Hildur was my grandmother. My only idol. I loved being by her side. Her calm prescence. Her big heart. John was my grandfather. I never met him. He died when my father turned 11. Hildur and John got thirteen children. My dad was number twelve. Hildur lost both her legs, due to Protein C Deficiency. But she carried on in a wheelchair without legs and without a husband but with 13 children. She was a fighter. So was all the kids. This is the story of Hildur and John. A story of two remarkable people. A story full of love and hard work. Their life is a perfect example of how stories wander and affect many peoples lives along the way. This is my story of how meaning is a created. From a jacket to a pillow.
Grandmother Hildur, grandfather John and their 13 children.
My head against your chest,
Your forhead against my shoulder.
Our hug in a pillow.