Seven Years and Seven Months - and Missing Him on Veteran's Day

I don't know whether it's because of Veteran's Day or some other unconscious reason, but I've been missing Leif terribly the past two days.

Veteran's Day is so significant because Leif always wanted to serve his country. He wanted to be a pilot but that was denied to him by his poor eyesight. His second choice was to be an Air Force Officer, nonpilot. But that was denied to him because of a failed muscle. His third choice was an army career, but that was denied to him by asthma despite his excellence as a machine gunner.

Being in a soldier, defending his country and his beloved Constitution, was an integral part of his identity. It never left him, even when he was forced into medical retirement from the army after three and a half years of service. It will always be his identity.

Veteran's Day comes this year on the heels of seven years and seven months since he died. It is hard to realize it's been that long. It seems only yesterday he was sitting at my kitchen table, long legs stretched out, talking politics. We still miss him every day, and never know what will trigger an attack of sadness or nostalgia. . . something we see in a movie, something on television, a car like his driving past, someone on a motorcycle, the political process he would have loved to discuss, the new James Bond movie he would have loved to see.

It's hard not being able to share those things with him. It's hard not knowing what to do with what I still have of his things. I finally parted with his bass guitar and his Kramer Floyd Rose guitar. It took me over seven years to do it. My conscious mind knows he isn't coming back for them, but the hidden mind does not accept that. Somewhere in my unconscious it feels deeply wrong and disloyal to sell his prized possessions.

I am proud of Leif's service. Proud that he managed to get through tough infantry basic training on a broken foot. Proud of his tall and soldierly bearing. Proud of his skills. Proud that he persevered even when asthma made it hard for him to breath or run. Proud that he cared about his country. Proud that the studied the Constitution and believed in it, protecting it, from all enemies, foreign and domestic.

I miss you, my son!

Proud of Leif on Veteran's Day

Thinking of Leif on this Veteran's Day, wishing he had been able to have the army career he hoped for instead of being medically retired as a disabled vet, proud of him for his service and his excellence as a machine gunner, proud of him for his devotion to the Constitution.

Three Years

Yesterday, the third anniversary of Leif's death, we went to Bay Pines National Cemetery to visit Leif's niche. It still seems odd to me to say "niche" instead of grave, but it isn't a grave. Why is it that it is important to me to go there on this anniversary, on his birthday, on Veteran's Day, to touch the stone and cry my heart out? I think it's because there is something still acceptable in mourning him openly on those days and in that place. I try to avoid that in other times and places, to live as normally as I can, to be happy when I can, but there is a time for allowing those feelings to have free rein and admit they are still strong.

There is something both infinitely sad and somehow comforting to lean against the stone, my hands on the words, his name, on the marble face of his niche, and allow the tears to flow, something about acknowledging how deeply his death has etched its sadness on our lives, something about being near to the only early remains of our son.

And it is also important after being there, to be able to dry my tears and drive away into the life we live and find life goes on, even if it's harder without him.

I remarked to Peter W. yesterday that if we visited Bay Pines without Leif there, it would be a beautiful place of peace, where we would feel respect for all the veterans buried and inurned there, a sadness for their sacrifice and their families, but we would not experience the heart-wrenching grief that we do now.

About this time on April 10th three years ago, we were at Leif's apartment. We had drive there with dread and hope, more dread and fear, but still a tiny spark of hope, after no one could get any contact with him in over 24 hours. It was three years ago today that we found his lifeless body, and the nightmare of grief began. We have come a long way since then, climbed back up the well of dark sadness into a happier place, and for that I am grateful, as I am grateful for Leif. Life will never be the same, but it can be good . . . not as good as if he were still with us, but never-the-less, good, and we will respect our grief when the feelings come, and go on and smile when it passes.

