Jenna in Finland

This post is about my brother’s death in August 2023. I’m finishing this post 10 months after I started it. I hadn’t expected it to take this long, but grief is weird, y’all.

My brother died at age 58 in August 2023. I can’t write a loving obituary about him because he was, for lack of a better way to describe him, an asshole. He was an abusive alcoholic who blamed everyone else for his problems. He only ever got in touch when he wanted something from me and that type of behavior makes my skin crawl. Quite frankly, the dude himself made my skin crawl.

With that said, I still grieved his death in my own way by losing sleep for 4 months, almost dropping out of school and subsequently being rescued by my opot who swiftly pulled me out of the Finnish-language side of the nursing program and stuck me into the bilingual side so at least my brain could take a break for a few months.

My brother dying brought all kinds of skeletons from my dysfunctional family closet. I put in decades-long work in therapy, relationship coaching, and counselling and can say with confidence that although I myself had a rough start, it no longer affects my interpersonal relationships. My life is so darn peaceful and stable and I have mental health professionals as well as my own effort to thank for it.

Otan Osaa; Literally: I Take Part

Otan osaa, literally, means “I take part” – with the unspoken conclusion to the phrase being “…in your grief/sadness.” It’s the phrase one uses when someone dies and you’re telling the other person that you are also feeling sorrow and sadness at the news.

In my own experience, Finns in general tend not to show excessive displays of grief or emotion…like, at all. There’s some truth to the memes (ja pyydän anteeksi, suomalaiset, mutta kyllä on ainakin vähän totta), and most of my Finnish friends have shared with me that it’s not that one isn’t permitted to show grief, but moreso that one is expected to show that kind of grief and sadness in private.

You won’t get professional mourners in this country.

Tough Love

When I got the news that my brother left this mortal coil, I was in the middle of volunteering at an event called Finnish Brutality, which is run by the army surplus/outdoors store Varusteleka. Anybody who’s been to Loppi shooting range knows the cell service out there is garbage which made the whole thing even more stressful.

I found a friend and proceeded to sob. Like it was that kinda boogery, gross ugly blubbering crying. He was found dead! It might have been a murder! It wasn’t, but apparently his landlord tried to steal his stuff. I then hid inside the range cottage for like, 2 hours or something, until my friend (who has known a similar and I’d say more severe loss) came in and proverbially slapped me upside the head and told me “You either need to get back to work, or go home. This is called adulting. Now make a decision.” Harsh, but she wasn’t wrong and I personally prefer bluntness over wishy-washy talk.

So I made a decision and got back to work.

Months later upon retelling this story to a group of friends with her present, she said “You make me sound like such a jerk!” and I said “Yeah kinda, but it’s exactly what I needed.” In her defense, I respect her a lot and she has always felt like a family member to me. I most likely wouldn’t have listened to anyone else in that moment but her.

Genuine Condolences vs. Empty Platitudes

There is a misconception about those of us who handle death with humor and who choose not to post a performative tribute on social media about it. I grieved my brother’s death. I’m still grieving it. The only time I can focus enough on it to even feel anything is when I’m alone and able to considering all of the factors that lead to his early death, including his incredibly rough start in life.

My friends here in Finland don’t offer unprompted sympathy about it, nor do they do the whole American “awwwwwww so sorrrrrry to hear thaaaat” type of talk. They don’t bring it up – they are simply present. They don’t tiptoe around me nor did they act all weird about the fact that I’m processing my stupid dead brother (who I didn’t even like!) blowing up my life.

I’ve only briefly discussed it with them and they listen. Some of them come from equally crappy upbringings to mine, and some come from stable families. We all know grief. I much prefer this style of grieving where the words are “I take part” instead of saying “Sorry.”

To my foreign ears, I hear “I am here with you. You aren’t alone.”

I’ll take the Finnish way, thanks very much.