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  • Sara Hoejslet

My heritage

My father was the one who taught me how to write. How to put commas. How to play with the Danish language.

He was also the one who, after having accepted that I was not going to strive to become a top researcher anyway, was most engaged in my writing quest.

He proofread my entire novel. He engaged in lively debates about the characters and their thoughts and actions. He would call me every now and then and ask me whether I had heard from the publishing agency or acted upon this or that prompt.

His love for me made him love what I was doing. No matter what. That was the kind of father he was.

He died last year.

It has been such a loss. I miss him every day. And yet somehow he is always here, communicating to me.

Shortly after his death I wrote the poem below, which also says something about how I view death and how I am learning to live with it.


At some point in time I will meet you again

It could be at the end of my life

It could be a couple of years from now

It could be this time tomorrow


Just now

As I sense that my mere thinking of you

Makes you pay me a visit

Or rather, perhaps,

You are always right here

Unbelievably close to me

But I can only feel it when I


Just now

My ears are listening for your voice

My eyes are longing for a vision of you

But I have the company of butterflies on my evening walks

I feel the wind suddenly blowing kindly around me

And I did hear your voice in the garden on the day of your transition

Which is just another name for something that cannot, but has


Just now

It feels so present and yet so unreal

I wonder what time has got to do with it

I cry so very often

But I smile and laugh and live even more

Not because you are gone

But because you are always right here, and so, I am not


Just now

I remember our last night together

I held your tired hand which felt so lovingly strong

Tears form rivers

My voice becomes a squeal

I drown myself in sorrow

And then I remember


Just now

You comfort me, and again, gratitude breathes my body

This is the sea in which I float

Waves of sadness and loss surge me

I let them roll over and pass

There is no other side to reach

There is only being with what


Just now

I hear there is nothing to get over

Because there is no loss, really

Do write a little, you say.

You were my greatest protagonist

I believe you still are

And so I do


Just now

For you, for me, for me healing heart

For all the love that remains to be lived


Sara <3

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