We sat quiet in the car from Borås to Gothenburg, my wife and I. After days of rain, the sun was shining and dazzled me a little, as I drove. None of us dared to say anything. The silence was loud. All thoughts fought for space in my head. "Is it something serious? Perhaps it is just something he'll grow out of. No, I know, it is probably just a routine check. But, why did he leave in an ambulance? Why couldn't they even wait for us? Is he alive?" It was all spinning. I don’t know if I was in shock. No, this was some sort of vacuum before the shock. A vacuum.
-- He looks a little like an Abbe, I said.
-- Mmm, perhaps we should call him that? It's quite nice.
-- Mmm. Shall we name him Abbe then?
We had talked about the name at some point earlier, mostly for fun. But it was a while ago now, and we had dismissed it as a nickname for Albert. But we didn't want Albert. Then Alfred is better. But then of course, the nick will be Affe. Other names had therefore become main favourites. Abbe would have to remain the cool character with green hair in that Swedish kids program on the telly, and not the name of our newborn child, our second son. But there in the car, in the vacuum, it suddenly felt just right. Abbe will do, it suits him.
It was like a kind of emergency baptism. We didn't say it just then, and actually never after that either. But I am sure we had the same thoughts. He must have a name.
Just in case.