tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11577148859476242702024-03-19T00:00:10.383-04:00Remembering LeifMemories of Leif Garretson, 1975 - 2008Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger898125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-33443900121103108362024-01-28T11:56:00.001-05:002024-01-28T11:56:36.288-05:00He would have been 49 years old today<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aBYQ02hOgHyOxuYcrVYc9nIpkt6mHyONpkO0OVUP053tmiHpxCF-pEQOkA5RlWTK7OQUyjefTCuJkRxvEusNIKMKjNq4yjr5RZJnUcxEdWP7b-FwnKLNJDjMIp397w06wUbyVvpSqeCFkWFQf3nk-1074dhTRasdrh_0_KrXjk_YBXYWQLBlncZt/s288/Leif%20PW%20Jerri%20Manhattan%20A%20Circa%2010-1975%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized%20Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="288" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aBYQ02hOgHyOxuYcrVYc9nIpkt6mHyONpkO0OVUP053tmiHpxCF-pEQOkA5RlWTK7OQUyjefTCuJkRxvEusNIKMKjNq4yjr5RZJnUcxEdWP7b-FwnKLNJDjMIp397w06wUbyVvpSqeCFkWFQf3nk-1074dhTRasdrh_0_KrXjk_YBXYWQLBlncZt/s1600/Leif%20PW%20Jerri%20Manhattan%20A%20Circa%2010-1975%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized%20Blog.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>He was a beautiful child, so beautiful that sometimes strangers stopped us on the street to say so. He was eager and bright and always curious and investigating. He was born fast and loved speed. He learned to walk early. He was introspective and observed the life around him. <p></p><p>We miss him every day of our lives, and most especially on his birthday. This photo was taken in the fall of 1975 when he was not yet one year old.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-22000027112344735912023-08-11T11:12:00.004-04:002023-08-11T11:12:36.264-04:00Leif and his stuffed animals<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PHBqLMizobsJWhi08CpNbdf6dALbSjIbOFKtOgtnI-Dv-xqFte85OrzmAC7kyPdJWNhcNZNEdplHA6XPWY2MqyNol84Vg-hX7wUsNSPt9JZhcipG3tdflSluV0fKti0HTsJHZK9byVkZY9wNZtDaDQgKbgl0KOGE-ywL5EgDD7_TCEZtDSn_LF9a/s294/Leif%20Stuffed%20Animals%20Honolulu%20Hawaii%20A%205-1984%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized%20Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="294" data-original-width="288" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PHBqLMizobsJWhi08CpNbdf6dALbSjIbOFKtOgtnI-Dv-xqFte85OrzmAC7kyPdJWNhcNZNEdplHA6XPWY2MqyNol84Vg-hX7wUsNSPt9JZhcipG3tdflSluV0fKti0HTsJHZK9byVkZY9wNZtDaDQgKbgl0KOGE-ywL5EgDD7_TCEZtDSn_LF9a/s1600/Leif%20Stuffed%20Animals%20Honolulu%20Hawaii%20A%205-1984%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized%20Blog.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>He was a boy who loved cars, planes, ships, any vehicle, especially if it was fast. He loved guns, James Bond, Star Wars, Star Trek, movies, computer games. He liked to go to the beach. And, he loved stuffed animals. He loved to snuggle up with them, an acceptable form of cuddling for him. He wasn't a particularly cuddly or affectionate child, but he hugged and loved up his stuffed animals, especially Fluffy, the big beige bear in the center of this picture, given to him by his Aunt Lannay. Some of these were brought to him by his dad when he returned from TDY trips to Korea. Some were gifts. He treasured them all. This photo was taken in May 1984 in Honolulu, Hawaii, where we were living at the time. He was nine years old and in his pajamas. He was just so cute with his armload of cuddly "pets" I had to take the photo. <br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-18011829766984881062023-04-10T23:58:00.002-04:002023-04-10T23:58:12.458-04:00Fifteen Years Ago<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hoWGYGtHAzULjOHqB-4iXaMjNoRtxnkxfKZ7bO4CEPjMyj6PnJMQ48rPgACllWfYQ-ASQvFhl7gvjuP_PN2LoZmxjmjAIZdT7YPngVZam2A5WPWisGmhcOFNxQQptg6nlz3ASPK6BadzWxUqdSmRqtUxe-qlX92mnWoK_NbYuWOx4eDi_yGsyQ/s2824/Leif%20Apt%20House%204-10-09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1790" data-original-width="2824" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0hoWGYGtHAzULjOHqB-4iXaMjNoRtxnkxfKZ7bO4CEPjMyj6PnJMQ48rPgACllWfYQ-ASQvFhl7gvjuP_PN2LoZmxjmjAIZdT7YPngVZam2A5WPWisGmhcOFNxQQptg6nlz3ASPK6BadzWxUqdSmRqtUxe-qlX92mnWoK_NbYuWOx4eDi_yGsyQ/s320/Leif%20Apt%20House%204-10-09.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Fifteen years ago we approached Leif's apartment entrance with great trepidation. We were terrified about what we might find, but it was far worse than we imagined. The day before, we received a call from his work supervisor, who called us as his emergency contacts, because Leif had not shown up for work, or called in. He had tried to contact Leif without success and said that Leif never just skipped out on work. He was concerned.<p></p><p>So were we! But we hoped that maybe he was depressed and hiding out, or had gone to Orlando to see the woman he was dating, or thought he had changed his work schedule, or gotten drunk and was sleeping it off. We tried repeatedly throughout the day to contact him via phone and text messages but got no response. Then I tried calling the hospitals to see if he had been admitted after an accident or something. I did not find him. I tried calling his friend Michael, who said he had been with him the night before, but hadn't heard from him that day, April 9th. He lived an hour and a half away, so he couldn't just go over the Leif's apartment to check on him. We should have. </p><p>But, he was an adult. It seemed intrusive to burst in on him if he didn't want to talk, so we waited. We had no idea he was already dead. </p><p>The next morning, with no contact, we decided we had to go to his apartment and see him. Peter W. was too wrought to drive, so I drove there. We discussed that if both his vehicles, his car and motorcycle, were in the parking lot, it was a bad sign....and they were. </p><p>The apartment door was locked. Calling, knocking, nothing got an answer, so we went to the apartment complex office and asked the manager on duty to let us into his apartment because we were worried something had happened to him. To my surprise, she agreed to do so without an argument. </p><p>We went in, looking into the first rooms, the bedroom and bathroom, and didn't see him. Then we looked in the kitchen and he was there on the floor surrounded by a large and thick pool of blood and tissue, his head and upper back against the refrigerator door, his feet under the edge of the cabinet. A gun was on the counter. At first glance, it looked to me like he had shot himself in they eye, but I quickly saw the gunshot wound in the center of his forehead. I remember the two of us saying, "No, no no!" </p><p>Peter W. was in agony and I told him not to look. I got him out of the kitchen and called the sheriff's office. I knew we could not touch Leif, or anything in that kitchen, because there would be an investigation, when the only think I wanted to do was hold my son. I will always regret that I couldn't, and didn't. </p><p>The detective came. She found the bullet casings. We asked her personnel to be sure all his guns had no ammo in them. He had several more. She said to get everything of value out of there or it would be stolen. We had to get help to get his car and motorcycle to our home, and we packed up the computers, guns, guitars, and anything else of value we could in a neighbor's pickup truck. He and his wife were kind enough to drop what they were doing and drive to Tampa to help us.</p><p>I called the insurance company. We drove home. I called family members. All of this sounds so dry and matter-of-fact, but our hearts were broken. There weren't enough tears to every cry it out. </p><p>He had been dead a day, but his death certificate says "Found April 10, 2008." The autopsy says it was a suicide and I talked to the pathologist who did the autopsy and asked how he knew that. He said it was a contact wound, meaning the gun was against his head....the gun he bought the day before.