Today would have been his 51st birthday.

We miss Leif every day, and at any unexpected time, something can open the door to feeling his loss and the grief of knowing he's never coming back. and that he suffered. But human beings mark time with dates; birthdays, anniversaries of significant events, holidays, and those are particularly hard. Why should one day be any different from another? Should or not, they are. Remembering Leif's birthday not only brings thoughts of his birth and babyhood, but all the years he lived, marked with birthdays and celebrations. Birthdays mark the years completed in our lives, a measure of our age and the length of our time upon the earth. 

Leif's birthday will always be special to us, for the gift of his life, and for the memories of the birthday parties and milestones he passed. Some years seem to be more poignant and sad than others. Today seems to have hit us hard. Our family, and our hearts, will forever have a huge hole in them. 

This photo was taken when Leif was a high school senior, fall 1992, and was one of his senior portraits, taken by Blaker Studio Royal in Manhattan, Kansas. They liked it so much they make a huge enlargement of it to display. I wish we had it. The other pose they took is beautiful, too. He was such an unusual young man. At that time, luxurious long hair was not common on men, yet he chose to embrace it. He also had his own taste in clothing, which was (except for the ubiquitous jeans) different from his fellow high school students. Here, he's wearing a green silk shirt. He wore chain link jewelry (like chain mail) he made himself. He wore unusual colors, and a long, black leather coat. As a high school senior, he was working and also taking classes at Kansas State University at the same time. He was one of the first to have a cell phone, a little Motorola flip phone. Like one of his friends later said, he was always at the forefront. 

Later, male pattern baldness started to remove that glorious hair, so he shaved his head and grew a beard. He was still handsome, and still the individualist. 

He had dreams he never realized. He had loves that left him bereft. He had ambitions that didn't come to fruition, and health challenges that limited him. Yet, he served his country in the US Army, graduated from college, and saw more of the world than most people ever will. 

We are thankful he was part of our lives.

 

He would have been 50 years old today

He would have been 50 years old today. He was 29 in this photo (one of my favorites), happy and "going places" until shortly after this when the woman he loved suddenly left him. He only made it to 33. He has now been gone from us for half as long as he lived, and still, everyday, he is a part of our lives. What would he look like at 50? What would his life have been like if he had been able to get past the horrible years he had in 2007 and the beginning of 2008? What might he have found for purpose? He had so much to give, and nowhere to give it. No one to love, at least not in a romantic relationship. Could he have overcome his terrible asthma? I can't imagine how horrible it must have been not to be able to breathe.

We will miss him, his boisterous "gentle giant" presence, his bear hugs, his sense of humor, his infectious laugh, his patient ability to explain things, and so much more, every day of our lives. I hope others remember him, as so many did right after he died in 2008. I hope they still think of him. I don't think he ever really knew how many people cared for him. I want him back.

 

He would have been 49 years old today

 

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. 

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.

He would have been 48 today - on Gasparilla

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.

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." 

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! 

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?

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.

It would have been his 46th birthday

 

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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.

Taken January 28, 1976 in the old stone house on Moro Street, Manhattan, Kansas. With him are his dad and his brother. 

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.

Today Would Have Been His 44th Birthday

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Happy Birthday, another year missing you

Today (January 28th) would have been Leif's 42nd birthday, if he  had lived. I spent the day doing something he would have enjoyed, going to the Tampa Gasparilla pirate festival, Tampa's pirate version of Mardi Gras.

It was just his kind of day, boats, a pirate ship, wenches in sexy pirate costumes, a parade, cannons firing, plenty of beer being consumed. His kind of party.

I don't know whether he ever went to Gasparilla during the few years he lived in this area. If so, I didn't find any photos of it on his camera or computer. It he didn't, it's a shame. Too bad he didn't belong to a krewe. He would have been a good member and could have lobbed beads at the crowds with phenomenal strength and aim.

His first persona in the Society for Creative Anachronism was a "Viking pirate," and because he was stylish and debonair, he was known as the "GQ pirate."

I wish that GQ pirate had been there with us today. I would have loved to see him swashbuckling around.

This photo was taken in Manhattan, Kansas in 1993 when he was 18 years old.

