I've been so busy helping with my mother's affairs that I didn't have time to post on Leif's blog yesterday. I thought of him throughout the day, and things I wanted to say, but now it's 3:00 a.m. and my mind is foggy. I can't write what was in my heart, so I'll just post the precious photo and say that I was thinking that it was so hard to believe that in two weeks, it will be a whole year since our world fell apart when we found Leif dead in his apartment. I still keep going over the last months and days of his life in my mind, looking for a missing piece, remembering that the last time we saw him was on Easter Sunday, March 23.
It's been a year since we saw him alive. That was a good visit. He came for dinner and seemed happy and relaxed, and in love. It was so good to see him like that. We enjoyed the evening, good discussions, political and otherwise. We had been so worried about him, and this visit was so reassuring. How could things have changed so much in the 17 days after that, changed so much he would take his life? The piece is still missing.
He had hesitated about coming because of the cost of gasoline at that time and the way his RX8 guzzled gas. He was, as so often, broke. I told him I'd pay for the gas. If I'd known how broke he was and that he was trying to apply for loans, I would have given him more than the $15 I handed him for gas money.
I didn't take any photos that day. There was no special occasion, or so we thought. It turned out it was special occasion . . . the last time we would ever see him alive.
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