Another James Bond Father and Son Photo

Yesterday I wrote about Leif's fascination with guns and James Bond. He shared the James Bond interest with his dad, who took him to the Bond films starting when he was very young. Here's another photo of them posing together in May 1987 when we were living at Fort Sheridan. Leif was twelve years old. He was wearing his dad's white dinner jacket, which was of course too big for him, but not as big as it would have been on most twelve-year-olds.

The guns are toys. We did not own any real guns and never had any in our home when we were raising children.

On the day I took this, I took a series of photos of the two of them posing with these toy guns, together and separately. It seems to run in the family to enjoy posing and pretending.

It was all in good fun then, whether the posing was with guns or something else, often silly, but after Leif's death, the photos with the guns took on another aspect we could never have predicted . . . and how glad I am that we could not.

Leif's Sense of Beauty and Aesthetics

Leif would sometimes maintain that he didn't "understand" jewelry, or things that people acquired simply as decor. He insisted that he loved the beauty of well-designed functional things, whether a gorgeous car, a snazzy motorcycle, a beautifully designed computer, a "cool" cell phone, or anything else of that kind. Furniture he could find both comfy and beautiful, and he had a great sense of style in clothing when he was younger and slimmer, and cared. He also could have made a fine art student if he'd had the interest to develop his talent, but it wasn't his burning interest.

However, I used to like to argue with him about his assertions concerning decor, jewelry and the like, because when he found something that truly "spoke" to him, he went for it. For instance, he picked out one of the most beautiful diamond ring sets I've ever seen when he wanted to propose to J. He wore jewelry on occasion; earrings and necklaces when he was young, and still wore the Greek double battle axe necklace I brought him from Greece up until he died. He loved stylish, fancy watches, too. And he decorated his walls with swords and a print he bought that he very much liked.

So, in a way, his assertions were contradicted by his behavior and his taste, but in another, they weren't. He liked to purchase things he could USE, and those he wanted to be the best and not just functional but aesthetically pleasing. His fine taste was one of the things that helped to put him in debt, as he apparently couldn't resist expensive things he could not afford if they fit into his scheme of desire-functionality-design.

These photos were taken when we were living at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, I think, when he was in ninth grade in the spring of 1990, age 15. He was just beginning to let his hair grow longer. His ears weren't pierced yet, but it's surprising to me that he is wearing a cross. He was never religious, never a believer. I wish I knew the story of why he wore it.

Father's Day

Another women who lost a son to suicide was talking to me a few days before Father's Day and she said, "Why is it that these days like Mother's Day or Easter are so much harder? They're just another day."

The trouble is, they aren't just another day. They are days with significance, a significance we have been taught all our lives. They matter because humans measure time, and they designate certain days as having some kind of importance.

She said they only get "two months off," meaning that every other month has either a holiday or a family date like a birthday in it, so they are always anticipating those occasions when their son won't be with them.

I know how that feels now. We are into our third set of birthdays, Mother's Day and Father's Day without Leif, and soon it will be the Fourth of July (one holiday he really liked), then in the fall, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Each one of them is another day we will realize he won't be coming, something we had an expectation of over the years, because except for such rare instances, he always WAS there. He was an integral part of our joy and celebration of those holidays, and now having to experience them without him seems saddened and partly empty. We have other family members but they haven't been with us for these times over the years, so their absence is not so keenly felt. The expectation isn't there.

I find that my subconscious starts anticipating the holiday without Leif and I become sad. It happens to Peter W., too. We both feel that Mother's Day and Father's Day are diminished, that we have only half our children (for we had only two sons) still there. Does that mean we are half the parents we once were? It's hard to be happy on those days.

It's impossible not to think about Leif's death on those days set aside specifically for mothers and fathers, for that's what we were to him, and those were days he shared with us.

I found myself fighting tears.

I made a card for Peter W. and had a hard time deciding what photo to put on it. It doesn't seem right to put a photo of our family without Leif, though he is no longer here, and that's what I did on the card last year. I chose a photo of our boys in Germany when they were small, beautiful little boys! Those days are gone now, are just fond memories now made all the sweeter because we know they not only will never come again but Leif will never be with us. I had tears in my eyes when I made the card, but I didn't expect Peter to have them in his eyes when he looked at it. He was affected, too, saddened again at the loss, asking why Leif shot himself, how he could do it.

And we will never know.