Another birthday passed

January 28th would have been Leif's 41st birthday if he were still alive. The last birthday he had was January 28th, 2008, and he spent it with us. In the years since he died, I've wanted to spend his birthday with Peter, remembering him, doing something he would have enjoyed, but several times that was not to be, as I ended up having to spend the day with Mom at the hospital or rehab, or at a doctor's appointment.

This time, we were able to go to the Beach House Restaurant on Anna Maria Island for lunch, and remember how much he loved the sea. It was a gray, rainy, foggy day, not the sunshine we had hoped for, but we were together, and we talked of Leif, his life, his death, and how much he is still a daily part of our lives. I got through the day okay, but cried myself to sleep. I still miss him so much!

I would have written a blog post on his birthday but somehow I just couldn't deal with it. I didn't want to put into words what I was feeling, partly because I wanted avoid the pain of it, and partly because it seemed I really didn't have anything new to say.

Peter looked at photos of Leif on this blog, and made one of them his profile photo on Facebook, once of my all time favorites of the two of them, when they were walking in the woods in Charlottesville, and Leif was looking so surprised and cute on his dad's back. I chose this birthday photo partly because it, also, was taken in Charlottesville, on Leif's second birthday, January 28, 1977. He looks so little and cuddly. It was an almond cake, homemade, not fancy, but tasty. We were in the dining area of our kitchen in the townhouse we rented.

It's going to soon be eight years since Leif died. I can't fathom how it can have been that long. It seems like yesterday he was sitting at our kitchen table.

So much is happening in the world right now that would interest him, movies, television shows, world affairs, politics. He would be so interesting to talk with, to share with. I miss that chance. I miss his text messages. I miss his laugh. I miss his bear hugs. I miss wishing him happy birthday.

His Favorite Holiday of the Year

New Years Eve is always tinged with nostalgia and a bit of sadness along with the anticipation of the new year, because it was Leif's favorite holiday. I don't know why, whether it was because of the party atmosphere so unlike other holidays, or the fireworks, which he loved, or something else. He wanted to be celebrating with friends or in a crowd, and most of all, wanted someday to be in Times Square in NYC to watch the ball drop. He never made it. This is our eighth New Years without him.

Our family didn't have any special New Year's traditions, and usually didn't take pictures then. We did stay up to see the new year come in, but that was about it. The most memorable New Years Eve we ever had was when we were living in Sachsen bei Ansbach, Germany, up on the hill where we could look all over the valley and see seven villages. That particular night, there was new fallen snow and a full moon, so everything shown in a soft light. We were watching this from our upstairs veranda, when the fireworks started. We saw the fireworks from all seven villages. How I wish we'd had the video cameras we have today. We don't even have any photos of this magical event. Leif loved it. He was only four or five years old. Perhaps that's what got him started loving New Years.

This photo was taken in January 1977. I no longer remember whether it shows him working with a puzzle he got for Christmas, or whether it was later in the month and was a birthday present. He would have been two years old that January. Bright little fellow that he was, he was already working puzzles. This one was of Oscar the Grouch. It was taken in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Thoughts on Leif's Fortieth Birthday

If Leif had lived, January 28, 2015 would have been his fortieth birthday. It will be over in just a minute, before I finish this post. I've thought of him all day. We didn't spent the day the way we wanted to. We wanted to go to the cemetery to honor him, but this was the day the house painter decided to show up to finish the job, so we were stuck. It was also the day to deal with other issues that came up unexpectedly, so both of us were sad, both because of Leif, and because we didn't get to go to Bay Pines.

It seems that for several years, something has always come up on his birthday to keep us from going there, and that makes me feel bad, as though I can't manage to take time on his birthday to be there. It's not that I think he's "there" wondering why. It's that I want to go there for me. I want to spend time away from other distractions. Yet it seems that nearly every year since the year after he died, something else has distracted us on his birthday. Even my computer wouldn't publish this post and I had to copy it to a different browser.

We talked this morning about Leif and my father, and how they were alike and different, and how I wished Leif had lived long enough to have a family. He lived thirteen years less than my father did.

Leif's birthday was a happy day for me. I was so glad he was born and part of our family. He brought so much into our lives. I looked at a lot of photos of him today, at all the things we did together over the years.

But the last couple of days I have found myself haunted by the same old questions that have haunted me from the day we found his body. Why? What happened? I still cannot fathom it. The detective thought it was accidental. The medical examiner that did the autopsy thought it was a suicide because it was a contact wound. But I still can't even understand how things transpired, how the gun was where it was on the counter, as though he had been standing by it and dropped it, yet there was no blood on the counter.

