A Sunset for Mom — Bergen, Norway In the quiet hours of a misty August evening, Bergen is her dream city she never get to see; I fulfilled that travel dream for her. I walked the harbor paths of Bergen — chasing the soft light of sunset in memory of my mother. From the rain-washed cobblestones of Bryggen to the fortress grounds of Bergenhus, each step carried her spirit. Boats rocked gently in the bay, gulls circled overhead, and the scent of sea and grilled reindeer lingered in the air. I imagined her beside me — laughing, sharing stories, tasting the moment. Though she’s no longer here, I walked for both of us. A quiet tribute. A walk to remember.
MUSIC CREDIT
I Wish I Told You – by David Fesliyan from https://www.fesliyanstudios.com/royalty-free-music/downloads-c/latest/0
Hello, Mom. I’m calling to tell you that I love you. I’m here in Bergen, Norway. The place you always dreamed of seeing. I’m fulfilling that dream for you. Like you always said, Bergen is beautiful. The kind of place you’d find on a postcard and want to keep forever. It’s home to Brian, the old trading post that’s now a UNESCO World Heritage site. I’m sure you would have loved it, too, if only you were here. It’s Monday evening here, just after 6:00 p.m. At this hour, believe it or not, it’s still bright and calm. Bergen’s days stretch out like the city doesn’t want to sleep yet. The rain have been steady all morning, soft, cold, and constant. But now, it’s slowly easing. The drops have slowed to a mist. I notice people hesitating, unsure when to fold their umbrellas, not quite convinced it’s really over. Like us, they keep their raincoats zipped just in case. You know how Bergen’s weather is. Rain almost every day. They say that’s just the way it is over here. But the good thing is, Mom, there’s so much to love about Bergen. Rain or shine. I know you love seafood, and Bergen would have been perfect for you. We just passed the fish market by the harbor. It’s lively, Mom. full of fresh catches. Shrimp, salmon, muscles, all laid out like a painters pallet. Norwegian reindeer sausage, fish cakes, smoked salmon, and even reindeer hamburgers, all sizzling on the grill. Each one a flavor of burger. Vendors are calling out, goals are circling, and the scent of salt and sea is in the air. So many sounds, so much energy. And just nearby, there’s Math Allen Bergens Food Hall. It’s quieter, more modern, a little pricey though, but still full of flavor. I imagine us sitting at a little table, sharing bites and stories, laughing while watching the light shift through the windows. I wish you could taste this moment. I wish I could hand it to you the way you always wanted to share. Life’s simple here, Mom. No rush, just flavors, simple joy, and the feeling of living in the moment with the sound of boats rocking gently in the bay. The fish market sits right at the port, Mom. And just a few steps away, the mood shifts. Notice the cobblestones, wet and shining, polished by centuries of footsteps. Each one quietly boasting Bergens, old world charm. When I walk on them, it feels like I’m stepping into history with you. And as I walk, I imagine you beside me, holding your hand as we wander through the old trading post. Brian’s narrow alleys and timbered buildings. They lean into each other like us. Old friends, quiet, weathered, and full of stories. The wooden boardwalks creek beneath our feet. Soft squeaks, gentle groans, like the house we lived in back home in California. You remember that, Mom? It’s not noise. It’s memory. Like the wholesome memory of the warm fireplace and the old lamps that once lit up our home. Soft, warm, and cozy. Do you remember her, Mom? I miss those days. Mom, I know you can’t be here with me, but I wish you could. I’m standing in this moment, and it feels special. I feel peaceful inside. A little tinder, though. Like I’m walking through a memory we never got to make. A quiet regret that I never took the time to travel with you. I think about that a lot. How many places we could have seen together. how many stories we might have shared side by side. But here I am, content in imagining that I’m carrying you with me, trying to give you this view through my eyes. I can see the skies clearing now, and the sun is beginning to peak through the clouds. What a lovely sight to watch. Now, walk with me, Mom, and together we’ll chase the sunset like we used in California. The castle’s just ahead. And the light is stretching toward it like an invitation. Step by step, we follow it. Not rushing, just moving forward, carrying the moment and each other. This is the port of Bergen, Mom. We walk along the waterfront, leaving the soft hum of the city behind. Boats sway in the harbor. A kayaker pedals by. Ropes rest against the dock. The light is shifting. It’s quiet here, Mom. Just our footsteps, gold circling above us in the smell of the sea. We just set foot on the fortress grounds, burgeoness as they call it here. This place has stood for centuries overlooking the harbor. A statue stands guard in memory of Kong Hawin II. Dressed in naval uniform, facing the sea, cannons remain scattered along the grassy paths and stone walls, quiet reminders of Bergen’s defensive past. Now, let’s follow the grassy path beneath the quiet trees, deeper into the heart of the fortress. Mom, we’re coming closer to Hackin Hall, built in 1260 when Bergen was Norway’s capital. Look at the stone walls. Thick, quiet, and still. It holds the quiet grandeur of centuries gone by. Now, it’s used more for cultural gatherings. Next to Hackkins Hall is Christ Church, once Bergen’s Cathedral. Now only stone markers remain. Rosen Cran’s Tower rises nearby. Once a residence, once a fortress, now just quiet stone and stories. Mom, let’s head back before it gets darker. The sun sets waiting. Soft light spilling across the harbor, leaving only our footsteps and carrying only memory. Just like always, a quiet walk to remember. Thank you, Mom, for being such a wonderful mother. I can’t say enough how much I love you, how much this moment means. Every step, every breath, every quiet view, I carry it for both of us. Even though you’re not here with me anymore, I love you, Mom. [Music] Rest in peace, Mom. Thank you for watching.