Leif's Birthday

It was a time to remember, to cry, to feel his loss so deeply, a time to share our grief, and time to wish that today, the day that would have been Leif's 35th birthday, we could see him happy, well and successful, not visit his remains at a cemetery. It's a sad form of remembrance, but it feels like the right place to be at this moment, the right commitment to his memory.

It was a beautiful day, the kind he would have loved to be out riding or driving, and oddly enough, when we parked our car at MacDill AFB after we had visited the cemetery, I looked to our right and the next car was a silver Mazda RX-8, the kind of car Leif drove. Such an odd coincidence.

And tonight there is a glorious full moon. Leif loved the moon and stars.

I'm going to drink a beer in his honor tonight and light his special candles, the ones made for us by Darlene and Marcus, and from Peter W's cousins in Heidelberg. It's not like having him here to celebrate, but at least we can remember the day of his birth and be glad he was with us for 33 years, even through our tears at his absence.

It's All Right to be Happy

I was driving along a couple of days ago, thinking of Leif. For some reason, I always think of him when I'm driving alone, and usually it makes me sad. I often talk to him then, though I have no illusion that he is there listening.

It was a gorgeous day, and I realized I was actually feeling happy, even though I was still missing him and thinking of him. The thought came into my head, as though someone had said it, "It's all right to be happy."

That made me think. I realized that a few days earlier, I had been happy on a bike ride, the same kind of happiness I used to feel before Leif died, a real appreciation of the beautiful day. Its not that there hasn't been any happiness since he died. There has, but it hasn't been the same. It's been in some sense subdued, or tinged with the knowledge of Leif's death and the sadness and regret that brings, the feeling of a hole in my heart that is never going to be filled.

These two instances of a real happiness, not weighed down by grief, were a window into what was and what I expect will be. The thought or voice telling me it was all right to be happy was something (me? Leif?) giving me permission to feel it without guilt. I asked myself the question, "What kind of a mother can be happy when her child is dead, particularly the kind of sad death Leif died?"

I think the answer is not simple. It depends on time. It depends upon the mother. It depends upon those around her. It depends upon being able to live through grief and mourning long enough to understand that it will in some sense always be with me, but it doesn't have to overwhelm everything else forever, that time and coming to terms (not peace, terms) with it will allow happiness to shine through, even while understanding that the sadness will still come back at times, and so will the tears. It depends upon the slow appreciation of something I knew all along; all of the good people and things I still have in my life.

I think some people carry grief like a badge, like a new identity, and don't know how to give it up, thinking there is something wrong with them if they do. I remember feeling that I would somehow be a bad mother if I could be happy again after Leif's death, even though I knew that was wrong. Feelings and ways of doing things can become a habit, too. Grieving is emotionally all-consuming at first. It wears off only slowly and slightly at a time, and it is right for the loss one has been dealt. The transition from that encompassing misery to the kind of sadness that comes over one occasionally when one thinks of certain things or is reminded of the loss is neither easy nor a straight path. It twists and turns. It doubles back. It ebbs and then crashes in full force. It was in the same week that I was driving home one night and was overcome by sadness, thinking that Leif would not be here for Christmas, the second one since he died.

I think it will be like this for a long time.

But it is all right to be happy, and I will be glad for the days and hours when happiness comes.

How I wish Leif had been happy, as happy as he was in this picture.

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This photo of Leif was taken in our old stone house in July 2003, when we were all sitting around the dining room table having a great conversation and beer (which Leif brought) in Peter W's German beer steins. His brother, Peter A. was there, and so was Darlene, and Marcus, and Leif's friend Michael. It was a happy evening.

Sadness Amidst the Pretty Colored Lights

I'm very sad tonight. I don't know why it hit me so hard all of a sudden. I think it was driving home from my mother's house at night and seeing all the Christmas lights. I started by telling myself that I could pretend that Leif was still alive, that I could send him a text message or an email, post on his Facebook page. I could pretend he was still living in Tampa and he'd be coming for Christmas. The thought made me smile for a moment or two, even though I knew it was foolishness. Then I started thinking about how denial was one of the stages of grief and wondering whether I had hit that one. I decided I hadn't. I haven't been able to deny Leif's death, no matter how much I might wish to. i haven't done any bargaining with God, either. What good would it do? And I haven't been angry. Why? At whom?