</p><p>Fifteen years and I still miss him every day of my life. </p><p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-46600231513866209032023-04-04T21:12:00.004-04:002023-04-04T21:12:40.927-04:00I Miss Him So!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RaCe1BqfdCtmg0GdY6VuJHWp6Nglcaa8IFENmS5Om9Y5DSN7ex_kp_k2ZzepKf2f9V_vW7zaxUN1olAi3poza_LSwQN8MoPdRbWjM-ssEY28GLuLW5OTzlH4ayfYrjctjWYd8FDilWELKw9BH-OJVLbIOmbhzkK9io4IZQdrm75t98e_N8NbRg/s296/Leif-My%20Office-07-26-06_2331%20Edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="288" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RaCe1BqfdCtmg0GdY6VuJHWp6Nglcaa8IFENmS5Om9Y5DSN7ex_kp_k2ZzepKf2f9V_vW7zaxUN1olAi3poza_LSwQN8MoPdRbWjM-ssEY28GLuLW5OTzlH4ayfYrjctjWYd8FDilWELKw9BH-OJVLbIOmbhzkK9io4IZQdrm75t98e_N8NbRg/s1600/Leif-My%20Office-07-26-06_2331%20Edit.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>On March 11, I wrote about how much I missed Leif, and the recurring sadness has only grown stronger the closer we get to Easter. Why is that? First, the last time we saw him was on Easter in 2008. Easter came early that year, March 23rd. We invited him to come for dinner and he demurred, saying he didn't have extra money for gas, and his Mazda RX8 was kind of a gas guzzler. I told him I'd give him gas money, and I gave him a $20 bill. I wish I'd given him more, though I doubt it would have changed anything in the end. We had a really nice visit. He was positive, upbeat, hoping to move to Orlando, and once again, in love. By April 9, he was dead.<p></p><p>This year, Easter falls on April 9th, the day he shot himself. There is something strangely coincidental about these dates....the date of a resurrection is, this year, the anniversary of Leif's death. And Easter 2008 was the last time we saw him alive. </p><p>I will never stop wondering why, even though I have examined many causes for 15 years. And that's another thing, fifteen YEARS have passed, and yet the grief is fresh. It still seems only yesterday that he drove up our driveway, bass speakers pounding away, and unfolded his 6'2" frame from his snazzy sportscar. It seems only yesterday he was giving me a big bear hug and calling me "silly mommy."<br /></p><p>Last August 13, 2022, I posted a photo of his still-intact wallet, with all his cards and $12 cash in it, saying it was time to let go of it....but I didn't. I still couldn't bring myself to do it. But now, I have. I set a deadline to do it before the 15 year anniversary, and I scanned and shredded his cards, his driver's license, his motorcycle license, his concealed carry license, even his laundry card, and his debit and credit cards. The wallet now is empty except for the $12, which I still can't make myself remove. I need to take that out and donate the wallet. I will. I promise. He won't use it any more, and neither will I. But it still feels like I took them away from him. Dismantled his life.</p><p>I chose this photo because I am sitting here at the very desk he was helping his dad put together for me in this photo from July 26, 2006. Every day I use this desk. Every day I see his photos and flag case above it. But he is not here, and Easter will not bring him back. Ever.</p><p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-70334926414474255452023-03-11T10:38:00.002-05:002023-03-11T10:38:26.571-05:00Setting up his Gateway computer for this grandmother<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXtVBF_gb95I2fsWnxX0nkz8bcNfslevmL3BgMQIq0nr_SlLuLArooJcMYBA0scRBnby49CXgcp79up4AE_RyTLmE5VNba7ByS0bdvvjQza3k-73STfDrE3DU9o-8mc1c_F2mS7O0dd6nQzw8uVy9KePdKGDxvzs0oGTz8frMvgsK348CbgS0Fg/s288/Jerri%20&%20Leif%20set%20up%20GATEWAY%20COMPUTER%20he%20sold%20to%20MSK%20A%201-19-2008%20Crop%20Edit%20Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="216" data-original-width="288" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXtVBF_gb95I2fsWnxX0nkz8bcNfslevmL3BgMQIq0nr_SlLuLArooJcMYBA0scRBnby49CXgcp79up4AE_RyTLmE5VNba7ByS0bdvvjQza3k-73STfDrE3DU9o-8mc1c_F2mS7O0dd6nQzw8uVy9KePdKGDxvzs0oGTz8frMvgsK348CbgS0Fg/s1600/Jerri%20&%20Leif%20set%20up%20GATEWAY%20COMPUTER%20he%20sold%20to%20MSK%20A%201-19-2008%20Crop%20Edit%20Blog.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>The last couple of days I've been very sad about Leif's death. I don't know for sure why it has hit me so hard already this spring, but I suppose it's because it's getting close to the last date we saw him alive in March 2008, and his death in April, fifteen years ago, Or maybe it's memories that have triggered it, most likely both. <p></p><p>This memory came up because I was looking at an old hard drive I took out of my mother's computer and saved in an external HD enclosure, just in case there were files on it we might want someday....even though I transferred all her files to her newer Dell computer when the Gateway started acting wonky.</p><p>Mom needed a new computer but didn't want to spend much on one, and wanted to be able to use two monitor screens to work on editing her book about bamboo. Leif had an extra computer...he was always buying and trading electronics...and offered to sell it to his grandmother for a bargain price and help her set it up. January 19, 2008, he brought it to her condo and the two of us set it up. This photo shows us doing that. I had forgotten about the photo until I was emailing my brother about some of his files I found on that old hard drive...things he had put then when visiting Mom and using her computer. We were trying to determine the date and I remembered the photo. It's a shock to see Leif having gained so much weight, although of course I saw him that way and have other photos of him at this weight, but what a change from the handsome, slim young man he once was, as he was in the photo I last posted. I wonder, when I see this photo now, whether there was any sign he would be dead in three months. </p><p>The last time we saw him, he seemed happy and relaxed and infatuated with a woman he had met, was trying to find a way to move to Orlando to be near her and hoped to find a better job there. He was exercising and seemed to be trying to lose weight on a keto diet. For his birthday that January, just a few days after this, he just wanted steak and salad. In March, that last time we saw him, he seemed upbeat, but in January, he seemed depressed. I was worried about him, so I was so glad he seemed happier in March. It must have been ephemeral. </p><p>I miss him so much!</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-86777001472868082282023-01-28T19:38:00.001-05:002023-01-28T19:38:20.464-05:00He would have been 48 today - on Gasparilla<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvumks_NmWfgQIUjXyEFMoW2t7RNLEHJbMGpxhssyj4Xy7AKHL00vz7VyBUtRcFF-ilWOR6fMLWFCvghjuOrS2HBDU5S8NBIj_9VWVfpXOMDm_I4iws_WIaIsfh4wQNw7PYlssh_hNa5iQpluzSrpXMiT7srXSDkze2Vzk_g58F5gIk_5cj7cSDg/s1800/Leif%20the%20GQ%20Pirate%20Renaissance%20Fair%20Bonner%20Springs%20KS%20A%209-11-1994%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Leif Garretson the GQ Pirate" border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1312" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvumks_NmWfgQIUjXyEFMoW2t7RNLEHJbMGpxhssyj4Xy7AKHL00vz7VyBUtRcFF-ilWOR6fMLWFCvghjuOrS2HBDU5S8NBIj_9VWVfpXOMDm_I4iws_WIaIsfh4wQNw7PYlssh_hNa5iQpluzSrpXMiT7srXSDkze2Vzk_g58F5gIk_5cj7cSDg/w233-h320/Leif%20the%20GQ%20Pirate%20Renaissance%20Fair%20Bonner%20Springs%20KS%20A%209-11-1994%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized.jpg" width="233" /></a></div><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: times;">He would have been 48 years old today, had he lived. I wondered what he would look like. What he would be doing. Whether he would have married and had children. That was not to be, but today, on that birthday, was the Tampa pirate festival called Gasparilla, which he surely would have enjoyed. I don't know whether he ever went to Gasparilla during the years he lived in Florida, but as his dad said today, he could have, should have, marched in the parade.