I still don't understand how someone who had been carrying on an animated email discussion with several people during the evening, all about designing the perfect smart watch, and who was looking up a German band online and sending requests to Amazon to get their music, who went home with his best friend and was socializing him and another man until the wee hours of the morning, would suddenly not be around to get that music.

I still don't understand why someone contemplating suicide would pay his rent, put gas in his car, get new shoes, a new video game, and a new gun.

Could it have been an accident? As I've written before, it's hard to believe that of someone as well trained in firearms as he was. Surely he wouldn't have been stupid enough to put a loaded gun to his head and play with the trigger? On the other hand, he was drunk and high. Who knows what kind of stupid game he might have played with his brand new gun. Maybe the trigger pulled a little easier than he thought.

Could it have been murder? By whom? The door was bolt locked. Someone would have had to have the key, and his keys were sitting on his desk. And why would they leave the weapon? Who would have had a motive? The detective did not find anything suspicious.

I know it's not about logic. I still think the things I know point to suicide, that the things that happened after March 22nd became too much, and maybe he made a spur of the moment decision to do it.

Would I feel any better if I knew? Probably not. It won't bring him back. But at least the eternal questioning would be over.

I find myself going from smiling at photos of him I love, to crying over his death and missing him. I am grateful for those that remembered him on his birthday, my sisters, Nikko, cousins. I don't want any of us to forget him, that he lived, that we loved him, and he loved us.

Leif's 39th Birthday

Thirty-nine years ago I first held Leif in my arms, a big, strong baby, who was a far more beautiful child than this picture shows . . . but I have so few of me and my baby son.

Thirty-nine years ago, this was such a happy day. Our Leif Ashley was born at Irwin Army Hospital, Fort Riley, Kansas.

How I wish he were here with us to celebrate his birthday. Every birthday since his death has been hard for me, glad to remember the joy of his coming into the world, so very hard to realize that his life ended at 33, and these birthdays do not mark another year older, do not bring a celebration, do not see him blowing out candles or opening a present. Hard to realize he will never do those things again.

This is his sixth birthday since his death. Some five years ago, I decided what I wanted to do for his birthday was to do something he would have enjoyed, in his honor, to make the day worthwhile, to seize the life we have and remember him.

And although Peter W. would prefer not to go there, as it is a sad reminder, I would like to visit Bay Pines Cemetery on Leif's birthday. I've wanted to just go there and sit and think or read, and just be.

And, I wanted time to look at photos and savor memories, remember the thirty-three years of his life, his laugh, his smile, his bear hugs, his rascally eyes.

My plans to do any of these things have mostly come to naught. Several of them have been spent taking care of my mother's medical needs. Like today; I spent a total of 12 hours either with her or taking care of things for her. Then I still had to take care of things at home. Now I'm exhausted and it's nearly midnight, and I haven't had any time to spend with my Leif.

It may sound foolish to say I want to spend time with him, but even though I know it's one-sided, even though I know he isn't there, I want to spend the time thinking of him, remembering him. It feels wrong and hurts my heart that I can't take that day "with" him . . . at least in my heart.

I'd like to wish him a Happy Birthday, though he is not here to celebrate it with me. I'd like to wish that somewhere, he is happy, though I do not really believe he is still a part of the universe in any discreet and personal sense.

I would not want my grief and the way I miss him to make him unhappy or sad. He had enough of that in his short life. I would want him to be happy, to laugh, to smile, to find the joy he lost.

Happy 39th birthday, my son.

Leif being silly on his grandmother's birthday

He could be so funny, so silly, when he felt comfortable and let go. He could be impish, a rascal, but only when he felt comfortable with those he was with.

This photo was taken on July 18, 2002, in his paternal grandmother's nursing home room in Manhattan, Kansas. It was her last birthday. She was 82 and dying of gangrene, but we had a little family birthday party for her, and Leif wanted to bring some amusement and smiles to the occasion, so he took two of the birthday party hats and made horns out of them. We teased him about being devilish.

My mother took this photo, which I hadn't seen until I started going through a huge box of photos she'd had packed up for years. It's too bad his eyes are closed, too bad she didn't catch the cute dimpled smile. We'll just have to imagine it.

It's so hard to believe that less than six years later he was dead. 