No, I'm just sad. I knew it might hit me sometime during this holiday season. I knew I'd find it hard to deal with Leif not being here, especially without the distraction of grandchildren being here, and without seeing Peter A. and Darlene.

I was talking with Peter W. the other day and saying that since Peter A. was born, I don't think there has been a Christmas that we didn't have more family with us, whether my extended family, or Peter's (when we lived in Germany), or at least one of our sons. The only Christmas that Leif missed (until he died) was the year he was in Bosnia, 1999, and Peter A. wasn't with us, either, but we did have a large family gathering around us in Kansas. So, it's just that one year that we missed seeing both of our sons for Christmas, until now. Peter A. and his family were here last year. This will be the second without either of our sons, but it's vastly different. In 1999, we knew that Leif was alive and serving his country in uniform. He could send email, and we knew we'd get to see him again.

This year, there's no hope of seeing him again, no way to fool myself, no way to make Christmas seem right.

Peter put up a beautiful tree on Sunday, and today he put up the outside lights. They are very pretty, and I do love seeing all the lovely little colored and white lights. Christmas should be a time of happiness, love and hope, but it's hard to feel the same way I used to, hard to realize Leif will not be coming.
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This photo of Peter W. and Leif in front of a toy store in Nurnberg, Germany was taken 32 years ago in December 1977. Leif would be three years old in a month. It was during the holiday season of the one year we lived in Nurnberg, and it was so much fun to walk through the walls of the old city into the heart of town, see the Christkindlmarkt (The Christmas Market) near the Frauenkirche (the cathedral) in the square, have a piece of cake at a bakery, and visit the toy stores. The German toy stores were new to the boys then and they were magical. They loved them! There's nothing like children to make Christmas special. They are still so excited about it, so full of wonder.

Thanksgiving 1985 - Honolulu, Hawaii - Leif at age 10, nearly 11

Today is the second Thanksgiving since Leif died, our second one without him. Last year we went to the DC area and spent Thanksgiving surrounded by Lannay's family, Peter A's family and Rick's family, a large group of warm and loving relatives that made the holiday special and took away the sting of our loss, though it was ever on my mind. I didn't think I could bear to face Thanksgiving here without family last year and I am grateful we had the possibility of so many of us being together. I needed that and they were all so good to us.

We stayed with Rick and Mac, had such a good time with them and their daughters, enjoyed Mac's wonderful Thai food. We celebrated Marcus's eighth birthday there, spent time with Peter A. and Darlene, too, briefly, as they were engrossed in packing to move to India. We enjoyed a terrific Thanksgiving dinner with the whole gang at Lannay's and Doug's house, and I was glad we could take my mother with us to be a part of it.

This year is so different. Rick and Mac are in Germany. Peter and Darlene are in India. That kind of gathering may never be possible again, so I continue to be thankful for it, that it could happen when I needed it most.

Now we will just have three of us for Thanksgiving dinner, Peter W., my mother and me. I always conceived of Thanksgiving as a large family gathering, and for nearly all the years of my life, it was, whether my own birth family sharing our bounty with neighbors, or us having Peter W.'s relatives in Germany come to our house for our feast, or at least the four of us when we lived far away in Japan or Hawaii. Sometimes we went to the army mess hall to be with others. Back in Kansas after Peter W. retired from the army, we all went to my mother's house, where we had from 13-16 people gathered to celebrate. And then, when we moved to Florida, it was the four of us, Peter W., me, mom and Leif.

How I looked forward to Leif's arrival, waiting for his car to drive up the driveway, usually announcing itself with loud music or at least the insistent beat of the bass. I waited for that tall, strong guy to come in the door and give me a big bear hug. That will never happen again, and Thanksgiving will always be saddened by knowing that.