</span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: times;">When he joined the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) long years ago in Manhattan, Kansas, he chose as his persona a pirate of the Viking age, at least for awhile, before he seemed to morph into a knight in shining armor. He was a rather dashing "fashion conscious" pirate, so he acquired the nickname, "the GQ Pirate" after the magazine "Gentleman's Quarterly" (which now publishes monthly) and bills itself as a publication about men's fashion, sport, sex, health and other subjects. For a time, Leif even used an email address with the handle, "thegqpirate." </span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: times;">It would have been fun to see him in pirate garb at the age of 48, participating in one of the Gasparilla crewes or marching in the parade....or even in the crowd as a handsome GQ pirate! <br /><br />Even almost 15 years after his death we daily use things he left behind...a cordless telephone, a computer, weights, and things he taught us. We talk of him daily, so many memories. We miss him every day, but especially on his birthday, remembering our joy at his birth, that big, strong baby, so curious about the world, so intelligent. When did hope become hopeless? Why did he give up on life?</span></p><p><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: times;">This photo was taken at the Kansas Renaissance Fair in Bonner Springs, Kansas, September 11, 1994. He was looking handsome and assured, at the age of 19. Little did we know what life had in store for him....or that date of 9/11.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-35031149745586987792023-01-18T23:11:00.007-05:002023-01-18T23:11:35.122-05:00It could have been him<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1-o4-EU73Mig-AIM3gRffkSh8qW1CdhS4Qmt1ejx-gyFV245oJQQILzWhUOpdvPSxBvQl-nK5NxSEezR6TSkzODXBCdfI7VkwQHxLeI_bKlIBu9NEF1q2F6JbJAvfHcAZAdVBJbtRu_nknBL7qymFW102JHl6RqF22sTmJlqbgpJMtGpYjjTyQ/s444/LeifBassGuitarBandB-PRSpring1992%20blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="288" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv1-o4-EU73Mig-AIM3gRffkSh8qW1CdhS4Qmt1ejx-gyFV245oJQQILzWhUOpdvPSxBvQl-nK5NxSEezR6TSkzODXBCdfI7VkwQHxLeI_bKlIBu9NEF1q2F6JbJAvfHcAZAdVBJbtRu_nknBL7qymFW102JHl6RqF22sTmJlqbgpJMtGpYjjTyQ/s320/LeifBassGuitarBandB-PRSpring1992%20blog.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>Today we went to a "showcase" performance, one where nine professional acts (eight musical and one magic) gave twelve minute performances to be rated by the large audience to give local entertainment directors as sense of what their audiences might like to have booked. In the audience were also entertainment directors from the surrounding area. These acts were all talented and varied, and several had bands that had guitarists. One even had four! Two acoustic, an electric guitar and an electric bass guitar. <div><br /></div><div>I couldn't help but remember Leif playing his four guitars, starting with a blue one he got in high school when he first got interested and started taking lessons in Highland Park, Illinois. That was his "starter" guitar, a decent instrument which he kept the rest of his life. He added a a green Kramer Floyd Rose guitar, the guitar he designed and made himself, and the blue bass guitar he is playing at left. That was the only one he ever played (briefly) in a band while he was a student at Antilles High School on Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico. This photo was taken when that band was performing at school. </div><div><br /></div><div>Leif loved music and had a huge collection of CDs, spent a lot of money to put a top of the line stereo in his car, and loved playing his guitars. He would practice for hours, learning some of the famous riffs and guitar solos, though never to his desired standards. I still hear them played on the radio or in television shows or movies and always remember Leif playing them.</div><div><br /></div><div>The groups we saw today had some excellent singers. Leif could sing, too, though we didn't even know that until he turned up on the Antilles musical stage acting and singing the part of Kenickie in "Grease."</div><div><br /></div><div>So, couldn't help but think, if he'd had the burning desire to be a musician, he could have been on that stage. <br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-59737098232458316832022-08-13T15:42:00.005-04:002022-08-13T15:42:22.823-04:00When Is It Time Let Let Things Go?<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz-PY7qnpNtoWza3wKyjb_d4Zrsa4fsT2u9gBb7PmzLLzsqrkZ3MJdsI9Ews4pPTyzYp7dl3mnqVuJvFz_MpkT6f-Ge2652PP_8SadkvnSLNMlPMSE9JIui0wZQujEWuts4vEL6rsRvJOFzsMUDmiNtivRhQCBcvSsyB7bCiKXpe5Ma6dZWjTQg/s1200/Leif's%20%20Combat%20Boot%20Left%20Boot%20Outer%20Side%20Edit%20Sized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlz-PY7qnpNtoWza3wKyjb_d4Zrsa4fsT2u9gBb7PmzLLzsqrkZ3MJdsI9Ews4pPTyzYp7dl3mnqVuJvFz_MpkT6f-Ge2652PP_8SadkvnSLNMlPMSE9JIui0wZQujEWuts4vEL6rsRvJOFzsMUDmiNtivRhQCBcvSsyB7bCiKXpe5Ma6dZWjTQg/s1200/Leif's%20%20Combat%20Boot%20Left%20Boot%20Outer%20Side%20Edit%20Sized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1Zb23anePUSMqhDZX4EwYtdXYAaAHAQThBd2EozOhUCP_m9_TUPTsFTwcBXEqgS8oWPJPriSG1asgr9YhxgmhQwsUTnIwZ38ngXLuMRgPEp5_GXaKPkaZvT3m78H5lnOKFzTx0PERttswDoi2T70klgjSGSYxjjXglPdA46DtpeFDvO2CX1Low/s288/Leif's%20Wallet%208-13-2022%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized%20Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="288" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf1Zb23anePUSMqhDZX4EwYtdXYAaAHAQThBd2EozOhUCP_m9_TUPTsFTwcBXEqgS8oWPJPriSG1asgr9YhxgmhQwsUTnIwZ38ngXLuMRgPEp5_GXaKPkaZvT3m78H5lnOKFzTx0PERttswDoi2T70klgjSGSYxjjXglPdA46DtpeFDvO2CX1Low/w200-h153/Leif's%20Wallet%208-13-2022%20Crop%20Edit%20Sized%20Blog.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></div>In April it was fourteen years since Leif's death. We had to clean out his apartment quickly to avoid paying another month's rent, sold his furniture and many of his belongings, gave others away, and brought more home to figure out what to do with them. Over time, we chose a few to keep, some because they were useful, some because we had sentimental reasons, and some because they seemed so personal and part of his identity that it seemed just plain wrong to dispose of them. <div><br /></div><div>Some of these were his wallet, which until today remains in exactly the same way he left it on his desk the night he died, with the single exception that we returned his retired military ID to the military, as is required. All this other cards remain, and the $12 in cash that was in the wallet. Of course, we reported his death to the accounts for his credit cards, and his licenses have long expired. At first, I just couldn't let go of this because, as totally illogical and foolish as it sounds, even to me, I had some sense in the back of my mind that if he came back, he would want and need it. Of course he was not coming back! We found his body and watched it being taken away in a body bag, but the unconscious part of our human minds are capable of such wishful and crazy thinking, even when our conscious minds know better.<p></p><p></p>I also kept two of this army uniforms, his "dog tags," and his combat boots. I knew he wasn't going to ever go back into the army, and he also could never have fit into them, but the military was so much of who he was, his identity, that HE had kept them, long after he was medically retired from the army. I knew they meant a lot to him. Those combat boots carried him a long way. I wonder how many miles he walked or jogged in them. After he was medically retired and sent "home" he wore them and still walked miles, miles to the university for classes when he was finishing his degree, and even, one day over ten miles round trip from our house to Tuttle Creek Lake. <br /><br /> This photo was taken on a military exercise in 1999. It looks like he's wearing the same boots I saved. The photo below are the ones I've kept for over 14 years. