Att vara mormor och farmor – mellan närhet och saknad, symboliserat av en brygga ut mot havet.
Being a grandma sometimes means balancing – standing on the pier, feeling the wind, and daring to hope for what can be built ahead…
Autumn is here to stay. When I wake up it’s dark, just like today at 5:20 in the morning. Yesterday was filled with both laughter and heavier feelings. Being a grandma means living right in the middle of it all – with pancakes, card games and hugs, but also with the longing for what is not possible.
Yesterday afternoon Alfred was here again, and of course we played cards. That little man doesn’t like it at all when grandma wins. Yesterday he suddenly asked me what I used to work with.
I told him that right now I don’t have a job I need to travel to every day. “But before then, grandma, what did you do?” he asked. I explained that I worked with young people and children who couldn’t live with their parents. He thought it was sad for the children who couldn’t stay with their mom and dad.
I told him that yes, it can be sad, but they don’t have a choice. When they couldn’t live with their parents, they got to play cards with grandma and her colleagues. He thought it was a strange job. I tried to explain that there were many other things too – that it was a bit like life itself: you talk, eat meals together, and when someone is sad or angry you take care of it.
Then Alfred said it was good that I had worked with that kind of thing, because “there’s no one better at comforting than my grandma.”
I’d call that a top grade for a grandma. The fact that she also makes pancakes with ice cream – although you have to taste the soup she cooks on Thursdays – was also good. But, it would have been even better with only pancakes. The rule is: if it’s pancakes, you must taste the soup, but you don’t have to finish it.
And today Alfred finishes school very early, already at 11. I get to pick him up again – and we’ll share another afternoon together.
Yesterday we went to drop off gifts for one of the grandchildren who had a birthday. The situation was a bit unusual, but when you turn a year older you should of course be celebrated – birthdays deserve presents.
There were many packages, mostly pens and crayons because she’s so good at drawing. Two little kittens ran around the house and brightened the moment. The visit was short, but both my husband and I got hugs. My daughter was there too and she also had gifts with her.
I wish our relationship could be more everyday – that I could take her out for coffee, help with homework or pick her up from school. Just as I can do with Alfred. But right now life doesn’t look like that. Still, it was wonderful to see her, even though it hurt when we drove home again.
My little princess of a grandchild – the moment was short, but the memory will last long. And there was also the quiet longing for the little chubby one, who wasn’t even home this time. He too is in my heart, just as much, even when we don’t see each other.
When Alfred asked about my work, it reminded me why it’s so important that there are adults who step in when parents can’t. For children it’s often hard, but also necessary. Organizations like BRIS and Save the Children share more about children’s rights and support.
Between the Lines – My Voice
Between card games and pancakes, between hugs and distance, lies my story. What I’m really saying is: I love all my grandchildren, but the path to them looks different. With Alfred there’s everyday closeness. With the princess and the little chubby one, there’s longing and what I don’t get to share.
Reflection
Perhaps this is what life is – full of contrasts. One moment warmed by a boy’s words that I’m the best at comforting. The next, aching with the pain of not being able to share everyday life with the others.
This post is a quiet greeting from the motorhome, with warm coffee in my hands and the last days of summer in view. It’s about nieces who remind me of life’s playfulness, about a summer slowly wrapping up – and about finding small moments of joy even when longing still lives in the heart.
Morning Coffee and a Rain That Almost Hurt
Here I am again. The coffee is warm, and my body is slowly waking up after last night’s rain. It poured down – not a gentle patter on the roof, but more like nails falling from the sky. But I’m awake now. The coffee warms my hands, and my body awakens, inch by inch.
Two Little Girls and a Reminder About Life
My husband’s brother is staying further down the campsite with two adorable little girls. They are both Paw Patrol and – as one of them proudly said – mighty.
They showed us their tricks and how fast they could run. Two bright little souls who, with all their charm, reminded us what life is like as a child: invincible, playful, and full of imagination.
“I am mighty!” – sometimes that’s all the life philosophy you need.
The Summer Winds Down
Today we are heading home. Unpacking the motorhome. The vacation is over – a little sad, but somehow also okay. It’s August 1st, the tail end of summer.
