Inger Johanne Myrstad Riley – our dear mother, mother-in-law, aunt, sister, sister-in-law, mormor and farmor – passed away on April 25th after a short and sudden illness. She was 75 years old. We remain amazed by the life she led, and are grateful for the memories and the lessons, but are also full of sorrow.
She is survived by her three children and their partners, five grandchildren, the Riley relatives, the Myrstad clan in Norway, several Rotary and AFS exchange students, colleagues from Manpower and Jøtul, countless friends and neighbors – as well as her own AFS host family, the Strouts/Lothrops/Keefs, who are like blood relatives to us.
Although one person, John Erik Riley, has been tasked with composing this text – in praise and in honor – the voice is meant to be manifold. Nothing can capture the full breadth of our mother’s story, so we must tell it in fragments, with small facts and anecdotes that we hope reflect a greater whole.
* * *
Our mother was full of empathy, almost to a fault, and endlessly curious, eager to visit museums, go to concerts and explore the history of the many places she visited. She loved art, music, literature, film, good food and a quick joke. Her sense of humor was fun, warm, and – when it fit the moment – quick and pointed.
When she organized a dinner or an event, which happened often, she was the perfect hostess. She was always eager to see people gather, a great chef, and a fine conversationalist. If she posed one question, another was soon to follow. A guest’s glass was never half empty. She rushed to fill it before you could think twice.
She was perhaps at her happiest when different people could share in the same experiences, be that a meal, a trip or a book. She lived and yearned to find places and opportunities to connect. Our home was open to everyone and anyone, so much so that we didn’t always know who was staying there at any given time.
* * *
Our mother’s life started in Oslo and Mo i Rana in Norway, as the daughter of a minister and a «prestefrue». A trip to Maine as an AFS exchange student would change the course of her story forever, and create the family that exists today. When she later returned from Norway to the U.S. to participate in her host sister’s wedding, she met our father.
My siblings and I were raised speaking two languages, Norwegian and English, at a time when some advised against it. Our calendar was a hybrid of Norwegian and American traditions, as was the holiday menu. Every other year, we flew to Norway to be with our family there and her many friends.
Other summers were spent at the house in Maine with its never-ending carousel of visitors from near and far.
Our mother challenged us to explore the world and travel, and each of us spent time abroad with AFS, an organization she volunteered for for many years. Christmas donations to NGOs and the like, in our names, were yearly reminders of her international orientation and wish to do good.
To anyone who knows me personally, it will come as no surprise that she was an avid reader. When I eventually ended up working with some of her favorite writers, she could barely contain her glee. The fact that I even speak to them was a miracle to her. She needed to be reminded that I chose my profession, to a large degree, thanks to her.
She often read the same books as her grandchildren, titles they were assigned for homework, such as 'Maus' by Art Spiegelman and 'Shooting Kabul' by N.M. Senzai. She then spent time discussing them over the phone, with Matias and Anya.
* * *
Our mother maintained strong ties to the Myrstad family, and kept them connected to the Rileys and the Keefs. The mountain cabin in Norway, which our father purchased in 2001, was a large part of her Norwegian world, and made it easier for her to arrange and participate in gatherings with her siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews.
Having a base near Skåbu was particularly welcome after her own mother passed away; it was a place to gather with cousins, siblings and old friends.
Tragedy struck in 2003 when her husband, true love, and our father was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died a year later. Words cannot describe the grief and the loss, nor can they properly encompass her strength and will to carry on. My siblings and I – and their extended families – learned from and admired her bravery and resilience.
Once the dust had settled, she blossomed again, traveling the world with seeming abandon, in a way that gave her great joy. Borders seemed non-existent. Age was no hindrance. Looking back, we are happy that she remained in motion, ready to swoop in for an event at the drop of a hat.
Some of my fondest memories are from our trips together, to Bosnia-Herzegovina and Serbia, to Chicago, to London, along the California coast – and to Mo i Rana, of course. She promised each grandchild a trip to a place of their choosing. Anya travelled to Paris with her «momo», Daniel went to London, Markus to Berlin.
I know that she wanted to do something similar for Matias and Anders. But she also found happiness in the time she had with them in my sister’s house in Marin and in nearby parks – or when they visited her home in Wisconsin. When the grandchildren arrived, the toys were always at the ready, and the refrigerator was stocked.
But she did far more than simply entertain them or provide them with sustenance. Her grandchildren were gifts to her, in part because they expanded her world, introduced her to new things and ideas, and fed her ever-curious mind.
* * *
In typical fashion, she and I planned on celebrating my 50th and her 75th birthdays with a trip to Ukraine in 2020. Then the pandemic hit, and she was separated, physically, from all of us. We urged her to take the situation seriously, keep her distance when need be, and also work to stay healthy. She started exercising again, and got a personal trainer.
We communicated daily, and had a family Zoom call every Sunday. Kristian and Ingrid patched in from California; I patched in from Norway; she patched in from Wisconsin. She also reconnected with old friends, went for long walks, explored her surroundings again. And made sure to decorate the house during holidays, even when she was alone.
