Yesterday I had to go to an appointment near the area in Tampa where he lived. I passed by the CVS I'd been to with him, the VA hospital I took him to, the university he attended. I had a momentary urge to drive by his apartment, realizing, though, how silly that was. There is nothing of him or anything of his there. The oddest moment came when I had to make a U-turn on a busy street and a young man on a yellow Suzuki crotch rocket pulled up right behind me. I almost did a double take. I couldn't help but wonder whether it was Leif's stolen bike.
Not so long ago I was in Michael's crafts store and as I walked to the bead isle to find some things for Peter, I passed the shelves full of plastic model kits. I had to take a picture, because if I had ever taken Leif to a Michael's as a child, this would have been his favorite place. He LOVED building models. Car models. Airplane models. Ship models. He started doing it very young, when he was quite capable of figuring out how they went together, but not as good at using the glue so it didn't show. He would get so upset with himself for making a mess of the glue.
On the drive home from the appointment, I kept thinking about how I rarely write on this blog any more. It's because I don't want to keep saying the same things . . . though here I go doing it . . . and I realized there will never be any new memories of Leif to recount, though perhaps I'll be lucky enough to discover something someday that will trigger one I haven't already written about. I'll never have any new photos of him to post, unless someone else who knew him ever sends me some I haven't seen.
It wasn't as hard coming home this time because I had my sister Lannay here to distract me. My usual melancholy for Leif didn't arrive until after she left and I started seeing things like the motorcycle rider and thinking of Leif when I couldn't sleep at night.
There will always be things to remind me of him wherever I go, but home is where I miss him most.