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRb4z4lYeragPMYuJM9sL0DmPPOA6TIFDmt0xT9xhNFE8V6J_MvLcu9G8jDgemeEc2L5KL5T-UdN93QldFftBbRxLuVmNY6nEtQS2oEfl4kfJzvSylF-yOAz132KmMAtbF1R0mnbB6ge8g4RJN18X4ENIyvf-OmIoG43-0RB7wGCnjZLd6OYiCA/s900/LeifOnBunkInUniformCirca1999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="663" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRb4z4lYeragPMYuJM9sL0DmPPOA6TIFDmt0xT9xhNFE8V6J_MvLcu9G8jDgemeEc2L5KL5T-UdN93QldFftBbRxLuVmNY6nEtQS2oEfl4kfJzvSylF-yOAz132KmMAtbF1R0mnbB6ge8g4RJN18X4ENIyvf-OmIoG43-0RB7wGCnjZLd6OYiCA/w236-h320/LeifOnBunkInUniformCirca1999.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>Now I am ready to let go of these things, all but the dog tags. I'm keeping those. It should be easy to discard a pair of well-worn combat boots with a hole in one side that no one wants, but it's not. It somehow still seems like a betrayal. There's no logical reason it should feel like that, but it does. <p></p><p></p>They will go first. Next will be the wallet. Then, when I have more time and can remove the sewn-on insignia and nametag, the uniforms. I know it's time, but it still hurts. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hurt or not, for some reason, after fourteen years, it finally feels like the time has come. The boots aren't going to walk any farther. <br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqjhxJ2YG-xLFk5Tmqd_CUXulam3caLUC-r9EKjnEm9HWrXWSTeAYXb7UJCrSEgkROh89taRtqCM6jBmqZryByc4j-ux1WdQ63dvsdr2shum_dzHpTfcQTtnDx4dkfgcxAaYISSQHualfZtF_g5BubGXX2aAeUMzU7worpZt4MhEEg0LUjHsBcg/s1200/Leif's%20Combat%20Books%20From%20Front%20Above%20Edit%20Sized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1177" data-original-width="1200" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYqjhxJ2YG-xLFk5Tmqd_CUXulam3caLUC-r9EKjnEm9HWrXWSTeAYXb7UJCrSEgkROh89taRtqCM6jBmqZryByc4j-ux1WdQ63dvsdr2shum_dzHpTfcQTtnDx4dkfgcxAaYISSQHualfZtF_g5BubGXX2aAeUMzU7worpZt4MhEEg0LUjHsBcg/w200-h196/Leif's%20Combat%20Books%20From%20Front%20Above%20Edit%20Sized.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-69522452175700547572022-04-09T21:26:00.005-04:002022-04-09T21:32:10.611-04:00Fourteen Years<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjv3PzZzku4GQTb6YcfCbdNZklluuYWQm2EKQeYHG8uUoybjZ4jWZSRTEuqLJ0oPYkGobbvGSqnwGQS3wgqZR0iRNNvNmSmDBlDrziM5IdnBBImWJiDatcA98I5e_rqlLvg0w-472k4OwxWN11aS93LXTOSQcQXlnclGDHNy6uE4sdTn1Kx1US-FA" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1013" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjv3PzZzku4GQTb6YcfCbdNZklluuYWQm2EKQeYHG8uUoybjZ4jWZSRTEuqLJ0oPYkGobbvGSqnwGQS3wgqZR0iRNNvNmSmDBlDrziM5IdnBBImWJiDatcA98I5e_rqlLvg0w-472k4OwxWN11aS93LXTOSQcQXlnclGDHNy6uE4sdTn1Kx1US-FA=w295-h320" width="295" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">There are days in the year that are harder; the day he died, the day we found his body, his birthday, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Fourth of July (since he loved it so), Veteran's Day, Christmas. But April 9 & 10 are the hardest, with the worst memories. It's still difficult to believe he is really gone, even after fourteen years.</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;">How would he want to be remembered? Today, Peter W. Garretson and I looked at a myriad photos of his life, grateful we have them, grateful for the years we had him. From the baby to the toddler, to the schoolboy to the teen, from the college student to the soldier, from his SCA days to life in Florida. Ever changing, but still the same brilliant mind, the same sense of humor, the introspective frame of mind. To remember the 14th anniversary of his death, I chose one he took of himself in his SCA armor. I think he wanted to see himself as a knight in shining armor, a soldier for right. We will miss him and love him the rest of our lives.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-21561235652986274642022-01-29T00:15:00.003-05:002022-01-29T00:15:28.313-05:00He would be 47 years old on January 28<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGJwwAOzRFZCscbNizxDNn-KqBTeq0IzLAwgNu1hun70DTQApIGbAXv1YtPUdZVtPCpwRtlUiXMO5oesfVV4HOlc5fDGUKV7Zpbhwp0_akTbmD3fh2cFuS6u-RSEIXJhedjHMfpKLNRAoGGhkHMkUxE5z5ogn8G2pRtLMIsvhb-Lv9hzM2zUgUpg=s1800" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1302" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGJwwAOzRFZCscbNizxDNn-KqBTeq0IzLAwgNu1hun70DTQApIGbAXv1YtPUdZVtPCpwRtlUiXMO5oesfVV4HOlc5fDGUKV7Zpbhwp0_akTbmD3fh2cFuS6u-RSEIXJhedjHMfpKLNRAoGGhkHMkUxE5z5ogn8G2pRtLMIsvhb-Lv9hzM2zUgUpg=s320" width="231" /></a></div>How does one celebrate the birthday of a loved one no longer living? We remember them....from birth to toddlerhood, from child to teen to adult, from soldier to corporate employee. So many years, and yet so few, only 33, and then he was gone. He would be 47 today, if he had lived. What would he have been like? Would he have found love, married, had children? We will never know. I am grateful for the photos and the memories. I am still finding new photos as I scan my mother's slides and negatives. This one I think she took in her house. I do know it was taken in August 1994 when he was nineteen and a student at Kansas State University, still a slim fellow who hadn't yet been required to cut his long hair for his job at Aladdin's Castle video game parlor in the Manhattan Mall. <br /><br />What he's wearing has some significance. The t-shirt was a gift from his brother, who had been an Air Force Academy cadet. It's a USAFA Boxing shirt. The necklace is chain mail that Leif made himself. He made a lot of chain mail items, from small things like this necklace and some earrings, to giant projects like the huge chain mail shirt he made that weighed 50 pounds. He learned to make chain mail due to his interesting in medieval armor and participating in the Society for Creative Anachronism. <br /><br />We miss him every day of our lives. In April, he will be gone from us fourteen years.<p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-48104698799170761872021-11-09T21:23:00.001-05:002021-11-09T21:23:13.444-05:00Leif as Kenickie in Grease<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-48otNaOCk/YYsrEx3D56I/AAAAAAAAl2w/6nCPZ0DlMD8N8ghG1VKzvTYi0oIwIMUZACLcBGAsYHQ/s1152/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-08%2Bat%2B9.26.34%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="804" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J-48otNaOCk/YYsrEx3D56I/AAAAAAAAl2w/6nCPZ0DlMD8N8ghG1VKzvTYi0oIwIMUZACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-08%2Bat%2B9.26.34%2BPM.png" width="223" /></a></div>It's been over thirteen and a half years since Leif departed this earth. What can one say that hasn't been said in all those years? And yet, as I go through all the old videos, photos, slides, and negatives, I find new images. I love to see them. I digitized our amateur video of the Antilles High School production of Grease in May 1992, in which he played Kenicke. I was surprised to see that we had some pretty good close-ups of him (that Sony camcorder had a great zoom lens) and I could grab screen shots of him, and am including three of them here. He surprised everyone, including us. No one, not his classmates (except those in the cast as they rehearsed), not us, knew he could act and sing until he got on stage. How I wish he had found a way to use that talent after this performance! He did play electric guitar, but I don't think I ever heard him sing again. He was 17 years old in these stage photos. The high school is located on Fort Buchanan in Puerto Rico. