This week I went to the funeral of a woman I worked with in London. Her husband was Norwegian, so the funeral was here in Oslo. When I think of the nice things she had said to me before I moved here, and of her love for Norway, it was obvious to me she would have liked me to attend.
I had a half-hour train ride, then a walk through the snow. I knew I was on the right road but didn’t know how far ahead of me Haslum Kirke was. I knew the church had to be interesting enough to get married in. She was married there, and her daughter, who is now only four, was baptised there. Sure enough, a medieval church soon appeared out of the snow ahead of me.
The service began very beautifully, with gentle chimes from the belltower announcing the hour. Then a family friend played a piece of Bach on a piano. The spoken part of the ceremony was affecting. Her husband gave a moving eulogy. Afterwards, I told him I didn’t know what to say to him, but there is a website where tributes can be emailed in; I will probably write some thoughts there.