I wish we could have Peter A's family with us, but the expectation of their presence hasn't been there ever, as he hasn't come home for Thanksgiving since he left home and except for last year, we weren't able to travel to be where he was on Thanksgiving, either, sometimes because we needed to be home for Oma (Peter W's mother) and not leave her alone on Thanksgiving, sometimes for Leif, sometimes for my mother, or all three. But except when Leif was in the army, he was always with us on Thanksgiving, always until 2008, so a part of what we came to count on was his presence.

Last year I knew I had a lot to be thankful for but it was hard to feel it. Grief was too new and too acute, only seven months after Leif's death. It was one thing to know I had much to be grateful for; it was another thing to feel grateful when my heart was broken and I was sad and missing Leif, just trying to get through the days without ruining them for others.

This year, I am still sad at times. I still cry for him. I still miss him, but this year I can feel thankful and grateful for my wonderful, loving husband, for my son Peter A., for my grandchildren, for my mother, for my home and my country, for all the experiences I've been blessed to have, the material things I am fortunate enough to own. In so many ways, life is good. I am grateful for my family, my brother and sisters and their families, for my friends, for freedom and freedom from want and hunger. I don't ever want to forget all the good in my life and only concentrate on loss and mourning.

So today I will be thankful, even though I may have some tears in my eyes when the table is set for only three, and I will be thankful for Leif, for my brilliant and handsome son, who taught me much, who I loved, who I had for thirty-three years. I will be grateful for those years, even though they were not enough. I will be grateful for his life, even though it ended too soon.

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This photo of our family was taken in our living room in Honolulu, Hawaii on Thanksgiving Day 1985. Peter A. would be 17 in a month and Leif would be 11 in two months.

Memories of Leif at Siesta Key Beach

So many places we go are associated with memories of Leif. Sometimes it just feels good to remember them. Other times, the sense of loss is painful.

Today we went to Siesta Key Beach just before sunset and stayed until the sun was down and it was dark. It's a lovely time to be there and we were remembering the last time Leif joined us there. We were at the beach with Peter A. and his family, and Leif road his motorcycle down to join us. He gave Darlene a ride on the cycle and they told me that when I wasn't there to see, he did wheelies in the parking lot. He was enjoying riding so much then.

It was good to remember him having a good time, being with all of us.

How I wish he could have ridden his cycle down again today.

Leif and Lightning

We've had a lot of thunderstorms this summer and some spectacular lightning. Yesterday in the wee hours of the morning, about 1:00 a.m. the thunder rolled so long and so hard it was literally shaking things in our house, which is of a sturdy concrete block construction. By 1:30 a.m. it was raining so hard I had never heard any rain that hard. Today, we had more thunderstorms, and it made me think of how much Leif loved thunderstorms. He delighted in the electric displays. Once, when we were living in the old stone house in Manhattan, Kansas, he put a hammock out on the small front porch, strung between two pillars, so that he could lie in it and watch the storm. This probably wasn't the safest thing to do, but Leif wasn't known for seeking the safe route.

One time, he rode his motorcycle up to Aggieville (in Manhattan, Kansas) which was about 3-5 blocks from our house, depending upon which part of Aggieville you were in, and while he was gone, a thunderstorm blew in. Our daughter-in-law, Darlene, wanted me to call Leif and tell him to come home. She found the storm frightening, as I guess many people who don't live in areas of the country where they have thunderstorms often do. I laughed and told her that Leif would think I was crazy if I called him and told him to come home in a thunderstorm and that he knew enough about them to get inside. She was still concerned, so I told her she could call him, and she did. He was both touched and amused, but he didn't come home in the storm, which was for the best. He shouldn't have been out in it, so he stayed put with some friends in Aggieville and came home hours later after the storm was long past.

He would have enjoyed the opportunity to do some time-lapse photography of lightning, but he didn't have either the equipment or a safe place to do it.
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This photo is from the NOAA National Severe Storms Laboratory image collection: NOAA Photo Library

He's a part of so many conversations . . .