The thoughts and the feelings go beyond that. I rarely turn on the car radio but I did a day or so ago and there was some sweet and slightly melancholy love song playing, and the words just made me sad, both because, as I've written before, love songs can be interpreted as other than romantic love, and because I was sad that Leif never had the romantic love he so desperately sought and hoped for.

Coming home from a wedding on Friday, we crossed the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, and I think we will never cross it without thinking and talking of Leif. And at the wedding, which was beautiful, I thought why couldn't Leif have found a love like this?

The memories are everywhere. The feelings are still so strong and deep. The sadness comes back in waves. It has burrowed into my heart.
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This photo of Leif, Peter W. and Peter A. was taken in April 1987 in the area of Fort Sheridan, Illinois. Leif was 12 years old, and acting goofy because he didn't really want to be posing for a photo. There were others taken at the same time that were better than this one, but these are my three guys, the ones that mean the world to me.

Reconciling the Life of the Boy and the Man

I need to get back to finishing the series of posts on Leif's loves and relationships but it's hard, hard to write about them, hard to be fair about them, hard to give a picture of his life and not hurt others, and in the meantime, I'm trying to deal in my mind with the conflicting pictures of my beautiful, brilliant little boy, who clearly was much more vulnerable than any of us realized, and the tall, strong, brilliant but unhappy man who ultimately took his life. So many of the photos of the last years of his life make me sad, realizing I could see the unhappiness there, realizing there will be no more chances to find the love and happiness he missed, but at the same time, trying to understand that there were moments of happiness among the days of misery.

Coming to terms with Leif's life and death is not easy, not for me, not for his father. I realized tonight that we had him in our home for the best years of his life, the happiest ones, though of course they were not universally happy. That at least makes me glad, that we were able to give him a good home life with loving parents.

I still think nearly every day that I want to just hold him and comfort him, and that will never happen. Even in death I wanted to hold him, to touch him, even though I knew he would not feel it. I would have.

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This photo of Leif was taken in our quarters at Fort Sheridan, Illinois in May 1987 not long after he had picked out "Scamp," the kitten in his baseball mitt. Leif was 12 years old.

Leif's Favorite Christmas Cookies

All my life we've had the tradition of baking Norwegian cookies and Norwegian Christmas Bread for Christmas. I don't think I've ever had a Christmas my whole life when I haven't at least had our favorite Berliner Kranser cookies, which, though they are Norwegian and a very old family recipe, are oddly enough named "Berlin Wreaths." The Christmas bread is called "Julekage" which translated would mean Yule Cake, I think.

My son's never took to Julekage because it has raisins in it, but all three of my guys loved Berliner Kranser, the butter cookies with the melted sugar topping and the odd recipe with the 4 hard boiled egg yolks mashed through a sieve. They used to help e make them, and snitch as much of the raw dough as they could get away with. I remember Leif with his mischief eyes coming in and swiping some when he was older and not helping make them any more.

I loved making those cookies for them and loved seeing them enjoy them. I never made them before December 23rd or 24th because they would have been long gone before Christmas. I used to find joy in sending some home with Leif, knowing he'd probably eat them all with a big glass of milk in the middle of the night while he was messing around on the computer or watching television in his apartment.

Last year, Aly made them, with my help, and Peter A. was here to eat them with his dad. The year before that, all three of my guys were still there waiting for them to come out of the oven. This year, with Peter A. far away in India and Leif dead, it's just Peter W. who gets to eat them without competition.

For some reason, these cookies didn't seem to catch on with the grandchildren. When we made several batches of cookies last year, they were more interested in the frosted, decorated cookies or ice cream than our old favorites. But no matter, what will always bring the joy to my heart is that I could bring joy to Peter W., Peter A. and Leif with these glorious old cookies. I just wish Leif were here to enjoy them now.
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The photo of Leif was taken on Christmas Eve 1987 when we were living at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, north of Chicago. He was one month shy of his 13th birthday and was in the seventh grade. By that time he was already six feet tall.

The cookie photo is a handful of Berliner Kranser made here.

Leif with His Aunt Sherie - November 1975 - Manhattan, Kansas - Age 10 months

Because Peter W. was in the army and we spent so many years of our children's childhoods overseas, they didn't always have a chance to get to know their extended family. When Leif was born we were living in Manhattan, Kansas, which was still pretty far away from most of them, but we did get a chance to see each other. In November 1975 and again in July 1976, my sister Sherie came to visit from Michigan. This photo of her with Leif in November 1975 when he was ten months old was taken with her camera. I think I took it. It's beautiful of Sherie and Leif looks like such a jolly little guy, playful and huggable.