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gfYD8LeoNa0/YYsrE3L4JYI/AAAAAAAAl20/LF2VdPj3Ow8C_N7_tngWifJX-crRcBo0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1152/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-08%2Bat%2B9.27.29%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="804" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gfYD8LeoNa0/YYsrE3L4JYI/AAAAAAAAl20/LF2VdPj3Ow8C_N7_tngWifJX-crRcBo0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-08%2Bat%2B9.27.29%2BPM.png" width="223" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OlwMUQ1k8WY/YYsrE1yAjhI/AAAAAAAAl24/OVpDFswH1DUkUN8V4imz6dH9eo3iYEuKACLcBGAsYHQ/s1074/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-08%2Bat%2B9.29.19%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="870" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OlwMUQ1k8WY/YYsrE1yAjhI/AAAAAAAAl24/OVpDFswH1DUkUN8V4imz6dH9eo3iYEuKACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Screen%2BShot%2B2021-11-08%2Bat%2B9.29.19%2BPM.png" width="259" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-75772500701807222802021-06-09T23:42:00.002-04:002021-06-09T23:42:40.965-04:00Nine Months Old<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qdQV84f7Vs4/YMGIgimOcJI/AAAAAAAAkZU/rP5IejmJ8DQJLi6_HzKAYvYDqJr3eco5wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1800/Jerri%2BLeif%2B804%2BMoro%2BManhattan%2BKS%2BC%2B10-1975%2BCrop%2BEdit%2BSized.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1570" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qdQV84f7Vs4/YMGIgimOcJI/AAAAAAAAkZU/rP5IejmJ8DQJLi6_HzKAYvYDqJr3eco5wCLcBGAsYHQ/w279-h320/Jerri%2BLeif%2B804%2BMoro%2BManhattan%2BKS%2BC%2B10-1975%2BCrop%2BEdit%2BSized.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>I love it when I find photos of Leif I have never seen before. I found this one when I scanned more of my mother's slides, ones she never got prints from and never projected. This was taken in our yard in October 1975 when Leif was nine months old. It was lovely "Indian summer" weather, and she took quite a few photos of our family outside in our backyard then. I was surprised to see how short my hair was then, and although it looks like it was streaked, the color was totally natural. Leif looks serious. I wonder what he was thinking about. How I loved that baby!<br /> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-52984384778734354472021-05-25T14:49:00.004-04:002021-05-25T14:52:21.729-04:00Leif and the "Little Professor"<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QAAdwt5fEc8/YK0lPOsCnvI/AAAAAAAAkRw/ju8_X3PsEeoAQDz1I_x2Q61OrUD71pKqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s384/Little%2BProfessor%2BCalculator%2Bby%2BJoe%2BHaupt%2Bon%2BFlickr%2B4-14-2021%2Bfor%2Bblog.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="308" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QAAdwt5fEc8/YK0lPOsCnvI/AAAAAAAAkRw/ju8_X3PsEeoAQDz1I_x2Q61OrUD71pKqQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Little%2BProfessor%2BCalculator%2Bby%2BJoe%2BHaupt%2Bon%2BFlickr%2B4-14-2021%2Bfor%2Bblog.jpg" /></a></div>Way back on February 18, 2009, I wrote about Leif and the "Little Professor" as part of my post about me not being tested in the way he was and posted a link to a page about the device. Now I have a photo of it to post, courtesy of Joe Haupt on Flickr, used under Creative Commons License CC BY-SA 2.0 (links at the end of this post).<p></p><p>What I wrote in 2009 was:<br /><span style="color: white;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: black; font-size: 13px;">" In kindergarten he was referred for testing to find out just how smart he was. The school psychologist was astonished at how high he scored and asked Leif where he learned all that. Leif's reply was that he learned it all from a "silly little game called the 'Little Professor.'"</span><br style="background-color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: black; font-size: 13px;">"This, of course, wasn't true, but what was a five-year-old to say to such a question? The Little Professor was a children's math "trainer" that looked like a calculator with an owl on it. The instrument would give the child a math problem and the kid would have to key in the answer. Leif was quite good at this early on. (For those of you who never saw a Little Professor, I'm posting a link in the links section to a site that has a photo and explains it.)</span><br style="background-color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><br style="background-color: black; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif" style="background-color: black; font-size: 13px;">"Electronic learning toys are much more sophisticated now, but I don't know whether kids learn any more than ours did from the early examples they encountered when we got to Japan."</span></span></p><p>It still hurts to know how intelligent he was yet found no job that allowed him to make use of his mind. It was always searching, always analyzing, synthesizing, and he could explain complex concepts in simple terms to just about anyone.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4F-osg4ucg/YK0nZWoEuXI/AAAAAAAAkR4/NFZizI6OUX86CVKVwyx3GHvr4oc_hpy4ACLcBGAsYHQ/s741/LeifKamakura5-1981.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="741" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K4F-osg4ucg/YK0nZWoEuXI/AAAAAAAAkR4/NFZizI6OUX86CVKVwyx3GHvr4oc_hpy4ACLcBGAsYHQ/w260-h320/LeifKamakura5-1981.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>This photo was taken in 1981, around the time he was taking the tests and telling the counselor that he had learned everything from the Little Professor. It was taken in Kamakura, Japan and he was six years old.<div><br /><div><a href="https://flic.kr/p/FZkCdB">Link to Joe Haupt's Little Professor photo on Flickr</a></div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/">Link to Creative Commons License for the photo</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-16058887188120133642021-04-09T23:48:00.001-04:002021-04-09T23:48:12.646-04:00Thirteen years<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DCl1FmA6kVc/YHD7JPe2KDI/AAAAAAAAjXU/5At1kYKrnRQTHpyYvqF1oWdOqBFdqdeIgCLcBGAsYHQ/LeifGQPirateKS4-1993blog.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="292" data-original-width="216" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DCl1FmA6kVc/YHD7JPe2KDI/AAAAAAAAjXU/5At1kYKrnRQTHpyYvqF1oWdOqBFdqdeIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s16000/LeifGQPirateKS4-1993blog.jpg" /></a></div>Thirteen years ago today we got a call from Leif's boss. He was concerned. Leif had not showed up for work, nor had he called in sick. His boss told us that this was not like Leif, that he was completely reliable, and he was worried because, he said, "He rides that motorcycle."<p></p><p>I tried to call Leif. I tried to text message him. I sent him email. At first, I wasn't terribly worried. I thought perhaps he was ill, or asleep with a hangover....not like him, but I wasn't ready to think something terrible had happened to him. Maybe he had gone to see the woman he was interested in, in Orlando. He had planned to see her earlier in the week .</p><p>As the afternoon wore on, I started wondering if something had happened to him.. I worried that he had a motorcycle accident and might be in a hospital either in Tampa or on the way or, or in, Orlando. I started calling hospitals all through this area. No one had a patient by his name.</p><p>Leif was an excellent driver...wanted to be a race car driver, and that was the problem. He drove like a bat our of hell, to use my mother's expression. I wondered if he had been arrested for speeding or some other offense and was in jail but didn't want us to know. The county arrest records are online. I checked them. Nothing</p><p>I continued to call him, text him, email him. Nothing. I wondered if he was very ill and wasn't responding. But by evening, surely he would have responded to multiple messages or calls from his mother. He had never ignored communications from me before. </p><p>He was a grown man. He was entitled to his privacy and his own business. I didn't want to anger or embarrass him by showing up at his door with all my fears, and yet, I was becoming more and more afraid.</p><p>Peter thought we should wait until morning and if we still hadn't heard from him, drive to Tampa. We heard nothing. I put on my pink "Worrier's Manifesto" shirt, one I had designed as a joke, thinking that if we found him, I would try to make light of my concerns. But Peter was too nervous to drive, so I drove the half hour to his Tampa apartment.