Leif is so much a part of us. Almost anywhere we go, we think of him. If we are at a restaurant, we comment on what he would have ordered (lobster, if it was on the menu!). If movies come out, we know what he would have been eagerly waiting to see and how he would have talked about them from every angle, acting, story, special effects. He would have been anxious to see the new Star Trek movie, Terminator: Salvation, and X-Men Origins: Wolverine. He would have been vitally interested in what's transpiring with our American auto manufacturers, the political scene, the appointment of Judge Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court. We would have had stimulating conversations on every one of them, and when we talk about them now, we include his ideas, "Leif would have said," or "Leif would have been so interested in that."

Yesterday we went over to Disney World and visited the Hollywood Studios park. Leif would have loved the Endor Space Shuttle simulator and the Indiana Jones Stunt Spectacular. That one he saw in 1990 when we took him to Disney World on our through Florida when we were moving to Puerto Rico, but it's been updated since then and the stadium covered. We remember being there in beastly heat. But even more than that, he would have loved the Disney Extreme Stunt Show "Lights, Motors, Action!™" That was quintessentially Leif . . . fast cars being driven to their limits, spinning around, burning rubber, jumping ramps, racing in and out of tight turns, crotch rocket motorcycles doing the same . . . with the drivers and riders shooting at each other. Fast cars, fast cycles and guns. As Peter A. said, the only thing missing was a gorgeous redhead. While Peter W. and I were watching the show, I said, "Leif not only would have loved this, he would have been asking how to apply for a job." Getting paid to drive like that and shoot a gun would have had enormous appeal to him, at least for awhile.

We see the world through a different filter now. We always would have thought about how Leif would have enjoyed something, or what he would have thought and contributed to the conversation, but now we know it's only our minds that will bring those things, that he won't be there, and as Peter A. said, "it is a tremendous loss." It is. That kind of loss changes you. You realize emotionally what you only knew intellectually before . . . how fragile life is, how easily you can lose someone you love, and how hard that is to bear. You miss not only the person and their company, but their intellectual and humorous contributions to your life, and your opportunity to contribute to theirs. You miss their affection and giving it to them. There isn't a situation in which they aren't considered just as much as when they were alive, but it's all tinged with sadness that they are not longer there. Something vital and important is missing.

That will never change, but despite that, remembering is good. I cannot be one of those people who shuts off the memories and doesn't talk about their lost loved one because of the pain. I would rather have the pain and have the memories.
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I love this photo of Leif because he looks so joyful, like he is really enjoying himself. I wish I had seen that in the last years of his life. This was taken at our old stone house in Manhattan, Kansas on July 29, 2004. We were all sitting around our dining room table having a great conversation and drinking Leif's favorite beverage, beer, out of his dad's German mugs. He was animated and full of fun. It was a great group for that. In addition to Peter W. and me, Peter A., Darlene and Marcus were there, and Leif's friend Michael. What I wouldn't give for another evening like that!

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 -Marcus Lights a Candle for His Uncle (Video)

Marcus was Leif's only nephew. He participated in the Celebration of Life ceremony at the St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church in his Cub Scout uniform, honoring his Uncle. He and his mother, Darlene, made a very special candle for Leif, with all his favorite things depicted on it, and photos of him, too. I've already posted photos of the candle. Marcus also wrote his own farewell to his uncle and did a reading before he lit the candle.

Following Marcus's candle lighting, the rest of those in attendance were invited to come forward and light smaller, white candles of remembrance.

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 - Homily, Psalm, Poem

The conclusions of our memorial "celebration of life" service for Leif included Beethovan's Moonlight Sonata, played by Ms. Byrne and then the homily delivered by Rev. Manish Mishra. We met for several hours with Rev. Mishra, telling him Leif's life story and his difficulties, depression and loneliness. He gave us a view of Leif's life which was moving and sad, and truthful, which was what we wanted. Following the homily, Ms. Byrne played Unitarian Hymn #123, "Spirit of Life."

Then Leif's sister-in-law, Darlene, read the Twenty-Third Psalm.



























Then we all recited Christina Rosseti's poem, "Remember," in unison.