We got to see Sherie and DeWayne the following year when we lived in Charlottesville, Virginia, but then not for three years while we were in Germany. Then another five years while we were in Japan and Hawaii, but when we moved to Fort Sheridan, Illinois north of Chicago, we were only about two-and-a-half hours drive away from Sherie for four years and we were able to visit back and forth. Leif got to know his aunt and uncle and his first cousins, Shane, Brenda and Derek, and really enjoyed them. He was older than they were, but he was always great with younger kids and they had a lot of fun together.

When we moved from Chicago to Puerto Rico, we were separated again for two years, and once we were back in Kansas with 700 miles between us, didn't see each other as often as we would have liked, but Brenda came to visit us on her own by then, too.

Why counting blessings doesn't really help - and yet how at times, it does.

 



Tuesday evening at my chorus practice, our director gave us an assignment. He asked each of us to write down five things we are thankful for each morning at breakfast time for the next week. There were a lot of groans among the chorus. It sounded like a class of teenagers complaining about homework, though I think the youngest of us is probably my age. He said it was an attitude-changing exercise.

I didn't object. I've tried this before, several times since Leif's death. I am well aware of all I am thankful for, of I have to be grateful for. The trouble is, even enumerating it doesn't make me FEEL truly grateful when I'm feeling sad about Leif's death. I know what I have to be thankful for, but it's hard, very hard find the joy in all the good things in my life when Leif's death hurts so much.

I read about the stages of grief and I wonder when I will pass this point, when I can let go of grief itself. It's not just letting go of Leif, which is hard enough, but letting go of my grief over his death. It's hard to even remember what it was like not to feel like this, though I look at all the pictures and remember all the good times we had.

I AM thankful for so much, and I have been truly blessed in my life, but that doesn't negate the sadness. It doesn't bring Leif back. Does that make me an ungrateful person who doesn't appreciate what she has? I don't think so. I think it makes me a hurt person who has to take time to heal.

I was working in the yard last week and an neighbor who also lost a son to suicide several years ago said that it's never the same, "You can have good times, but you want to share them and you can't. The loss always comes back."

I fear that. I don't want my life to be like that forever. Somehow, I want to regain that sense of joy I once had, not only for myself, but for Peter W., Peter Anthony and my grandchildren. There are glimpses of it sometimes. I savor them, but I wonder how long it will be before they are more than glimpses, before the tears are not so close to the surface.

Sometimes I wonder how terrible a burden Leif's life was, that he would take his life, how hopeless it must have seemed to him, and I know how much better my life is . . . but that doesn't lessen my sadness. If anything, in multiplies it. It hurts deeply, so very deeply, to know my son suffered like that and we didn't know and couldn't help him.

No, counting my blessings doesn't really help . . . not if it means taking away the pain today, but it does help in another way, which is why I continue to do it. It helps me keep perspective and not succumb to the downward spiral of negative thinking. It helps me to hang on to those blesssings and hope that someday the pain will lessen and shrink away to a smaller corner of my being so that all that's good in my life can shine forth again.
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These photos of Leif, Peter W. and me were taken by my sister, Lannay, when we were visiting her and her family in Greenbelt, Maryland in June 1990. We were in the Charlottesville, Virginia - Washington DC area so that Peter could attend the Judge Advocate General's School course for Staff Judge Advocates, and we were in the middle of our move from Fort Sheridan, Illinois (Chicago) to Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico.

Leif With Bubble Gum - Fort Sheridan, Illinois - September 1986 - Age 11

This is a photo Leif took of himself when he was eleven years old. It looks like he set it up in his bedroom. He wasn't a big gum-chewer, and we rarely saw him blowing bubbles, so maybe that's why he thought it was worth a photo. On this photo and one other, I've noticed that it looks like his left eye turns inward slightly. Funny, I never saw that before. It must have corrected itself later.

Some days are harder than others. There are days I go along feeling mostly normal, although we still talk about Leif every day, but then things hit me again and the tears flow.

Some days I am so acutely aware of all the things here in our house that were Leif's or that he gave us, or even persuaded us to buy. He had such a great influence in our lives. I don't know if we even knew how great it was until he was gone.

Then a simple photo of him blowing a bubble brings back the years of his childhood, how important he and Peter Anthony were (and are) to us each and every day. I miss him so.

