I've always thought that single mothers are like heroes in Western movies – tough in a harsh world, yet full of compassion and sensitivity. Self-sufficient, resourceful, and unyielding. They must take care of themselves and their children, protect, build, and carve out a path for the future on their own. Western heroes travel through rugged landscapes, but their journey is not just about survival; it’s about creating something new. Just like single mothers don’t just survive—they build a better life for themselves and their children.
My mother, Vuokko, was exactly that kind of hero.
She was born in 1934 in Pori and grew up in the Toejoki area, under the shadow of war. Her father, Lauri, was known as the "Baron of Pori" – a bootlegger who smuggled spirits from Tallinn in barrels by boat. When my mother was only four years old, her own mother, Saida, suddenly passed away.
It was the first great loss my mother had to endure. Little Vuokko was left in the care of her father and a new stepmother who despised her. The wooden house by the river was filled with Pori's professional criminals and alcoholics, whom her father supplied with booze. But my mother survived – as she always did. She learned to read and write, to dodge dangers, and to take care of herself.
Thankfully, her cousins took her under their wing. With their support, she was able to attend secondary school and later study education at the University of Tampere. She never looked back – never got stuck in the past. She built her life on her own terms, through hard work and determination.
In June 1973, I was born at Tampere Central Hospital. After a few years of moving from place to place, my mother returned to the Pori region, but this time in a different role—as a special education teacher in Noormarkku. She created a more stable life for herself and ensured that I had a safer childhood than she had.
In practice, my mother raised and cared for me alone. From the very beginning, the responsibility for daily life, finances, and my well-being rested entirely on her shoulders. We were quite poor—at first, we didn’t have a phone or a TV at home. Our first car, an old wreck, appeared when I was in elementary school: a poison-green DAF. My mother worked two jobs to support us—she was a teacher by day and sold Donald Duck comics over the phone in the evenings.
Vuokko was also quite a masculine woman. She was never afraid to stand up for herself, for me—or for anyone else. If I or my friends were bullied at the swimming hall, she would march in and throw the bullies into the pool. She was strong and seemed tireless. At least, that’s what I always believed.
Then, in 1993, something happened that changed her life significantly. She was in a car accident. She survived physically, but something within her changed. After the accident, she started experiencing strange sensations. She became a clairvoyant, and this gift took her life in a completely new direction.
My mother was deeply spiritual. Eventually, she left her career as a special education teacher and became an entrepreneur—and she succeeded. Under a pseudonym, she built a career as a fortune teller, which gave us financial freedom: the ability to travel, study, and explore new opportunities. My mother wanted my world to be bigger than the one she had known.
For the last 15 years, we both lived in Helsinki. In 2016, my mother’s cancer returned, and just as the most challenging stages of Alzheimer’s—something she feared and was ashamed of—were beginning, she passed away at Meilahti Hospital. I spent the last three days and nights with her there. My wife was by my side at the moment of her passing. My children, Silja and Leo, were able to say their final goodbyes to their grandmother.
When my mother finally left, it felt as if a part of me had been torn away. I held her hand as her grip loosened and our connection faded. The sense of security that had always been there disappeared.
The magnitude of the loss was impossible to grasp. I found it hard to cry—my grief manifested physically, appearing as red patches on my skin, as if sorrow was trying to force its way out in ways I couldn’t control. Yet, I am grateful that my mother got to know my wife and children, to be a grandmother in their lives. That brings comfort, but also deep melancholy—how quickly time has passed.
MUSIC AS A WAY TO PROCESS GRIEF
Making and listening to music has been my way of mourning, of coming to terms with the loss piece by piece. But creating Grieving was a completely different process than anything before. While writing this song, I cried—a lot. From gratitude, from sorrow, from longing. Even now, I cannot listen to it or look at the cover art without tears in my eyes.
I never wanted to create just relaxing music—I wanted to include the full spectrum of life, including melancholy and the deep emotions tied to both life and death. Peace and restlessness, longing and gratitude. This song also introduced many new elements: for the first time, I incorporated human voices and choirs. Musically, it draws from the soundscapes of Sergio Leone’s Western films—it’s no coincidence that Ennio Morricone’s music has been a constant companion in my life. This was also technically the most challenging piece I have ever worked on, especially in terms of orchestration and layering sounds. The final mastering was done by classical music expert Paul Eachus from Oberlin, Ohio.
SINGLE MOTHER, A WESTERN MOVIE HERO
Grieving is a tribute to my mother—a hero who saved me. She was never a victim, never passive in the face of hardship. She was a force of action, someone who made bold choices and fought for a better future. Her decisions gave me, and ultimately my own children, a better life.
Through this song, I want to share her story—not just the grief, but the gratitude for everything she gave. My mother was a Western movie hero, just as many single mothers are. And now, as I look at my own children, I realize that I have started to carry the same flame—sometimes fiercely, sometimes gently.
This song is for my mother, but also for all of us who carry forward something greater than ourselves.
A REQUEST
Listen to Grieving and think of someone you have loved and lost. Does the song help you connect with that feeling? If it does, please share it with me.
Thank you for listening and sharing this moment with me. All the best. Here is a link to Spotify on the song "Grieving". It is released today friday 21.2.2025.
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