Mikael raised his voice and was murdered in cold blood Maria Rydhagen

The bagpipe orchestra Stockholm Gray tunes the instruments in the parking lot and the notes travel through the forest towards the chapel.

The music is raw, shrill and beautiful like life itself and tells about how sad it is that a person dies in this way, far too soon.

Mikael, 39, raised his voice and was murdered in cold blood and now a few hundred people will reluctantly say goodbye to him, let him go from this life.

“There are handkerchiefs here,” says the man from Fonus, and many agree.

The rain pours down outside, it falls and falls. Just before the funeral begins, Carola enters the church.

At the front of the choir in St Botvid’s chapel in Huddinge stands the coffin with white flowers. Surrounded by a sea of ​​all the bouquets of family and friends.

A framed portrait of Mikael in a cap, his blue eyes catch everyone’s eye.

The two Catholic priests, Father Pavel and Father Kristian, are waiting their turn at the far back of the church. Both wipe their eyes when they hear the family members’ own songs.

Where have all the good men gone?

These are the first words heard during Thursday’s funeral, two weeks after the murder which – yes, shook Sweden, you might say, but which also shook Sweden, caused Sweden to lose its direction.

It’s Bonnie Tyler’s song. Where have all the good men gone? I need a hero.

Mikael’s son has written his own song, and so has his mother.

“In every loss we find strength again” is one of the rows.

I think that’s what everyone is struggling with right now. How can life ever, on any level, be considered meaningful now? After this happened.

Yet we must believe it.

A gray-haired man cries so much that he is forced to put on his sunglasses. A boy and a mother lean their heads towards each other. A father can’t take it anymore, he goes outside to smoke, returns.

Carola sings “Amazing Grace” and the procession begins, the moment when everyone gets to go forward and say their own goodbye. For some of the family members this is almost too much and I think every single one of us sitting in the church feels with them and stands with them at this moment.

Then we wander out to the grave and the pallbearers do their job with seriousness and love, but it’s like something doesn’t really want this man to be buried and it’s a bit of a snag.

The rain has stopped, it’s just a light drizzle now. In front of us lies Albysjön, sad and gray today, the one with.

Father Pavel and Father Kristian recite the words “from earth you came”. Inside the church, they have read from the Book of Wisdom by King Solomon. He lived almost 3,000 years ago, yet it is as if the words were written for today.

I don’t think the loss will diminish, but perhaps there can be comfort in the thought that a committed life is in some sense fully, fully lived.

“The righteous shall rest, if he also dies prematurely. Venerable age does not depend on length of life, it is not the number of years that counts. It is wisdom that is the white hair of a man.”