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

The Rev. Mishra gave the Benediction and Extinguished the Chalice. The last piece of music played by Ms. Byrne was, "Think of Me" from "Phantom of the Opera" by Andrew Lloyd Webber.
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The photos of Leif's parents beside the memorial table, and Leif's older brother, Peter and his grandmother, Marion Kundiger with them, shows his photograph, the unlighted chalice, and the composite photo of Leif's life that Darlene made for us. On the last photo of the table, you can also see his folded memorial American flag from the military honors ceremony and the lei-draped photo of life, as well as the small infantry statue with the plaque Leif's father made to honor him when the army denied him his medals due to his asthma, and maile lei and green ti leaves from Hawaii. The beautiful leis and ti leaves were sent to us by friends in Hawaii, Bud and Barbara Kagan. The lei has dried and still hangs like that on the same portrait of Leif.

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Beginning tomorrow I will post some video of parts of the service.
Thank you to those who gave permission to post their photos, and to those who took them.

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 - Candle Lighting and Speakers

Leif's nephew, Marcus, prepared a reading which he did with his mother, Darlene's help, and then lit the special candle they had made for Leif, a beautiful candle surrounded with photos him and things he loved and a small Specialist 4 army insignia, his rank.

After that, everyone attending the ceremony was invited to light a candle and speak if they wished to do so. Peter W., Leif's dad, went to the podium to make his remarks, and Leif's friend, Michael, spoke from the floor. Everyone lit one of the small white candles of remembrance.

We brought Marcus's candle home with us and will light it on special occasions along with the one that Peter W's cousin Wolfgang and his family sent to us.

Remembering a Year Ago

Last year at this time, I was frantically trying to scan all the photos for a slide show of Leif's life to be shown in the evening after his memorial services. Those photos and many more are finding their way into this blog.

I was racing to have all the details ready for the two memorial services, the house in order for family and friends. Peter Anthony, Darlene and Marcus were already here. I was dealing with Leif's financial mess, still notifying people and companies about his death, trying to sell his belongings and clean out his apartment. It was a whirlwind of activity overlaid on alternating waves of sadness and numbness.

I was glad I had found the two places I wanted for the memorial services, Bay Pines National Cemetery in St. Petersburg for the military service and inurnment, and the St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church for the celebration of life ceremony. I wanted both of them to be right, to be real remembrances of Leif and his life.

I didn't want some sterile religious ceremony that relied on scriptures that would have been meaningless to him. I knew it would be almost unbearably hard to do, but I asked family members and friends if they wanted to be a part of the services, and they responded. I wrote a short piece including "Sea Fever," the Masefield poem Leif loved, for the military service, and "Farewell to My Gentle Giant" for the church service. I posted those last year. Peter W. wrote something short for each of them, including poems he found meaningful. Neither of us was sure we could control our emotions enough to get through them, but we resolved to try.

Peter Anthony wrote an insightful and poignant talk for the church service, "Who Was My Brother?" Leif's friend Jason agreed to read what he had written on Leif's MySpace page when he found out about his death. Darlene offered to read the Twenty Third Psalm, and Marcus prepared a reading and candle-lighting, with the candle he and Darlene made.

All the activity and planning gave me focus, something that had to be done, and that kept me from collapsing into depression. Work is great therapy, even if the effects aren't lasting.

It seems incomprehensible to me that it has already been a year since his death. It still feels as though he should be walking through my door. And yet, the forwarding order for his mail is about to run out and little comes. Email no longer comes to his email accounts. Fewer and fewer people visit his Facebook and MySpace pages.

There is a fairly consistent number coming to this blog every day. I don't know if they are all readers or whether many are chance hits on keywords, but I am glad people are finding it. So far, though, no one has sent me any memories to include. I'm on my own here. Melissa said she wants me to continue writing it. I want to, but how long can I find something new and different to say? How many more photos can I find that aren't essentially part of a series that are similar? I want to keep it meaningful. Leif deserves that.

I didn't expect that the anniversary of the memorial services would also be as meaningful and sad to me as the day Leif died and the day we found him. I suppose I should have known that the day we gathered to commemorate his death would be that significant for me. The first anniversary of it is in days, and that will be another milestone passed, another sign of how long he has been gone from us.

