Sonja had cancer. “We have to take it as it comes,” said Sonja. And that was what they did.
She carried on working with her darling troublemakers for as long as she could,
until Ove had to push her into the classroom every morning because she no longer had the strength to do it herself.
After a year she was down to 75 percent of her full working week. After two years she was on 50 percent. After three years she was on 25 percent.
When she finally had to go home she wrote a long personal letter to each of her students
and exhorted them to call her if they ever needed anyone to talk to.
Almost everyone did call. They came to visit in long lines.
One weekend there were so many of them in the row house that Ove had to go outside and sit in his toolshed for six hours.
When the last of them had left that evening he went around the house carefully assuring himself that nothing had been stolen.
As usual. Until Sonja called out to him not to forget to count the eggs in the fridge.
Then he gave up. Carried her up the stairs while she laughed at him.
He put her in the bed, and then, just before they went to sleep, she turned to him.
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