It’s been a lovely summer, though windy and a bit chilly except for the last few weeks. Many trips with LVL^2, plenty of swims, and countless cozy evenings in the motorhome. Different from past summers, but fun and full of lessons. Memories of the summer of 2025.
Autumn Will Be Mine
Now autumn is waiting, and I’ve made up my mind:
Swim three days a week in Uddevalla
Create a daily routine that brings energy
Finish writing Vinghästen, so the story can finally be complete
Maybe I’ll even start my early morning swims again, depending on how the days unfold.
The Quiet Rest of Longing
The sorrow that weighed heavy yesterday has settled down today. It rests quietly now, no longer quite as heavy. It’s possible to find joy, even with the longing for my son and grandchildren.
Soon little Emilia has her birthday. Last year she got drawing supplies – she is so talented at drawing. This year, I don’t really know what she likes anymore. Today we’re also buying a present for my daughter’s partner – that one I’ve already figured out.
Small joys of everyday life weigh more than you think.
Between the Lines
The morning is quiet. My coffee is warm. This is where I land – in the simple things, in the now, in the summer just about to turn into autumn.
Closing Words
And so this summer ends – with coffee as my companion and autumn as the next chapter. Life continues in its gentle rhythm, with swimming laps, writing time, and small everyday joys that make the heart beat softer.
Quote: Yesterday has already laid down to rest in history; it can no longer be lived, only remembered. Tomorrow waits farther ahead, out there in the distance. But right now – this is where the breath comes, and life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
Preface This post is about the late summer slowly approaching, about motorhome life, and about carrying both joy and longing at the same time. It’s about missing grandchildren, about living with distance in the family – and about love that remains even when paths separate.
When Summer Begins to Fade
Here I am again, in our motorhome. I write as I usually do, but the feeling is different now. It’s no longer the sparkling energy of spring. Summer is beginning to retreat, even if I don’t want to admit it. The truth is: we are closer to autumn than to the full bloom of summer.
Autumn can be beautiful in its own way, but I miss those warm evenings that invite quiet joy. Still, summer is not over yet. There are days left to live, and I remind myself not to give up on them too soon.
An Unexpected Visit and a Quiet Thought
We will stay here at the campsite for another day. Today I learned that my husband’s brother will visit – a little surprise. It will be nice to meet him.
Yet, other thoughts swirl quietly in the background.
On Instagram, I saw photos of my grandchildren, happy and full of life. I smiled seeing them laugh, yet my heart felt a small ache. These are the moments I long to share – but for now, I am a grandmother at a distance.
Sometimes it feels as if the world keeps moving without me. Life doesn’t always turn out as we wish, but the longing is still there. Hugo has grown taller, Emilia looks ready to conquer the world, and Alfred I sometimes get to hold close when life allows it.
What carries me is love – it remains, even when I must love from afar.
A Mother’s Love Never Ends
There is nothing I can do to change the situation right now. All I can do is keep wishing them happiness.
My greatest hope is not for life to go back to the way it was, but for everyone to be well. I hope my son has a life where he can breathe, laugh, and feel that he chose what was best for him and his children.
I am his mother, and I love him more than words can hold. That love remains, no matter the distance.
Between the Lines – My Voice
Between the lines, I want to say this:
I am a mother and grandmother carrying both pain and love in the same breath. I do not shy away from what hurts, but I do not write out of bitterness. I write to understand, to remain standing, and to keep loving.
And perhaps I also write for you who recognize yourself in these words. We are more than one carrying this quiet sorrow. We carry it together – even if we carry it apart.
Reflection
Sometimes, life is about daring to stand in love, even when it is not returned. I cannot control other people’s choices, but I can choose to keep loving my grandchildren – quietly, from the heart, at a distance. And maybe, that is enough until the day our paths meet again.
Grief follows no rules. There is no manual for how to handle being cut off . But it is possible to keep loving, even when the relationship is broken. To stand in love, even when you get nothing in return. It’s possible to love – even when love becomes a one-way street.
”Yesterday has already laid itself to rest in history. Tomorrow waits ahead. But right now – this is where life is happening.” – Carina Ikonen Nilsson
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