crazy ideas and moments full of warmth and closeness.

Thank you for loving me despite my edges and lack of focus on symmetry and color matching.

Thank you for being you.

Yours forever,

Henrik