Previously, when I was down and blue or just needed a word of advice or comfort. No matter the time of the day, I could always call my dad. He would always pick up the phone. And the few times he didn’t I respected that. We would discuss life, argue about different episodes I needed a second opinion on, philosophise about the next step I should take in a given situation. He was my mentor in life. Despite the fact that I did not always agree, I highly appreciated his opinion. I knew I could always find comfort and help with him. No matter the circumstance. No matter the place in the world. He would be there for me and my siblings. He would drive to the far ends of Denmark if that’s what we needed. That is how I grew up. That is my legacy.

Soon it will be  4 years since he died on a trip to Egypt with my brother. And in these four years I have struggled to find a foundation on which to stand. It felt like parts of it was crumpling away and I suddenly only had half of what I used to believe in. In these 4 years my mother has stepped in and helped us all in the best way she could. But it doesn’t take away the fact that Dad had had a great influence on me and my siblings.

Thus, when my brother writes me at 2 am in the morning I respond, if I am awake and not in a bad mood because he woke me up.  Overall, I’d like to think that my family can call me whenever. Wherever and I will respond. Because, that’s what you do. That’s what dad did. If I asked my sister to drive to a particular part of the country because of some reason: she’d ask when. If I needed my brother to help me move or anything else, he’d grab his things and meet me almost immediately. That’s how we are. That’s who we are. That’s how we grew up.

Despite my father’s memory is in our hearts and not physical in this world any more, the legacy of how me and my siblings understand family is burning through every social relation we make in the world.

Just a little philosophical thoughts on this grey Monday, for you all.


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