Swedish Relatives Part II

The wedding of Gustav Victor Westerberg & Ineborg Albertina Eleanor Holmgren. Frans Oskar Westerberg (Gustav's father) is in the last row, far left. Klara Mathilda Welin (Gustav's mother & my great-grandmother's paternal aunt) had already died.

Gustav Victor Westerberg, my great-grandmother's first cousin

I took an early train to Västerås from Gothenburg on a Wednesday morning.  The trip took four hours, which gave me time to relax and take in the countryside after five months within the city, and to reflect on my expectations regarding meeting Åke and Sven.  I was excited to meet them and uncertain about what I should expect, and I felt confident that the encounter would not be uncomfortable.  As we had arranged, Kajsa picked me up at Västerås station at around 11, and we headed back to her place where Åke and his wife would be arriving shortly.  Sven was unable to join us.

Kajsa was friendly and easy to talk with.  As she prepared lunch, she chatted about the Västerås area and told me it's Sweden's fifth largest city.  She clarified her connection to Åke and Sven: she's the niece of Lillan, Åke's wife.  She informed me that since neither brother had any children and since all of their cousins have died, the only blood relatives they have at this point are one another.  And now, all of a sudden, me.  Before my letter arrived, Åke and Sven had no idea they might have relatives in America. 

Kajsa also told me about Åke's reaction when he received my letter.  He had pulled out a Swedish-English dictionary and spent the better part of an hour trying to understand the message before he realized it was printed in Swedish on the reverse side.  The story gave me a giggle, but it also gave me some confidence: I figured if Åke was willing to put that effort into receiving my message, then he might actually be an interested participant in this project, not someone simply tolerating the second-cousin-twice-removed role he'd been cast into.

Åke and Lillian Westerberg

When Åke and Lillan arrived, I watched through a window as Åke helped his wheelchair-bound wife from the car, through the gravel driveway, and up the porch steps to the house.  This took perhaps ten minutes, and I was glad for the opportunity to observe him before being thrown into introductions.  I was pleased to see that he was patient, gentle, attentive.

Inside the house there were introductions and handshakes.  Åke and Lillan wanted to know if I could speak some Swedish, and I was embarrassed of my linguistic limitations as I demonstrated a few phrases I could manage: Jag heter Jaime. Jag är din kusin. Trevligt att träffas.  Amidst all of this, there was a high frequency of small stolen glances between Åke and myself.  There is a social stigma against looking too long or too frequently at the face of someone with whom you are not well-acquainted, and I think we were both aware that we were breaking this rule but also overwhelmed with curiosity about who the other person was, and if we might find something of ourselves recognizable in the other.

Åke, middle row 3rd from left, & his cousin Ingvar, bottom row far left

Kajsa was still finishing up lunch, so Åke pulled out a large envelope full of yellowing photographs and told me the names that go with the faces.  I produced an iPad full of my own family photos as well as a multi-page family tree document which we used clarify how the people in our photos were connected.  Limited Swedish didn't prove to be such a problem as I had feared; my intro to Swedish course has equipped me for a conversation about family relations.  I found myself easily referring to farfar, dotter, fru, bror, and asking, Vad heter han?  I was able to add a few cousins' names to my family tree.  I took notes and snapped photos of his photos, giving some moments of our interaction an atmosphere of research, and I think he was amused by the idea of mundane family mementos being documented as artifacts.

Sven & Åke's mother as a child

cousin Kalle Johnsson

Åke, left, Sven, right, and their cousin Kroen, middle

Åke in the military

Over lunch Kajsa was available to translate, so we got to share a few stories.  It was hard to know where to begin; I felt this desire to transmit to him all the family stories I know, and to hear something equally comprehensive from him.  Instead we spoke in a natural way.  He told me that the farm where he grew up has now been covered by an airport, and that he worked at a factory making parts for trains.  I told him about how I met my husband and how we came to be living in Sweden now.

The farm where Åke grew up, now covered by an airport

Sven and his mother, Ingeborg Albertina Eleanor Holmgren

Sven, who wasn't able to join us

Look familiar, dad?

I finally found the courage to ask him about his hair.  I didn't see so much in Åke's visage that reminded me of my family members except that his hair looked so much like my father's and grandfather's: thin and wispy, and clearly showing the scalp underneath.  I related to Åke my father's story of having been told in high-school that he would be bald by thirty, but instead his hair stayed consistently thin and wispy throughout his life while his classmates balded.  Åke said it's the same for him - his hair has always been this way.  I found a great satisfaction in knowing this.

Not long after lunch Åke and Lillan headed home.  Our parting was a nice moment, with a good strong hug and sincere smiles and expressions of gratitude for the day together.  We didn't make plans for another meeting, but the possibility of this felt very open.  Once Åke was gone I found I could think of lots of things that I would have liked to have asked him about, but I don't doubt we'll have another opportunity in the future.

Lillan, me, and Åke