Although her new online life was less than perfect, she ensured us that she did not suffer at the hands of the pandemic. She was resilient, as always; able to alter course, and not only deal with the changes, but even revel in the sudden shift. Perhaps it was the Northern-Norwegian in her. She could face a heavy storm, and adapt, no matter the situation.
She would sometimes exclaim, as if elated, that the digital world was a blessing. We know that she felt surrounded by love, even when she had to celebrate her 75th birthday on Zoom. But she still missed having family nearby. Family came first for her, whether that meant spending time with grandchildren or tending to her host mother Keef in Maine.
* * *
Due to the pandemic, only a few people could visit her in the days before she passed. Ingrid was the first to arrive and stayed as long as she could, until she had to return to California to be with her children.
Kristian remained vigilantly by her side, holding her hand and taking calls from afar, so that people could say some final words, with the phone next to her ear on the pillow. He also brought her her «dyne», the Norwegian featherquilt that is essential to our family, to keep her comfortable. We are grateful for all of this.
But the ending to her story still seems surreal and wrong, an affront to everything she lived for and the world she created. Now, after her passing, the house in Wisconsin should be full of people from all over the globe, as it was in our upbringing. Instead, it is close to empty, and our hearts are unspeakably heavy.
Her borderless world has been partitioned by the virus, and we grieve as satellites.
We had all planned on a different outcome.
* * *
A life is a series of snapshots, each of which represents only a fraction of a greater story. My siblings and I have different memories about our mother, as is often the case, and these reflect various aspects of her personality.
One of the strongest, in my case, is the image of a recurring event that I had hoped to experience again. I see myself on her porch in Thiensville. I have just gotten up; I am still jet-lagged from a transatlantic flight. Perhaps there are deer or rabbits on the lawn, a cardinal in the nearby tree. Maybe I have a book in my lap and my headphones on.
The front door creaks slightly, and then there she is. My mother has a cup of coffee, as I do, and sits down and we talk about everything under the sun: books, trips, the kids, Norway and the United States. We pick at the content of news stories that concern us, weigh the pros and cons of a work of art, but also laugh and crack jokes. And we share memories.
This particular image, the scene on the porch, has kept me going, been one of very few lights at the end of the dark pandemic tunnel. And we were only two vaccine doses away from making it a reality. In April, my mother was fully vaccinated and could finally reunite with Ingrid, who visited her from Marin. She planned on flying to California in May.
There was talk of her returning to Norway in September, as well. She looked forward to spending time with the Myrstads and her grandchildren in Oslo, longed to once again sit in the sun at the mountain cabin – one of her favorite places in the world – as summer turned to autumn and the colors shifted from green to orange, yellow and red.
She left us, and the rest of the world, all too soon.
* * *
Despite the circumstances, we know that she would want us to remain strong; to grieve, of course, but also rise up and live life to the fullest, as she did. I can still hear her saying things like «please don’t worry» and «I’ll be fine», and I can hear her asking countless questions about what I’m doing. Stories from afar, no matter how small, always lifted her up.
She was always far more interested in how others develop than she was in her own personal needs.
When we look around, we see reflections of her life among the living. Daniel and Markus are attending music school in Liverpool and Oslo. Anya will inherit her Norwegian national costume, and Ingrid plans on taking Matias on his chosen trip to Tokyo, in her honor. Anders remains concerned about the less than fortunate and works for their betterment.
With all this and more in mind, out mother’s legacy is a great lesson, one that I admittedly was close to forgetting during the drudgery of the pandemic.
So thank you, mother, for everything you have been and done, for helping and entertaining and consoling us along the way, during all the ups and down, when things were normal, but also during the present challenges. Thank you for my strange, bilingual, intercontinental life, and for always pressing on and never giving up.
Now, at the end of your complex and vibrant story, I raise my glass in a salute to you, your values and your impact. You will be sorely missed.
My siblings and I will return with information about ceremonies and memorials when we know more. In keeping with our mother’s international life, I suspect that we will have two gatherings, one in the United States and one in Europe. But this will be decided at a later date.
With love from Ingrid, Kristian and myself, (John) Erik Riley
A Memorial Service will be held at the Schmidt & Bartelt Funeral Home in Mequon on Saturday, August 7, 2021 at 11:00 am with a visitation from 10:00 am until time of Memorial Service.
In lieu of flowers, memorials in her name would be appreciated to one of the following organizations, each of which symbolizes one of her five grandchildren: Malala Fund, Rainforest Trust, SF-Marin Foodbank, Ocean Conservancy or Save the Children.
Save the Children: https://support.savethechildren.org/site/Donation2?df_id=1660&1660.donation=form1
Ocean Conservancy: https://donate.oceanconservancy.org/page/45475/donate/1?promo_name=Give_in_Memory&promo_creative=Text_Link&promo_position=Inline_Text&_ga=2.148001087.94735897.1619806516-756742528.1619601823&ea.tracking.id=21ZPDPEAXX
Malala Fund: https://malala.org/donate?sc=header
Rainforest Fund: https://act.ran.org/page/17238/donate/1?ea.tracking.id=w_ran&en_og_source=w_ran&_ga=2.77032982.240854223.1619806667-79070951.1619806667
SF-Marin Food bank: https://donate.sfmfoodbank.org/page/5009/donate/1?locale=en-US