Leif's Theme About Earning His Black Belt in Judo - Written in 1990 when he was 15 years old

Leif began taking judo at Fort Shafter in Hawaii when he was ten years old. He enjoyed it thoroughly and became profient quickly. When we moved to Fort Sheridan, Illinois in August 1986, we found that a sensei named Andy was teaching a class at Great Lakes Naval Center and Leif signed up.

Andy was an excellent sensei and Leif flourished in his class. Remember that during those four years that we lived at Fort Sheridan, when Leif was eleven to fifteen years old, he grew to be 6' 1" by the time he was only thirteen. He shot up like Jack's beanstalk while he was in Andy's class. A lot of maturity was required of him, because this was not a class of children. Most of the other students were adults and some were quite mature adults. There was no one under the age of thirteen and I can't remember and other kids.

Leif took judo seriously and it was a source of pride and accomplishment for him. On January 6, 1989, just three weeks before his fourteenth birthday, he took the test for his first degree black belt and passed. Later, when he had to write a theme for an English class at Antilles High School in Puerto Rico, he wrote about the experience of taking the test. He wrote it in October 1990. By that time he was fifteen.

Unfortunately, there weren't any classes we could find for Leif to continue judo in Puerto Rico and after two years there, when we moved back to Kansas, he felt so out of practice that he said he would be embarrassed to show up on a mat with a black belt on. I have always felt that if he had gone back to martial arts, it would have done him a world of good, for the physical activity, the companionship, the skills, and the sense of accomplishment. However, he got interested in other things like the SCA and role playing games, and dating, and he never returned to judo.

However, it always meant something special to him. Although he was ruthless about getting rid of clothes that no longer fit him, among his things we found his judo gi and his black belt, and of course the bokken (wooden practice sword) that Andy had given him as a special farewell gift.

The photos were ones I took of him during and after the test, holding his certificate. You can see in the one where he is the fellow "underneath" demonstrating a judo throw, that the other man is considerably older with graying hair. In judo, technique and balance are what's important, not age, gender or even superior strength.

Here is Leif's theme:
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"Shodan" by Alex Garretson 10/17/90

As I entered the gym it dawned on me that the time had come to face the challenge. I had been avoiding this event with good reason. For some time my judo sensei had been pestering me to take the test that would allow him to promote me to the rank of Shodan (first degree blackbelt) but I had declined.

The reason for my reluctance was a good one. I was still recovering from a very bad case of influenza that had caused me to miss some twelve days of school and over three weeks of judo. This put me at an incredible disadvantage for the test because I was very out of practice, having participated in only one ron dori (match) since my return. I still hadn't regained my strength, and with some of the competition I had to face I needed all the strength and speed I could get. To help compound the problem there was the fact that to fail a test for an advanced belt is a very embarrassing and degrading experience. But that night I felt like I was as ready as I could be.

The time had come. I approached the mat and informed my sensei that I was ready. He then called the class to attention and began the testing.

The actual test consisted of four basic parts, each very damanding to a certain aspect of judo. The first was the most physically demanding. For this portion I had to fight each of the members of the class (some more than once). These matches are very tiring and left me quite exhausted. For the second I had to perform a kata, a choreographed fight involving one tori, me, and eight yukis (dummies). This tested my style and technique (and my memory, for I was the only one present who had worked on the katas and I hadn't done that in months). The third was simple. I had to take a volunteer and demonstrate ten throws. I did quite well on this since I had been practicing these moves for a year and a half.

The final test was probably the most difficult. It required me to explain to the class what judo means to me both personally and philosophically. After explaining the meaning of judo and martial arts in general I was asked to run laps around the gym while they discussed with the sensei what I had told them and he asked them their opinions of my performance.

When I returned my sensei told me that I had earned my black belt and I was then repeatedly congratulated by my students and fellow classmates. When this was over my sensei lined us up, dismissed us and told us to pick up the mats. I then left exhausted and pondering the fact that this rank of shodan, which I had worked so hard for, in Japanese literally means beginner.

Leif and Lamborghinis

Although Leif loved cars in general, sports cars in particular, and certain ones above the others, I don't think there was ever any car that could quite make it onto the pedestal he had for the Lamborghini Countach or Diablo. He fell in love with the Lamborghinis when he was quite young, before junior high, I think, but by that time he was really enamored and could tell you everything about them. He had a large poster of a black Lamborghini on his bedroom wall when we lived at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, the years from 1986 when he was 11 years old until 1990 when he was 15.

