The King I Chose

I always smile when I hear the phrase “the family you choose” and other permutations of that idea to describe the inner circle of friends who become our family by choice rather than our family by blood. We’ve been so lucky and blessed over the years to choose friends who became our family, grafted in with laughter and love and pumpkin bars, ebleskivers, or Thanksgiving feasts.

(Note: I'm particularly lucky because my family by blood is absolutely amazing on both sides!)

Watching King Harald of Norway’s funeral, I realized that something like this had happened to me in another, unexpected way. He was the king I chose.

I live in a country without a king. But for over four decades, I’ve had kings I chose to look up to and respect, men whose examples showed me something about service, kindness, and leadership.

First it was King Olav V. Then, for more than 35 years, it was King Harald V. Both inspired me through the way they lived and served Norway, a country and people I love deeply.

My relationship with Norway began with living there, learning its language, and coming to love its people. That affection has stayed with me through decades of life elsewhere. Following its royal family became one of the ways I remained connected.

And over those years, Harald gave me plenty of reasons to keep paying attention.

There was the joy of a king who loved sport, who had carried Norway’s flag at the Tokyo Olympics and become a sailing world champion in 1987, before he inherited the throne. There was the pleasure he seemed to take in being among his people. His life included grand occasions, certainly, but also ski races, journeys along the coast, and visits to communities far from the capital. Those things mattered too.

Then there were the moments when Norway needed something much harder from him.

After the terrorist attacks of July 22, 2011, when 77 people were murdered in Oslo and on Utøya, he spoke to a nation trying to comprehend an unbearable loss. “I firmly believe that freedom is stronger than fear,” he said. At the national memorial a month later, he repeated those words.

What touches me just as much is what he said about the days ahead. He understood that the grieving would still need companionship when the world’s attention moved elsewhere, when the flowers and public ceremonies gave way to ordinary days. He asked people to stay beside those who were suffering.

That sounds simple. Anyone who has grieved knows how much it means.

And I think of his words at the Palace garden party in 2016. He spoke about Norwegians whose families had come from other countries, about people of different faiths and no faith, about girls who love girls and boys who love boys. All belonged in the Norway he was describing.

“Home is where our heart is,” he said, “and that cannot always be confined within national borders.”

For someone who has carried a love of Norway across an ocean for most of his adult life, those words have a particular meaning.

He also spoke of Norway’s national anthem as a declaration of love for its people. Loving a country meant loving the people who made it, in all their differences. I hear something generous and deeply humane in that.

Watching his funeral, tears came as I listened to the words spoken in his honor. I mourned with so many in Norway at the passing of a father, grandfather, and king whose life meant something to people far beyond his country’s borders, including me.

My thoughts were especially with Queen Sonja.

Their life together began with a choice of their own. They had known each other for nine years before receiving permission to marry in 1968. Sonja was not royal by birth, and their marriage required a departure from what had been expected of Norway’s future king. Together, they went on to serve their country for decades.

She brought her own enthusiasms and gifts to that service: art, music, craftsmanship, and a wonderful love of the Norwegian outdoors. An artist herself, she has also been an advocate for the country’s cultural heritage. And anyone who has followed her mountain walks knows that her affection for Norway’s landscape involves getting out into it.

At the funeral, Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Støre recalled Dronningvarden, the Queen’s Cairn, on Stortinden in Lofoten. Built by local trekking associations and inaugurated by Sonja in 2016, it carries her words: “For et land!” What a country!

Then he offered his own tribute: “For en dronning!”

What a queen!

I couldn’t agree more.

As Norway mourns its king, she mourns her husband. I hope she feels the affection and gratitude of so many of us, near and far.

And now I watch King Haakon VIII, whom I have followed since he was a boy, begin his reign.

In his first address as king, he spoke of democracy, the rule of law, and a Norway where everyone could contribute and belong. He also recalled his father’s encouragement to find his own way. I was glad to read those things together: an affection for what he had inherited, and an understanding that he must bring himself to the work ahead.

He has retained the motto of his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather: “Alt for Norge.” All for Norway. On September 1, he took his oath to uphold Norway’s Constitution and laws.

There is comfort in that continuity. A son is grieving his father while taking up the responsibilities his father carried. A country is saying goodbye while beginning to know its new king. The history continues through people who must live it, with all the demands and uncertainties that brings.

In a world that feels increasingly unsettled, I find hope in that promise of service. I hope Haakon’s reign gives Norway many reasons for gratitude, and that he finds joy in serving the people who now look to him.

He’ll be the new king I choose.

Tusen takk, King Harald, for letting me have a king.