I have often said, “I am my mother’s daughter.”
I am the daughter of a kaleidoscope.
I am the colors of her
the music of her
The swirl and whirl of her
but incomplete
I stand here today, wrapped in absolute certainty, and say,
“I am my father’s daughter”
I am the daughter of a Viking…
My Viking,
You named me
You claimed me
You put a ring of gold and garnet onto my tiny 8 year old finger
You dressed me in your extra large t-shirts and kissed me goodnight
I reached for your beard and I knew I was yours
My Viking,
Red beard
Blue eyes
Brown leather and gold
Zizanie cologne and moccasins
You introduced me to martini olives and kiddie cocktails
Yumbos and lobster
Smokey and The Bandit and Star Wars
You sang old crooner classics and you danced in the kitchen
You gave unconventional advice- keep a dime between your knees
And your belly laugh was almost as quick as your rolling-eyes
My Viking,
A hopeless romantic
You were always searching for your “Inn Matki Munr”
Your mighty passion
You attracted many
Loved some
Married five
Your quests took you far and you were sometimes gone long
Your grip on me wasn’t strong enough
Perhaps you were not shown how to hold tight
Perhaps you were afraid I would break
Perhaps you were told to let go
While you were gone, my ring became too small for my growing fingers
My Viking,
Your quests over, you returned
No Shield-Maiden
Your vessel empty
Your body bruised, your skin torn from the battle of years
Your full red beard, now white and sparse
Your strong hands now uncertain and weak
Your own ring of gold slipped from your frail finger
Your blue eyes now clouded with 87 years of a big Viking life
They reveal a vulnerability that draws me to you
Searching the room, meager surroundings for a Viking,
They reflect confusion and fear
Until they rest on my face and I hold your gaze
Your relief is palpable
“Oh good Jannie, you’re here…”
I’m here Papa
We are both so tired
I slumped over next to you
Your hand found the strength to stroke my hair
And I knew I was yours
Quests for gold will end
And when you return home,
you realize your treasure is found
in a humble room
in people who belong to you
and to whom you belong
My whole life,
I’ve had the love of a Viking
He claimed me
He named me
I am Jannie
I am Fredricksen
I am Jan Michelle Ronaldsdotter