One of the highlights of our time in Chicago (of which there were many) was going to the huge car show where he photographed a lot of fantastic cars. Those that particularly caught his fancy were the concept cars and the Lamborghinis. He would have been in seventh heaven if he could ever have even sat in one. I never knew that he did, but Peter tells me that he got to sit in one at a car show in Hawaii when I wasn't with them, the same show where he met David Hasselhof and saw the "Knight Rider" car, but the surely there would have been a photo.

He took the photo of the white Coutach above at that car show in February 1987 when he had just turned twelve.

At some point (I don't remember when), I gave him a toy black Lamborghini. This wasn't a matchbox car. This one was a about six inches long, a "collector's model," made of metal. He treasured that car, the only Lamborghini he would ever get to own or spend any time with, and I found it among this things after he died and took these photos of it.

His love for the black Lamborghini also inspired me to make that a characteristic of the main character in my middle grade novel, "Imagicat," and Jeff also had the same collector's model. There were other things about Leif that went into the character of Jeff, though Jeff wasn't completely modeled on Leif but rather a fictional composite of several boys.

Leif at Fourteen - The Sudden Change From Boy to Young Man

When Leif was thirteen, he shot up in height to 6' 1", towering over his classmates, and thinned out to a slim figure that was striking. Unlike most boys, he was already shaving by that time, and his sudden puberty also brought with it a terrible case of acne. He was a handsome kid, even with the acne, and he seemed to take everything in stride. He never talked to us about any difficulties of growing up so fast physically, or mentioned worrying about the acne. It wasn't until years after he was a grown man that he told me that some of the kids in his junior high called him "pizza face," and that had hurt him and his self esteem to the point where, even all those years later, he felt women wouldn't be interested in him because of it. He was shy about approaching girls and women, and as an adult he would try to get to know women well by email, phone and texting before meeting them in person, to try to form a relationship before they would see him. And yet, he also professed to have good self-esteem and did have a high opinion of his mental abilities.

I read once that for most of us, our self-image is formed in high school, and that we have a hard time changing it or shaking it off long years after it is no longer appropriate. I don't know whether it is true, but I do think there is certainly a residual undercurrent of that, of what we thought we were at that time as we were coming into young adulthood, and it probably was true for Leif, too.

This photo, taken in the living room of our quarters at Fort Sheridan, Illinois is one of very few that show Leif's acne, and yet look at that glowing, dazzling smile! Leif had the greatest smile, if you could get him to let it go. He contained his emotions very carefully, and of often you'd get a half smile, a bemused look, not the full force smile that was so wonderful. I don't know who took this photo. It might have been me, but I don't recall having seen it until I found it in his photo album after he died. It was taken with his camera. I wish I knew the occasion on which it was taken. I wish I could see that smile again.

Leif's Photos of Scamp

Leif loved cats and he knew that I did, too. He twice got me cats for Mother's Day, once as a teen in junior high and once as a senior in high school.

The cat in these photos is Scamp, our all-time favorite cat, and the one Leif first picked out when we were living at Fort Sheridan, Illinois. He went to a pet store and picked out the liveliest one he could find, the one that was climbing all over the place and virtually meowing, "look at me, look at me." Scamp was a tiny kitten when they brought him home and we all loved watching his antics. I wrote two earlier post about Scamp with photos of Leif and him together, but when I found these photos Leif took, I wanted to post them, too.

One thing Scamp enjoyed immensely was changing sheets on the beds. When he noticed that was happening, he would jump up on the bed and run around under the sheet as the new one was settling down on the bed. It looked so funny, like some kind of giant mole scooting around under the sheet. If I picked up a small part of one side I could make it like a narrow tunnel looking in at him and he would go nuts trying to rush down the small space at me, or pose in various amusing ways with just his face showing down the tube made by the sheet and the bed. It was so much fun that when I put clean sheets on the beds I would often lift the sheet up and flutter it down again and again so that he could jump under it, tunnel and scoot, and play silly games. Sometimes we would take photos.

All but one of these photos were taken in late fall or December 1989 when Leif was nearly 15 years old and Scamp was a grown cat, two-and-a-half years old. The other one is the second one from the top, taken when Scamp was still a kitten shortly after we got him in May 1987.

Scamp was a beautiful cat but he had a funny nose which was part orangey-pink and park black, giving him a kind of odd look as though something was wrong with his nose.

