Twelve Years

You would think twelve years would diminish the pain, dim the grief. It doesn't. In some ways, yes. It is not the constant terrifying companion it was in the first years. We get better at closing the door on it and keeping it at a distance. We go on with our lives, and learn to live without him. We learn that we can be happy. We learn that we can keep grief under wraps most of the time.

But the there are those days that memories flood back. Mostly, they are cause for joy, amusement, delight. We love remembering Leif and his life. We think of him every day. But sometimes memories bring back the pain.

There is no way I can ever forget the details of April 9 and 10, 2008. I manage to keep them at bay most of the time, but when the date rolls around on the calendar, I can't do it. It all comes crashing back.

I am supposed to be strong. I was always supposed to be the strong one, beginning when I was a child. And I try. People think I am. But sometimes, it's too hard.

Twelve years is a long time. And yet, it seems like yesterday. And yet, it seems like forever.

I miss him.

His 45th Birthday

Hard to believe Leif would be 45 years old today, if he were still alive. Hard to believe the last birthday he spent with us was his 33rd. Hard to believe that in April he will be gone from us twelve years. He's with us in our hearts every day.

This photo was another one I hadn't seen, probably since it was taken in January 1976. We printed so few of the slides we took. There's a teeny bit of snow on the ground in the bottom right corner, and it was a sunny but cold January day. We went for an outing to State Lake in Pottawatomie County, east of Manhattan.

I miss him with all my heart. Happy Birthday, son.