We have said good-bye to most of the cousins, but haven’t yet completed our on-line check-in for tomorrow’s flight (no internet access at the stuga) so we make a stop at Tommy’s office on the way to the train station.
Tommy is a manager at a very large cemetery in Falkenberg.
My father only discovered my fascination with cemeteries on this trip, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, it seems to be genetic: I have relatives on both sides of the family on both sides of the Atlantic who work as morticians or are responsible for cemetery upkeep.
So we get a bit of a tour of the cemetery, which includes seven Commonwealth war graves – the remains of servicemen from around the world who died along the Swedish coast during World War II.
The simple marble slabs are adjacent to another casualty of that war: A Polish woman who survived the horrors of a concentration camp, but then took her own life not long after the war as an immigrant in Sweden.
I can’t imagine the despair she must have faced, to give up here after surviving so much.
There are many more stories here, but now we must leave.