I don't know why Leif never took photos of other cats he had when he was older, Merlin, the second cat he gave me, or Sugar and Spice, the cats he and Nikko had when they were married. Leif always loved to cuddle something, whether it was a stuffed animal he had as a child, or a cat, or his lady love. Cats were particularly interesting to him (along with snakes, which he also had as pets at times, and birds, which he never did) and you could see how much he enjoyed having them in his arms and playing with them. It was another sad thing for him that he became allergic to them and after he contracted asthma, he couldn't have cats as they brought on asthma attacks.

Seeing these photos brought back a lot of happy memories for me. Scamp was special. Leif picked a great cat.

Leif's G.I. Joe "Bumper Car"

This is a photo Leif took in May 1987 when we were living at Fort Sheridan, Illinois on the the north side of Chicago. He was twelve years old at the time. I hadn't ever seen it before I found his albums after he died, or at least I didn't remember it. I like it because it's an amusing example of his sense of humor.

We had some "Broetchen" (German hard rolls) and at that time, like a lot of kids he didn't really care for the crunchy crust but he liked the soft interior, so he sometimes he would kind of hollow it out and eat the part he liked. Evidently this time the hole he made in the "leftover" crust made the roll remind him of a bumper car just the right size for one of his G.I Joe figures, so he plunked one into it and added a wooden skewer or pencil to be the rod at the back of the car that connects it to the electricity to run it, and there it sits on the plate full of crumbs.

It's hard to imagine anyone but Leif thinking of something quite like this. He often saw things in new and different ways than other people did, and also had that wacky and surprising sense of humor I've mentioned often.

Peter W., Peter A & Leif - Fort Sheridan, Illinois - July 1988

We must have over 2000 photos of Leif, maybe 3000, though some of them are "repeats," part of a series taken at the same time. Yet with all these photos, I still don't have some of the ones I want, and in looking for them, i'm running across photos I didn't know I had, like this one.

This must have been the only point in their lives when the three of them were the same size, all the same height. What's amusing is that they all have the same stance and posture, too. That wasn't intentional or posed. That's just the way the three of them each chose to stand. I never thought of that as a genetic predisposition before, but they are so alike here.

Peter W., in his army uniform, was 45 years old. Peter Anthony, in his Air Force Academy uniform, was 19 years old. Leif, in his black suit, was only 13. By the next year, Peter A. would be taller than his dad and Leif would tower over both of them.

Peter A. would be starting his second year at USAFA a month after this was taken, and Leif would start eighth grade.

My three guys, how I loved them! How I love the still.

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This photo was taken in July 1988 in front of our townhouse quarters on Nicholson Road at Fort Sheridan, Illinois.

Leif & Holly - Fort Sheridan, Illinois - July 1987 - Age 12

Our sons grew up without the frequent closeness of our extended families except for some brief periods.

Peter A. got to spend quite a bit of time with his dad's aunts, uncles and cousins in Germany starting when he was 6 months old until he was 4 and a half years old.

Then there was a short time when we were back in Manhattan, Kansas that he was around my mother and my brother, Donovan and his family (cousins Rick and Holly; Tim wasn't born yet), but we left when he was only seven and Leif was just a year and half.

We were close to Lannay for a year when the boys were 2 and 8, but her daughters weren't born yet.

We also had the four years at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, when we were a few hours away from my sister, Sherie, and her family in Michigan, with cousins Shane, Brenda and Derek. Peter A. was only there for his senior year of high school and then back for Christmases, but Leif had time with his cousins the whole four years.

Then Leif spent more time with my mother and my brother Donovan's family when he was a senior in high school and a couple of years of college back in Manhattan, Kansas. By that time, Rick had left for service in the navy, but he saw quite a bit of Holly and Tim.

Otherwise, were were far, far away from our extended families, so our sons didn't grow up with a continuous sense of larger family and we traded that experience for the travel and life in Germany, Japan, Hawaii and Puerto Rico.

However, Leif always enjoyed his cousins, and I think he if he'd had the chance, he would have spent a lot more time with them. They had a lot of interests and ideas in common.

He did have a chance to spend more time with his cousin Holly during two of the summers we lived at Fort Sheridan. Donovan sent her to stay with us for a few weeks each time and we had a good time together. We visited all the museums, downtown Chicago, and lots more.

You can see how Leif was starting to shoot up in height like a beanpole here. That year he was a gangly kid at the age of 12 and by the time he was 13, he was 6' 1" tall and shaving! It must have been an incredible transformation for him, but he took it in stride.

