Just one month before his 18th birthday 2012 Syvert was shot at Utøya. His parents has sent this beautiful story of forgiveness to Think Tank for Forgiveness in Denmark. I asked them for a version in English for the Forgiveness Project, and here it is. Love from Karsten A day in the spring of 2012. I bring my cup of coffee out on our porch. Sit down and think. Feeling the loss. One of my four children did not get to live to experience this spring. He will never again experience the flowers blossom, the birds singing early in the morning and the birch sprout. He is gone. Ripped away from us in the most brutal way. His life, and youth, ended on July the 22nd 2011, on Utøya. Only one month away from celebrating his 18th birthday. The day that was supposed to be his birthday on August 21st, was instead the day there was a memorial in remembrance of the victims in Oslo Spectrum. I’ll never forget when he told me a few days before my 40th birthday that he had written to Morket Harket and asked if he could sing in the world’s best mum’s birthday. That didn’t happen. Instead Morket Harket came and sang in what was supposed to be Syvert’s 18th birthday. I have a lot of memories. Valuable memories. I carry them in my heart. They are precious treasures for me. I’ll never forget the news that came on July the 22nd: “Shooting on Utøya!” Oh, my God! My son was there! I tried several times to call him, but he never answered my calls. It was unreal. The news about a man who walked around the island executing young people was like a nightmare. I prayed to God. Prayed that my beautiful son would be safe. I prayed that Syvert would come back home. I went to Sundvollen. Arrived there early in the morning on July the 23rd 2011. I was met by desperate parents who gathered together with a hope and a prayer that their loved ones would turn up. There were lists on the wall. They were constantly upgraded. Names on injured who were sent to the hospital. I prayed that Syvert’s name would turn up on those lists. It was unreal. It was like the whole thing was a bad dream. The information from Kripos kept on coming to us. They told us about their search on and around Utøya. They were searching with boats and on land. On Sunday the 24th 2011 we were told that sadly there was no hope in finding any survivals. We were told we ought to go home and start the mourningprosess. The days passed by like in a fog. My child. Killed by an eccentric person. I hated him! A simple, ordinary thing like running errands was difficult to do. The frontpages of the newspapers were full of the photos of my son’s murderer. Often I returned back home crying from these everyday tasks. Why did the newpapers have to have the murderer on their frontpages? By midnight on July the 26th I got a phonecall. It was the police who informed us that Syvert was identified. It was the conformation that I would never see him again. That I never again would be able to tell him that I love him. I got to see him one last time. Shortly before the funeral. I remember I went into the chapel. The coffin was there. I went up to it, and there he was. My boy. His cheek was cold when I stroke it and kissed it. For the last time. The time that followed was full of grief and he was sadly missed. A day in the spring in 2012. I bring my cup of coffee out on our porch. I sit down and think. And my thoughts wander. In a dream? Suddenly I am in a prison-cell. Syvert is there and he is smiling. He is holding Anders Behring Breivik’s hand. He looks at me and says: “Mum, you have to forgive him”. “I can’t, Syvert. He killed you”, I answer. Then Syvert says to me: “You have to forgive him, in order for us both to find peace. My time had come. For me it didn’t matter how I died, but you have to forgive him”. I then said to Syvert if that was what he wanted, I would forgive him. Syvert smiles, stands up and gives me a hug. I sat there with my cup of coffee in my hand. The sun was warm and I felt peaceful. I had forgiven my son’s murderer, and this gave me back the peacefullness and calmness. It removed the hatered I felt for Breivik. Now I feel fine. I think about Syvert every day and I miss him. I miss when he found his guitar and sang the songs he had written himself. I know he is with us. I talk with him, but get no answer from him. Still, in my heart I feel he is here with us. My dear boy. Love you, my precious. Anne Lene Melsnes, Syvert Knudsen’s mother Translated by Hanne Granhus Rasmussen
Posted on: Tue, 11 Nov 2014 21:37:33 +0000
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