Another Month, Another Veteran's Day, Another Thanksgiving

November is a month full of memories and sometimes it makes me very sad. November 9th marked 31 months since Leif died. November 10th 31 months since we found him. November 11th, Veterans Day, when I usually like to go to the cemetery, but like last year, this year we were on a trip. And then there's Thanksgiving, which is the hardest one. I won't have either of my sons with us for Thanksgiving, so it will just be three of us, Peter W., my mother and me. I'm thankful beyond measure for both of them, and for Peter A. and my grandchildren, and all the other good things in my life, but that doesn't stop me from being sad that Leif will not be with us, that I won't anticipate his car coming up the drive with the stereo booming.

We took a marvelous two week tour of Egypt. It was a terrific trip and I very much enjoyed it, but both Peter and I couldn't help but wonder what Leif would have thought of all the wonders we saw, whether he would have enjoyed the trip, what it would have been like to discuss the history of Egypt with him.

Traveling is good for me. It mostly distracts me from the sadness of his loss, but coming home is always bittersweet. It's good to be home again, a place I love, but I'm always faced with the fact that he's not there and not going to be there, yet all around me in this house are things he did, things he gave me, and things that he left behind when he died. I want to remember him. I want those things around me, yet it still hurts to know we had all that together and now there's nothing there but memories and these things.

My browser home page has a slide show of albums I have on Picasa and two of those are of the thousand-some photos I've posted on this blog, so when I open my browser, I am treated to photos that flash by in some random order chosen by Picasa, and sometimes it makes me smile to see his baby face or a cute photo from his childhood. Sometimes it catches me unaware and a sadness hits me, but I'm always grateful for the photos, glad we took so many.

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This photo of me and Leif was taken in Munich, Germany in May 1978. He was three years old. It was apparently not processed well because over time it developed yellow streaks in it. I did the best I could to rescue it with PhotoShop. It was a good trip, that one to Munich. I'd love to be able to go there again with Leif as an adult. He'd love it . . . especially the beer.

Veteran's Day - Honor, Pride and Tears

Our family has so much to be proud of on Veteran's Day. Leif's father served our country for 24 years in the army. His brother, Peter Anthony, is in his 17th year of service in the Air Force (21st if you count his four years as a cadet at the Air Force Academy). My brother,Donovan, served in the army in the late 1960s. His son Rick served in the navy and his son Timothy served in the army. My brother-in-law DeWayne served in the army.

And Leif served as an infantry machine gunner, from January 1998 until May 2001, when he was medically boarded out of the service due to asthma that was somehow caused by his service and exacerbated by it when he was required to be out in freezing temperatures or to overexert carrying his incredibly heavy gear and gun. This was a terrible blow to him, but he was proud of his service and identified with it, considered himself a warrior, and was fiercely dedicated to his oath to uphold the United States Constitution.

Today was a day of honor, pride and tears, honor for Leif and all the military members of our family and nation, pride for their service, and tears for those who have fallen, whether in battle, because of their service, or otherwise.

Yesterday there was a piece on television about servicemembers and veterans committing suicide, and how the rate has climbed precipitously. Leif could be counted among those numbers, a medically retired, disabled veteran who never found his place in the civilian world.

Today we went to Bay Pines National Cemetery where Leif is inurned. I wore one of his dog tags, which you can see in the photo above. I knew I would break down, and I did. Peter and I both cried our hearts out for our lost son. I kept saying, "I want him back!"

I know that's impossible. I know the truth. But that's how I feel, and I'll never stop feeling that way. I miss him so!

I suppose that a grief counselor would say that I'm in the denial stage, but I would deny that. I know Leif is dead. I know he isn't coming back. I don't say it can't be so. But I also don't want to let him go.

I ran my hands over the stone, over his niche. I leaned against it and cried and cried.

Leif's friend and former girlfriend, Donna, came there today, too. She placed a single red rose for him and cried with us. Thank you, Donna, for caring and for honoring him.
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The photo of Leif at the top of this post was probably taken in 1998, before he was promoted to Specialist 4, before the problems with asthma set in.