Silly Leif in a Kitchen Cupboard - Fort Sheridan, Illinois - September 1986 - Age 11

We moved from Honolulu, Hawaii to Fort Sheridan, Illinois in August 1986. Peter W. was working at Great Lakes Naval Training Station at MEPCOM (the Military Entrance Processing Command) as their legal advisor. We checked out all the area communities to find the best schools for the boys and decided living at Fort Sheridan, about a 20 minute drive south of Great Lakes, would be best as the guys could go to the excellent schools in Highland Park.

We lived in a townhouse and although it had 4 bedrooms and a basement, the rooms were small and we were pretty cramped. Now as cramped as Leif was in this cupboard, though! He climbed into it before we were all moved in and filled it up with food or pots and pans. He wouldn't have been able to get into it by the next year. At 11, he was tall for his age, but hadn't yet experienced the incredible growth spurt that shot him up to 6' 1" by the time he was 13.

Leif always had a whacky sense of humor and got a kick out of doing silly things. And I was a whacky mother who enjoyed taking photos of the boys antics. I treasure those photos.

Leif - Fort Sheridan, Illinois - May 1989 - Age 14

Leif was dressed up for his graduation from Northwood Junior High School and we took a bunch of photos of him horsing around and with our computer setup. He's acting silly, pretending to eat one of the hanging capiz shells on the lamp like a cookie.

The computer setup was a focal point for me, Peter A. and Leif. On the right was our Atari 1040 STf computer and on the left was an Apple IIg. We used them both heavily, though we weren't getting new software for the Apple, just using what we had accumulated in Japan and Hawaii. The Atari we bought in Hawaii when Peter A. convinced me that it was the "poor man's Mac." At that time, Mac was not in color and the Atari 1040 was. There was a lot of good software for it, and we had a great time doing to Northbrook to the store that sold it. The three of us used a word processor, a database program, and a lot of great games.

I especially remember Leif loving the car racing games he played with a joystick, but he also liked a Star Trek game we had, a flight simulator, and one that was really silly called "Death Sword." That was a sword fighting game that was so gruesome it was actually funny. If you were good enough, you could whack off the opponent's head and an ugly little troll would come out and kick it off screen trailing blood that looked like red snakes.

My favorite game was similar to the arcade game Qix (which I loved and would love to have on my Mac) but I don't remember the name of it.

We also had a lot of simpler games that came along with my magazines like STart magazine. Some were a great deal of fun.

I enjoyed having the computers in common with the boys. They gave us something to share and talk about (not that we ever lacked that). I wrote my first novel on the Atari. That was Imagicat. The main character, Jeff, was in some ways an amalgam of my brother, Donovan, and my two sons, Peter A. and Leif. Leif was thirteen when I was finishing the first draft of it at Fort Sheridan in 1988 (though it didn't get published until 2000). He and his friend Robert would come by after school to see what was happening in the story and then they'd get their turn on the computers.

Leif was only 6 or 7 when we got our first computer in Japan and he loved them all his life. He always wanted the best, something powerful for gaming, and he was a heavy user of the internet. Back in Fort Sheridan, there wasn't any internet as we now know it, but there were "bulletin boards" and online services that were nearly exclusively text, such as the one I subscrived to, GEnie. Leif had a taste of that, then, too.

I particularly remember the day I was talking to him about the group of children's writers that had their own "category" on GENie and some were talking about what happened when you put various weird things into the microwave. Leif was fascinated that supposedly responsible adults were doing such things as putting marshmallows and Ivory soap into the microwave just to see what happened. He decided to use my account to ask them something to this effect, "What are responsible adults like you doing putting things into the microwave and blowing them up?" I was thrilled to get an answer from well-known author Bruce Coville, who told him, "I refuse to join the adult conspiracy," and went on to the effect that he might be "grown up" but he wasn't an "adult." Leif got quite a kick out of that.

Leif & Scamp - Fort Sheridan, Illinois - May 1986 - Age 11

Today I spent a long time talking with my grandson, Marcus, about many things, but mostly about my books, especially "Imagicat." He's going to do a report on me and my writing for school (third grade) and was "interviewing me" for some information. I had sent him photos of our two cats that were the inspiration for Mortimer in "Imagicat," and one of them was this cat above in Leif's arms, Scamp. Scamp was just a small kitten in this photo. Leif picked him out at the pet shop and made sure that he picked the most active, "crazy" kitty he could find.