</p><p>On the way, we talked about what could have happened. We agreed that if we got there and one of his vehicles (he had a motorcycle and a Mazda RX8) was gone, he must have left. If both were there, he had to be in his apartment.</p><p>As we drove up, we could see both vehicles were there and didn't know whether to be relieved or more scared. If he was there and okay, would he be upset with us for showing up? But there was no answer when we knocked and rang the doorbell, over and over.</p><p>Finally, I went to the apartment building office and explained our fears, that something had happened to him, that we were his parents, that we wanted them to let us into his apartment. I was afraid they would refuse, but the young woman escorted us back to the building and used her master key to let us in, asking us to let her know what we found.</p><p>We came in and called his name. No answer. We passed the doorway to the bathroom and bedroom, and saw that he was not in either of them. We came into the dining area where he had his computers set up. Everything on his desk was neat. His billfold and keys were there. </p><p>And then we looked to the right into the kitchen. There he was in a pool of blood, brains and bones on the floor, slumped against the lower end of the refrigerator door, fingers turning blue. The gun was on the kitchen counter. </p><p>I will spare you our emotional reaction. I still want to cry out, "NO, NO, NO!!! </p><p>I knew we could not touch anything. At that point, I felt certain it was a suicide, but the police and coroner would want to determine that. It was potentially a crime scene. I called 911. Then I found his iPhone and used it to call his insurance company about his vehicles and belongings and report his death. We waited for the police. </p><p>When they came, we were told we could not stay inside while they did their investigation. The detective (a woman) was working the scene and she had others with her that went to neighbors to see if they had heard anything or knew what happened. When she finished, she told us she thought it was an accidental shooting. She had worried about the possibility of a murder or homicide, but the evidence did not support that. Two men came and brought Leif out in a body bag. I still wonder how they got his heavy, large body into that body bag, with the mess on the kitchen floor, and down from the second floor. I wanted them to open the body back so I could hold him and say goodbye. None of them wanted to do it. They didn't think it was good for me to see him, and I knew it wasn't good for Peter, so I didn't fight them about it, and I have regretted it ever since. I just put my hands on the body bag and that was as close as I got to holding my son. They took him to the county morgue. It was a violent death and required an autopsy. </p><p>They told us we needed to take all his valuables out of the apartment right then, and take his vehicles, or they feared they would be stolen. We went back inside and started gathering things, and realizing we could not drive his vehicles to our house. Neither of us was capable of driving a motorcycle. His car was a stick shift. I can't drive one of those, and Peter hadn't driven one in years, and was in no shape to drive. I called a neighbor who had a pickup truck and asked if one of them knew how to drive a stick shift. To this day, I don't know what their plans were for that day, but they dropped them and came. They helped us take belongings and drove his car to our house. We found someone with a trailer to load up the motorcycle and drive it to our place. We took the rest of his keys, went to the apartment office and told them about his death, what had transpired with the police, and that we would be back to clean out his apartment. </p><p>We were in shock. Luckily we made it home safely. On the way, we called my mother. Through the evening, we were calling family members to let them know. </p><p>It was the saddest, most horrifying day of my life. </p><p>I miss him every day of my life.</p><p>I never wore my pink "Worrier's Anonymous" shirt again. I couldn't bear it.</p><p>The photo above was taken almost exactly 28 years ago, in April 1993. He is dressed as the "GQ Pirate" for the Society for Creative Anachronism. </p><p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-18837798302968259412021-01-28T23:13:00.001-05:002021-01-28T23:13:07.472-05:00It would have been his 46th birthday<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hJyujOqDjQc/YBOIaPZKpfI/AAAAAAAAi6o/3y3vZGTvO-4urxpcgt6SKrya769kKHkZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s378/Leif%2B1st%2BBirthday%2BParty%2BPW%2BPA%2B804%2BMoro%2BManhattan%2BKS%2BA%2B2-1-1976%2BBlog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="378" data-original-width="288" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hJyujOqDjQc/YBOIaPZKpfI/AAAAAAAAi6o/3y3vZGTvO-4urxpcgt6SKrya769kKHkZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s16000/Leif%2B1st%2BBirthday%2BParty%2BPW%2BPA%2B804%2BMoro%2BManhattan%2BKS%2BA%2B2-1-1976%2BBlog.jpg" /></a></div>This is the thirteenth of Leif's birthdays we have spent without him. Not a day goes by that we do not think of him and talk about him, or even talk to him, though there is no answer. Our lives are still full of memories and things that remind us of him. <p></p><p>As I scan more and more old slides and negatives of ours and my mother's, I find photos of him I have never seen before, or that maybe, I saw when a roll of slides was first developed and not since then, as we had only a select few developed and haven't projected slides in many years. These "new" photos are special surprises. This is one of them. I've posted photos of his birthdays, but never one of his first birthday. </p><p>It was a small birthday party, with the four of us and the boys beloved babysitter, Rhonda. The cake was an almond cake with green frosting, and it sure did look homemade. It had a big thick candle in the middle (it had been backed in an angel food cake pan) and Leif was a little scared of it. Once the candle was blown out and removed, he enjoyed his cake and did pretty well with a spoon for a one-year-old.</p><p>We were happy that his hand was no longer bandaged that day. The poor little guy had gotten horrible third degree burns on his left hand at the old Occupational Therapy Department at Fort Riley when he grabbed an unprotected live steam pipe that fed the heating system. He had a lot of painful medical treatment and physical therapy but luckily his hand healed with no permanent injury, and the bandages were off for his birthday.</p><p>I look at those bright little eyes and know how he took in the world, figuring things out, testing them, how his mind was always working. I wish I could have made him a cake today.</p><p>Taken January 28, 1976 in the old stone house on Moro Street, Manhattan, Kansas. With him are his dad and his brother. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-13985524194665801772020-04-10T15:54:00.001-04:002020-04-10T15:54:53.421-04:00Twelve Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Twelve years is a long time. And yet, it seems like yesterday. And yet, it seems like forever.<br />
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I miss him.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-19423628112779405272020-01-28T20:42:00.000-05:002020-01-28T20:42:08.170-05:00His 45th Birthday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Mi7h7IOPWs/XjDh9vDxTwI/AAAAAAAAftg/7qzfH7fDUzY2foH7l2GwZ3CkENRBA0KswCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/Jerri%2BLeif%2BState%2BLake%2BKS%2B1-1976%2BBlog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Mi7h7IOPWs/XjDh9vDxTwI/AAAAAAAAftg/7qzfH7fDUzY2foH7l2GwZ3CkENRBA0KswCK4BGAYYCw/s400/Jerri%2BLeif%2BState%2BLake%2BKS%2B1-1976%2BBlog.jpg" /></a>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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I miss him with all my heart. Happy Birthday, son.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-80786931739974164862019-10-28T20:55:00.000-04:002019-10-28T20:56:36.381-04:00Leif in the Leaves<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Once upon a time, he was a joyful baby relishing the leaves in the fall. He was our little explorer, toddling around in the silly striped overalls I sewed for him, typical 1970s garb, I guess. Once upon a time, we looked forward to his future. Little did we know that 32 years later, he would no longer be with us.<br />