Leif at Twenty - Handsome and Hopeful

It was so very long ago, April 4, 1995 when this photo was taken. Leif was twenty years old and at the height of his handsomeness. He was still exuberant and happy. He still had hair. :) He was slender and athletic, and about finishing his sophomore year at Kansas State University.

Just when I don't think I'll see a new photo of Leif (or Alex as he was still called when this photo was taken), someone brings me new ones. My sister, Leif's beloved Aunt Lannay, brought several photos to me in March that I had never seen before. I was so glad to get them.

This photo was taken at my mother's house on Pottawatomie Street in Manhattan, Kansas. We were there for the "April birthday dinner." Mom would make a big dinner for as many of the family as could come, sometimes as many as sixteen, to celebrate all the birthdays in that month. In April, the birthday "boys" were Peter W. (Leif's dad) and his cousin Tim. The original of this photo has Tim and his sister Holly in it.

Those were good times. Leif really enjoyed those family togethers, all the conversation, bantering, and Mom's excellent cooking . . . and I think he and Tim liked the peach fritters with foamy sauce the best of all.

I love seeing a photo of Leif that looks like this, happy, healthy and optimistic, joyful, even. It's so much better than the withdrawn and depressed person he became. He had hope then. You can see it in his eyes.

Leif's 38th Birthday

It would have been Leif's 38th birthday today, had he lived. We would have had him come for dinner because he liked to have me make his favorite foods. I think he would have had peach fritters with foamy sauce for sure. He wasn't a big cake lover. Like all the men in our family, he preferred pie, but pie after peach fritters could be a bit much.

Every birthday with him was precious and special. We didn't miss many in his life, only the ones when he was in the army. A long time ago in this blog I posted a photo of each of his birthdays for which we had pictures, but of course not all the pictures. How I wish we had better ones!

This photo was taken the day before his second birthday, at Rocking Horse Country Day School in Charlottesville, Virginia. The kids baked cupcakes and had them with their lunch. Leif, ever the little experimenter, was quite interested in the texture of the cupcake and had to stick his finger in it.

He was still a little blondie at that point. I wonder why it is that many children are blond when they are small and their hair darkens as they get older. By the time Leif was in junior high school, his hair was very dark brown.

In the background you can see the "art wall." Rocking Horse Country Day School had a wall that the kids could draw and color on, post their art projects on, and in general do all the things kids would LIKE to do to walls but aren't supposed to. I thought it was a brilliant idea. They were very good about doing their drawing and scribbling only on THAT wall and not the others. I know it would be hard to give kids a wall like that at home, but maybe hanging a whiteboard or something where they could draw and scribble on the "wall" to their hearts content would help keep them from doing it elsewhere.

Leif hadn't been going to this school for long when this was taken. It was unusual for a day school to take a child that young, but there were several two-year-olds there, probably because their parents needed to find a place they could thrive, too. It was a Montessori school, and it was wonderful for Leif. He was so bright that no matter how much attention and enrichment I gave him at home, it wasn't enough. He was frustrated. When we found the school, he took to it as though he had been searching for it. I will always be grateful to Linda J. for accepting him there.

Today I wish my son a happy birthday. He's not here to celebrate it, but I will remember his birthday, this year and every year.

This Corona's for You

It's hard to believe it has been so long since I've posted on this blog. Life has overtaken me. We were gone on a 17 day cruise, during which I had little internet access. Never-the-less, I did write a blog post and said to publish it . . . and somehow, it just disappeared into the ether and was gone. I doubt that I can ever reconstruct it.

We thought about Leif a lot on the cruise, knowing how much he had enjoyed the two Caribbean cruises with us. There were so many things we remarked on that we know he would have enjoyed.

He would have loved Cabo San Lucas, "party town," probably would have liked to have taken a long vacation there. In honor of him, and of his love for beer, we had ice cold Coronas at Tequila Shark overlooking the harbor. There I am, red-faced and sweaty from a long, hot walk, enjoying that beer and wishing I was buying one for him, too.

Since we've been back, I've celebrated my fifth Mother's Day and birthday without him, and yes, I still miss him, still wish he were driving up the driveway with the bass thumping, coming in to give me a bear hug.

Life should not be so busy that there is no time to reminisce here, no time to write a post of memories that come to me or thoughts I want to record. I still want to write about destiny, about honor and suicide, about little things that come to mind as well.