Every photo I post is a reminder of the life that meant so much to me. Every photo makes me want him back. Every photo makes me thankful I had him.

Why couldn't life have been kind to him?

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The photo above was taken in front of our quarters at the Sagamihara Family Housing Area in Japan, as he was coming home from school. He had his gym bag of stuff and instead of carrying it the usual way, he hung it on his head like that. It was taken in May 1983 when he was 8 years old.Sea

A Bittersweet Homecoming - Leif When He Lived Here

I couldn't face Thanksgiving here, with just me, Peter W., and my mother, without Leif, so I talked Peter W. into a trip to the DC area to visit our nephew, Rick, and his family, my sister Lannay and her family, and Peter A., Darlene and Marcus. It was a good trip, and I really enjoyed seeing everyone. The kids (Rick and Mac's daughters Kimmy and Christina, and our grandson Marcus) were great to be with, along with all the adults, and we had a wonderful Thanksgiving feast prepared by Doug at Lannay and Doug's house.

Even with all the happy times, I still had some tears and missed Leif, but it was easier there to be distracted from that because I wasn't used to expecting to see him there.

Coming home today was harder. As we traveled south on I-75 past Tampa, when we passed the exit we would have taken to go to see Leif, I choked up, realizing I'd never do that again. It got worse when we got home, and I saw his mountain bike hanging up in the garage, his motorcycle helmet on the dining room table, his uniform in my closet, and all the other reminders, his portrait on my desk. I remembered how he lived here, in this house, slept in what's now our guest room, had his computer and stereo in what is now my office, for a year. How the guest bathroom was his, how he used to park his car and cycle in the garage, and then how, when he moved out, I could look forward to him driving up to visit, seeing him at my kitchen or dining room table, sitting in the living room.

I will never see him in those places again, and it hurts. It makes me deeply sad and brings tears to my eyes. I see photos of his life cycling through my iGoogle slide show and I hope, oh, how I hope, that in the last days of his life he was able to remember that once he had good times with us, with his friends, that he was loved.

This photo was taken March 13, 2005, right after we moved Leif and Peter W. to Florida. He set up his computer desk in the room he used for a year and spent so much time in playing online computer games, searching for companionship on eHarmony and March.com, and looking for jobs. Leif was a true technophile and loved computers. The one you can see on the right side of the desk is the one he built himself.

He was only here with his dad for 11 months, but I will always see him in this room of our house in my mind.

I'm home, Leif, but you are not, and my heart is heavy.

The Last Touch - The Last Goodbye

I don't think there is ever really a last goodbye. We all keep Leif in our memories, and there will never be a goodbye that is final, but this photo was the last time I could touch his urn. I know he wasn't there, just his ashes, but it's all we had left of the physical presence of our son.

I don't want to post photos of the military honors service or the memorial service because I don't post photos of other people without their permission, and grief is very personal. I also don't want this blog to be just about Leif's death and last services, but about the life he had and our memories of him, but it's impossible not to acknowledge that there was a day of services to honor his passing.

On April 29, 2008, Leif was inurned at the Bay Pines National Cemetery with full military honors, and a memorial service was held at the St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church.

One photo is of me touching his urn before they sealed the niche at the cemetery.

The other is the table at the front of the church where his memorial service was held. The beautiful leis and ti leaves were sent by dear friends in Hawaii. The composite of photos of his life was made by Leif's sister-in-law, Darlene. The stand to hold the photo was made by his friend, Michael. The infantryman plaque was made by his father, and the triangle-folded flag is the one given to me at the military ceremony. We have it in a beautiful flag case sent to us by his friend Melissa, and we will add his military insignia and awards to it. The wooden box used as his urn was decorated with military insignia by his father. If he has a photo of it that doesn't include any person, I will post it later.

The circle stand on the table is the Unitarian Universalist flaming chalice, which is lighted at the beginning of services and extinguished at the end.

We are grateful to our family and friends, Leif's friends, and our wonderful neighbors for their help, love and support through these hard times.