Discovering our family’s roots

Perspectives

It was in 1929 when my 22-yearold father boarded the Gripsholm to embark on his voyage to America. It would be the last time he saw his homeland and his family. Sweden was behind him forever.

Through the years and up until my father died in 1961, he was able to communicate with his Swedish family through letters. However, because of the language barrier following his death, my family lost track of all our relatives in Sweden. We did not hear from any of them again.

I always felt an essential part of my life and heritage was missing. With the help of the internet, in 1999, I began a search for family members in Sweden. I was able to contact a Lutheran pastor who resided in Skane, Sweden, the area where my family lived. He was able to locate three first cousins, and he gave me their addresses. I wrote to one of my cousins, wondering if he could read English. Fortunately, my cousin Kjell was able to have my letter translated. It was shortly after that when I received a phone call from Sweden. Kjell had contacted another cousin who was quite fluent in English and he phoned me.

My wife and I decided we would make the trip to Sweden to meet my Swedish family. It was shortly before our scheduled departure date that my wife, Linda, was able to make contact with one of her cousins in Sweden. My wife’s grandfather also emigrated to America. So our visit to Sweden would be very special to both of us as we met relatives for the first time.

Our visit to Sweden was very emotional. I met my three first cousins and their families for the first time. I saw the cottage where my grandmother lived as a child, and we visited the church and school that my father attended as a child. We also spent time at my father’s home where he was living when he left Sweden.

We also spent time with Linda’s cousin, who lived in another part of Sweden. She was able to walk on the farmland where her grandfather lived, and the members of the oldest wooden church in Sweden hosted a gathering for us.

During our two-week visit to Sweden, I had many memorable experiences. However, the most meaningful was our visit to my grandparent’s graves. Before our trip, Linda suggested I take some soil from my father’s grave in Dorchester to place on his parents’ graves in Sweden. So I put that bit of dirt on my grandparents’ graves. Then I took a small amount of soil from their graves, and when we returned to Dorchester, I placed that soil on my father’s grave. It is a satisfying feeling knowing that, in a small way, my father and his parents in faraway Sweden are once again united.

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