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Once upon a time, I listened to the music he loved, and to him playing the guitar solos from those rock songs, and they were just songs. Now, I go to the neighborhood pool where the radio on the loudspeaker blares out classic rock that reminds me so of him it makes me sad.<br />
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Once upon a time, this little boy had a future.<br />
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I dreamed about him last night, not as a baby, but as a man, and I called him "Alex," and then asked him if it was still okay to call him that instead of Leif. He laughed and called me, "silly mommy." Just what he would have done in real life.<br />
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I miss him.<br />
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This photo was taken in October 1975 in the back yard of our old stone house. It no longer exists, either.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-21922543601387788482019-07-13T22:52:00.001-04:002019-07-13T22:52:31.483-04:00Leif on a Sailboat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm always hoping to find a photo of Leif I've never seen, that someone will have taken one, or more, that was never shared with me before. It's a rare delight, but it happened today. Peter was scanning negatives of photos he took during our years on Puerto Rico and this was on one roll, along with many others I HAD seen before. We were out sailing in the waters on the northeast side of the island. In most of the photos, Leif has on his Oakley sunglasses (here around his neck) and a blue shirt, but here, only his sailor's gloves. It surprises me to see him wearing a cross, because he was not religious, and I have no idea whose tiny ring he has on a chain around his neck. They will stay mysteries. The lighting in the late afternoon sun makes his hair look red instead of dark brown, and it looks this reddish color in all the photos taken that day.<br />
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Leif inherited my love of being out on the water and sailing. I think he missed his calling and should have gone into the Coast Guard. But, the requirements were stiff and he wasn't driven enough to pursue it, though if he had, he might well have had the same physical problems he had with the Air Force and the Army. I think he would have been good in the merchant marine, but he didn't want a career that would keep him away from a family for months at a time. We sent him on a teen sail summer program when we lived in Puerto Rico and he loved it. He went on two cruises with us. I wish we could have taken him on more.<br />
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Finding photos like this is bittersweet. I love seeing them, seeing something new of him, but it also makes me sad that he is no longer with us. It still hurts every day, even after more than eleven years.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-83134661487283393072019-04-10T23:22:00.000-04:002019-04-10T23:23:41.890-04:00Eleven Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Forty-two years ago, on April 10, 1977, it was Easter. We were living in Charlottesville, Virginia, and two-year-old Leif was excited to be looking for his Easter basket.<br />
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Today, it is eleven years since we found his lifeless body on April 10, 2008.<br />
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We can look back on this beautiful child with love and longing, and gratitude for the years we had him.<br />
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We went to the cemetery today. In all these eleven years, this is the first time I have gone there without tears. They could have come, if I had let them, but I had my tears yesterday, and was glad that today, a beautiful sunny spring day, we could visit the cemetery without such wrenching grief, and talk about him with both sadness and happiness.<br />
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I am grateful for every picture I have of him. There is a Facebook meme going around today saying that you should make sure you are in photos because someday that's all your children will have of you. For us, except for a very few of his possessions, photos and memories are all we have of Leif. They are treasures.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-69144938050814555392019-04-09T12:23:00.001-04:002019-04-09T12:23:39.428-04:00Eleven Years<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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He would want us to remember him like this, or on his motorcycle, or in his SCA garb, or in his RX-8. He would want us to remember his intelligence, his sense of humor, his love of speed and weaponry. He would want us to remember the good times. So, on this day, when he departed from us eleven years ago, I chose a photo of him with that rascally smile and a stein of celebratory beer, taken at a happy family gathering on July 29, 2004.<br />
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As I searched for a photo for this post, this one seemed to best represent the adult Leif, but it also struck me that this shirt is the same one he wore in death, when we found him April 10, 2008. From a happy occasion to the depths of despair.<br />
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Eleven years, one third of the years he lived. Yet he is a part of our lives every day. He always will be.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-73422577936904694652019-01-28T22:13:00.000-05:002019-01-28T22:13:36.354-05:00Today Would Have Been His 44th Birthday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Look at this beautiful child. Hopeful, innocent, happy, vulnerable. Today would have been his 44th birthday, if he were still with us, but his last birthday was 11 years ago. He was here, at our house, for a steak dinner. I see a photo of him taken that night every day in my office. I miss that man. I miss this little boy.<br />
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This photo was taken in Hawaii on his 9th birthday. We lived there then. He was in third grade. He loved video games and going to the arcade in Honolulu with us on a Friday or Saturday night after a dinner and a movie. It was always a family activity, in Japan, in Hawaii. We'd all play. He loved Pac Man. For this birthday, he wanted a Super Pac Man cake, so he and I made one. The photo makes me cry, though I have been crying on and off all day. But i also makes me smile at the utterly homemade look of this cake, but he loved it, and I loved making it with him, even the unorthodox positioning of the candles. His idea.<br />
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I don't know why this day is so hard, or why it is still so hard after he's been dead almost eleven years. I guess the only way to understand it is that the greater the love, the greater the grief. I guess I should be glad that not every day is like this. Most days I can live a pretty normal existence. We can talk about Leif and our memories of him, usually without crying or tearing up. But not today. Today has been rough. It IS rough.<br />
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What I really wanted to do today was light his candle and look at photos of him, just "be with him" even if only in my mind. But real life with responsibilities and appointments crowds that out, and all I have are the moments of tears, a few minutes to find a photo to post, and write a few words.<br />
