
I can’t ask her about it. My maternal grandmother died more than forty years ago. At age twenty-five, she was admitted to a Copenhagen Hospital called Oeresund Hospital. I have always known about it, but not the exact location.
The diagnosis was severe, bleeding stomach ulcer. I have often wondered what was the cause of this. She worked long hours in a shop for clothes. She measured the garments or fabrics and had to walk home during the lunch break. The lady who owned the shop liked her a lot, but I wonder if she enjoyed the kind of work. During part of her youth, her father left the family for another woman. It was something nobody ever talked about and before my grandmother got married, her father came back to his wife. I believe this has added to the pressure on her health. At the time, patients were hospitalized for a long time.


Not too long ago, I realised the former hospital was the building next to my grandson’s kindergarten. The surroundings have been renovated according to modern flooding risks. The so-called Copenhagen benches are in place, exact copies of those from my grandmother’s time a hundred and ten years ago.

I go there with my grandson on his bike or just run around enjoying each other’s company and telling him about her. Sometimes, I can walk with his baby sister in her pram.