But for now, here's to YOU, Leif. That Corona's for you.

The Emotional Importance of Objects

I've written before about the emotional significance of things that once belonged to our deceased loved ones. I was reflecting on why certain ones are more important that others and I think symbolically, the ones that we associate with them due to our memories are the hardest ones to part with...if we ever do.

There are some of Leif's things that I don't use or see every day that I can't bring myself to part with; his photo albums, his wallet, his army uniforms and dog tags, for instance. There are also things I use every day that I don't want to lose.

A couple of times in the past few months I've been saddened to think I'd have to get a new cell phone. The one I have is almost five years old and it needed a new battery and had some sound problems. I didn't want to let it go because Leif chose it for me and brought it to me in July 2007 in a cute gift bag from t-Mobile. Although I paid for it, it was yet another example of Leif's importance in helping us with the technology of our lives. The phone I had before that had poor reception at our house, and he knew this one would be better.

I didn't want a new phone because this one I associated with Leif, but not just because he brought it to me. It was the phone on which we had so many text exchanges, sometimes whole conversations. Every day after I went swimming, I would check this phone for messages from him, and most days, it seemed, there was one. Often in the evenings he would send me messages and we'd talk about anything from politics to what was going on in our lives. I still have the last messages from him on the phone. I don't ever want to take them off. He's not there, but his last text messages are.

Leif had one of the first generation iPhones, always the one to adopt new technology. He loved it, and when he died, it was valuable for me to use the contacts he had on it for notifications to friends, his employer, and others I would otherwise not have known how to contact. I didn't want to switch carriers and pay the monthly data fees to use it as a phone, so I terminated his account and continued to use it as an iPod Touch for over three years. It was somehow a comfort to me to have it, hold it, use it.

Then one day not long ago, it froze. I couldn't get it to work no matter what I did. So I "restored" it to factory settings, thinking I could then restore the contents from a backup, but it didn't work. Then Peter dropped it on the metal rail of our bed and cracked the screen. I took it to the "Genius Bar" at the Apple Store to ask how I could get it working again. They said it was useless, in common parlance, "bricked."

I know it won't work forever, but it made me really sad to lose the use of it. I was determined to make it function again. My nephew, Rick, encouraged me to try jailbreaking it to see if that would help. Since it was long past warranty, I decided to try it. The results were frustrating. It would now at least get to the opening screen, but I couldn't get it to do anything further. My niece, Brenda, figured out that if you made screen input fast enough, you could get it to do one thing more . . . and if you were really fast, maybe a few more steps. We tried a lot of things and finally it worked for a few fast steps before freezing. Then the only way to make it work was to turn it off and back on again. Not satisfactory.

I couldn't help but wonder what Leif would have thought of to try, whether he would have had it working again in a couple of hours. I spent many hours over many days, determined but losing hope. I still don't really know what made the difference, but it's working quite well now, although it's anyone's guess how long. I'm glad. It makes me feel better, somehow, that it's working and that I can use it. It seems a little silly how something this small can make me feel a connection that really isn't there.

At his last birthday celebration on January 27, 2008, I took a couple of photos of him talking on his iPhone. I think he was taking to Justin about how to install a newer version of the Mac OS on the laptop he'd bought used from Justin. I was wishing he was paying more attention to us than his techie toys, but he was engrossed, so I took pictures. Today I decided to make the opening screen on his iPhone be one of those photos. The first photo is the unlock screen, which shows the photo in an app that gives a contact phone number in case I lose the phone and someone responsible and kind wants to return it (I removed the number for posting on this blog) and the second is just the photo alone.

There's something good about having this photo on his phone. Something that brings back memories of a good birthday evening spent together. Something that shows him using the phone I now hold in my hand, even with it's screen cracked in a spider web pattern in the upper right.

Tomorrow it will be four years since we last saw Leif alive. On April 10 it will be four years since we found him dead. It still seems as though I should expect him to come riding up to our door and take this phone out of his pocket to check his messages. I want him to.

Leif's 37th Birthday - The Fourth Since His Death

Today would be Leif's 37th birthday, had he lived. It's hard to believe that four years have passed since we shared a birthday with him, and even harder to imagine that it was 37 years ago that he was born. I spent hours looking at all the photos (over a thousand) I've posted of him on this blog in the three years and nine months I've been writing it. He had an amazingly varied life in those 33 years he lived.