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I miss the boy. I miss the man. I miss my son. If he were here, I could wish him a happy birthday. Now, I can say it, I can write it, but where is he? No longer with us. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-83982645558556997602018-09-30T00:08:00.001-04:002018-09-30T00:08:25.494-04:00A Photo of Baby Leif from Long Ago<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UTKZebDPnCY/W7BDthsDJFI/AAAAAAAAY0c/3dTMNkfI4EM8Q45SsGmLXgPUQ2Cl8Y2eQCLcBGAs/s1600/Leif%2Bon%2BBlue%2BBlanket%2BKS%2BSpring%2B1975%2BPICT0159%2BBlog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="288" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UTKZebDPnCY/W7BDthsDJFI/AAAAAAAAY0c/3dTMNkfI4EM8Q45SsGmLXgPUQ2Cl8Y2eQCLcBGAs/s1600/Leif%2Bon%2BBlue%2BBlanket%2BKS%2BSpring%2B1975%2BPICT0159%2BBlog.jpg" /></a></div>
He was so bright-eyed, so curious, so eager. He was so small here, and yet, for his age, so big. This was taken in the spring of 1975 when he was only about four or five months old. I don't think I've seen this photo since it was taken. I scanned it from an old slide that's been in a box for all those years. It's both a joy and a sorrow to see photos of him I didn't remember existed. So many memories. So hard to know he's been gone for over ten years.<br />
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Babies work so hard, trying to learn to control their muscles, raise the heads, roll over, crawl, walk, get things into their mouths. What ambition it takes. What makes them do it?<br />
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Leif did it all early. He walked at ten months. He talked early, especially for a boy. He grew fast. He took in his environment and figured things out at amazing speed.<br />
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Right now, I just want to look into those baby eyes and say, "I love you. How I wish I could tell you that again in person."</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-41904266617572590112018-09-10T23:59:00.000-04:002018-09-10T23:59:00.393-04:00Leif's Political Views in 2004 Fit Today<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2NyQIck6j44/W5c7aCFXQvI/AAAAAAAAYjo/KbwWYoHebl0wOz7ckOWdtX_9-52VfaZ2gCLcBGAs/s1600/Leif4-10-2004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="288" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2NyQIck6j44/W5c7aCFXQvI/AAAAAAAAYjo/KbwWYoHebl0wOz7ckOWdtX_9-52VfaZ2gCLcBGAs/s1600/Leif4-10-2004.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">From: "Leif Garretson"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Date: Wed Aug 18, 2004</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">My main concern with Bush, other than the fact that he is alienating our allies, [is that he] has made us even less secure by making even more of the world<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>hate us than already did. I considered myself a Republican previously because I am against big government and as a libertarian basically believe that the government that governs<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>least governs best. In past years I had a much greater fear that the Democrats would rob my freedom than the Republicans. But in the wake of the Patriot act I am far more concerned by the Republicans, which have become so radically right wing that it is beginning to resemble the beginnings of Fascism. If the Democrats<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>are allowed to get too much power we slip closer to becoming Soviet Russia. We have now tilted the other way and are leaning in the direction of Fascist Germany. Granted, we are not there yet, but the price of Liberty is eternal vigilance and if you wait till it gets 'too bad' it will be too late. It must be stopped now while it can still be done without a more dramatic measure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">I also find the war in Iraq unconscionable.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The idea that<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>we are protecting our selves by sending over a thousand Americans to die and 5 times that many to be wounded<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>along with 50,000 Iraqis at the expense of 4 billion with a B dollars a month to me is nothing short of criminal. Those man and woman, and those dollars, should be here at home improving the problems we have within our own borders. The war has accomplished nothing other than to make lot of Bush and Cheney cronies very rich and to get lot of far more deserving men killed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">This pattern is extremely disturbing, with our civil rights and privacy eroding to make way for a Government that more closely resembles the Mafia than a democracy. Combine that with laws that are nothing short of a prelude to Big Brother, a Republican media that tells us that to dissent is unAmerican and we should all just shut up and hail<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the flag no matter how wrong those waving it are, and I am forced to conclude that the greatest enemy of American Freedom and Prosperity is not Al'Qaeda it is the Bush administration.</span></div>
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I was looking for another file on my computer this evening and came across this email he wrote in August 2018. He wrote it to his brother and me in response to questions from a BBC journalist about why some Republicans were leaving the party. I hadn't read it in the intervening 14 years, but I think he would have a lot to say about the current government and state of affairs. He was a PASSIONATE defender of civil rights, freedom of speech, and the Constitution. At this point, he had only been out of the Army for a little over a year, where he was a machine gunner in the infantry. He was a gun owner who thought the NRA had gone way too far. I think his comments are so apropos to our country today. He would have a lot to say, an IMPASSIONED lot to say, if he were still with us, and he would be defending Colin Kaepernick. I frequently find myself wishing he were here to talk with.<br />
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The photo was taken about two months after he wrote the email, in Kansas.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1157714885947624270.post-42477652705647035912018-09-04T23:05:00.000-04:002018-09-04T23:05:33.504-04:00A little More Alex Silliness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D3uNdYhvq6k/W49GR1W0jmI/AAAAAAAAYeE/YzBj-OrPTy4rVJ1Hw1Jkxkvgif1l18GwgCLcBGAs/s1600/Leif%2BSilly%2BKrumkake%2BMSK%2BHat%2BKS%2B12-24-1997%2BWeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="212" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D3uNdYhvq6k/W49GR1W0jmI/AAAAAAAAYeE/YzBj-OrPTy4rVJ1Hw1Jkxkvgif1l18GwgCLcBGAs/s1600/Leif%2BSilly%2BKrumkake%2BMSK%2BHat%2BKS%2B12-24-1997%2BWeb.jpg" /></a></div>
I continue to find old photos I'd never seen before as I scan my mother's slides, and even ours, which I must have seen at least once years ago. This one was one my mother took at her house on Christmas Eve 1997. Leif took her fuzzy black winter hat and put it on and was acting silly, as he loved to do. That thing he is holding is one end of a Norwegian cookie called a "Krumkake" that we traditionally had for Christmas.<br />
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A month later, he enlisted in the army. Although we continued to share Christmases together, this was the last one before he was gone for several years. He had been married for a couple of years at this time, and is wearing his wedding ring. He is also wearing the silver double-sided ax necklace we brought him from Greece. It was a favorite of his, and I still have it.<br />
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I miss his silliness, his laugh, his smile, his jokes.</div>
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