On that day, January 28, 1975, when he came into the world, we were so full of hope for him. He was healthy and strong, and proved to be bright and curious as well. Every birthday was a time to celebrate his life, and though he is no longer here to celebrate it with us, I want to do something special today, to honor it, to honor him. No birthday cake . . . or birthday pie, as the men in our family prefer. No birthday fritters, a treat Leif loved. Just a day trip to a favorite place we once spent time with him, and time to remember.
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This photo was taken of Leif and his father, Peter W. Garretson, on January 30, 1975 at the Irwin Army Community Hospital, Fort Riley, Kansas.

A Christmas "Visit"

I'm sitting here listening to Vangelis, a composer Leif loved, beginning with the end titles from Blade Runner, one of his favorite movies, and thinking of him. It's hard to believe I haven't posted on this blog since December 16th. Each of the days since then we have thought of him, talked of him, missed him, remembered good times with him. We were blessed with family around us, Peter Anthony, our granddaughters, my mother, friends, who kept us busy, happy except for moments when a longing broke through, kept us focused on life and the present so much better than we would have been if we had been alone. 

Even this fourth Christmas without Leif doesn't feel right, though. He should have been with us, enjoying all the fun, the foods he loved. He would have participated in the lively political and historical discussions with fervor, laughed at the Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert shows, talked about all the latest technology, and eaten too much potato lefse and Berliner Kranse. He would have loved the movies, played the games.

He could not be with us, but we went to the cemetery, which was decked out in wreaths and flowers, on December 28. It's a beautiful place, but a place full of both peace and sadness.

I cried, as I always do, and was glad for the long, tight hugs from Peter and Peter Anthony, so thankful they were with me. It still hurts to look at that marble slab with his name on it and know that all that's left of his earthly remains are behind it, yet I want to go there, to acknowledge him in that small symbolic way.

On New Years Eve, I watched the ball drop in Times Square and looked up at the stars in the night sky and thought of him.

I thought again how passionate he would be about the political campaign, wondered as I always do what we might have done to keep him with us.

But this year, more than the past, I was able to embrace the good memories and cherish them without always dissolving into sadness . . . though missing him will always be there. I missed buying him gifts, too. I thought about it when I was wrapping all the others. It still doesn't seem right not to have them for him.

It will be like that when his birthday comes at the end of this month, too.

A Day Like Any Other?

My friend and neighbor, whose son committed suicide a couple of years before Leif asked me a few weeks ago, just before the anniversary of her son's death, "Why is it that those days are so hard? Aren't they just a day like any other?"

I answered her that they aren't just a day like any other because humans mark time. They have calendars and a way to measure the passage of time. We spend our whole lives measuring time and its passage, knowing what day it is, what hour, what month, what year, knowing what we are supposed to do or celebrate on a particular day, knowing when the birthdays and anniversaries come, when the holidays arrive. It's only natural that the day something as momentous and life-changing as the death of one's child happens will be one we will continue to remember, not just as the day it happened, but each calendar day throughout the years that falls on the same month and day, another year having passed.

We note or celebrate the passage of a another years since our last birthday, another wedding anniversary for a year gone by, and the birthdays of our deceased child will still come. We will still calculate how old they would be if they had lived. We will remember the day of our child's death and each year on that day we will commemorate it in our own way, whether only in our hearts and minds, or with something more concrete.

Today my sister Sherie brought beautiful plants from her and my mother, and a lovely bouquet from my sister, Lannay, in remembrance of Leif's death three years ago. Three years ago today he died, though we did not find his body until April 10th. My mind goes over again and again those hours when none of us knew where he was or what had happened to him, thinking about his lifeless body lying in his kitchen, cold, gone.

It still seems as though he could come driving up to my door, still get out and say "silly Mommy," and give me a big hug. It still seems as though he should be coming here for dinner and to watch a movie, or chatting with me online. I expect it will always seem that way, no matter how real his death is. The mind does not let go of a loved one easily. The heart holds them close forever.

So no, it is not a day like any other. it is a day with a terrible significance, the anniversary of a tragic loss, a day to remember, a day to mourn. But also a day to pick oneself up and dry one's tears and go on with life, grateful for sisters, grateful for each other, Peter and I, grateful for our son and grandchildren, grateful Leif was ours, even for so short a time.