Scamp was such a terrific cat, intelligent, funny, careful, affectionate; the perfect cat for Leif. He loved that kitty! I've written about him and Scamp before, I think. Scamp only lived four and a half years, dying young of an enlarged heart. He, too, was too young to die but brought so much companionship and joy while he lived.

I've been trying to decide how to acknowledge the first anniversary of Leif's death and the day we found him. We had planned to go to the cemetery then, but we were in St. Petersburg yesterday for an event and it seemed right to go then, when we were already over there because I don't know if I should go out of town and leave my mother just a week after she gets out of the rehabilitation facility after breaking her back.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day, the kind of day Leif would have loved to ride his motorcycle under BOB (Big Orange Ball . . . the sun). The birds were singing. It should have been a joyous day, and it would have been, if he were still alive.

I cried my heart out, as I always do, missing him, wishing he were still alive, wondering for the thousandth or ten thousandth time why this had to be.

I thought of the Serenity Prayer, and wondered if accepting the things I cannot change actually does bring serenity. It sounds good, but I think it doesn't always do that, or perhaps my definition of acceptance is different than Reinhold Niebuhr's. Maybe what he means is acquiescence, and that I don't think I will ever have. I know which things I can change and which I can't, but in this case, that's no help, either.

We so often see that first part of the prayer written or quoted, but not the second part, about "Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace," and surrendering to God's will. I can't accept that. Hardships cannot be the way to peace. Not hardships like this. They don't bring peace. They bring misery, sadness, endless questions. And how could something like this be "God's will." A god like that would be cruel. What kind of loving father, earthly or heavenly, would doom his children to a terrible death . . . my son or anyone else's child, any of us. I don't blame God.

But I do wonder, and will always wonder (knowing that life is unfair) why Leif couldn't have had just a scrap of the luck so many people take for granted, just some lasting happiness as an adult, just some achievement he could be proud of. Why did he have to suffer? Why did he have to die?

It's nearly a year and I don't miss him any less. It's a year, but it feels like so much less.

Leif's 29th Birthday - Manhattan, Kansas - January 28, 2004 - Age 29

It was bitter cold on Leif's 29th birthday. He hated that cold! It wasn't just uncomfortable and miserable, but for him it was a matter of life and breath. With the cold weather asthma he had developed, cold weather made it hard to breathe. The evening of his 29th birthday was one of those days. It was so cold we didn't go out anywhere. He came over all bundled up, with nothing but his eyes showing. He had on a big heavy jacket, and under that, another jacket, and under that a sweater. He had a stocking cap on and it was pulled down to meet the high collar of his jacket, so that only his eyes were showing. It reminded me of how I dressed when we lived at Fort Sheridan on the north side of Chicago and I had to go to work at the Civilian Personnel Office. I, too, used to have nothing but my eyes showing and they nicknamed me "Yukon Jerri." At that time, Leif made fun of me because I was a cold weather and snow wimp, but he had joined me before this birthday came around.

We got him something warm to drink (warm translating as a Scotch on the rocks, I think) and after he got warmed up he finally took off his hat, jacket and gloves and opened his birthday presents. Notice the change in size from the puffed up double jackets to the just the sweater.

I know he got this dagger, two new warm hats, a book of soldier humor, and also an insulated coffee mug for his car. By this time, he was working for Alltel and it was a long drive (long for Manhattan, Kansas, about 6 miles) out to their building past the Manhattan airport. He wanted to have a warm drink with him. I know there were other presents, but I can only remember those. He put both hats on at once, and if you look hard, you can see the tag on the top of the light blue one.

We had a nice evening together before he had to go back out in the cold and walk the block back to the 710 N. 9th Street house. Kansas is in the deep freeze for his birthday this year, too. He wouldn't miss that!

Leif was looking good in January 2004, and he was happy. He was in love. It was good to see him happy like that, but unfortunately, it was not to last. I don't remember why she wasn't with us that night. She may have been in the Philippines for her job at that time.

I treasure the memories of the good times. I'm glad he had some in his life.

Happy Birthday, Leif!

Leif's 12th Birthday - Fort Sheridan, Illinois - January 28, 1987 - Age 12

Late in the summer of 1986 we moved from Hawaii to Fort Sheridan, Illinois, a small base sandwiched in between the ritzy suburbs on the north side of Chicago. We lived on base in a townhouse because we wanted the boys in the Highland Park school system. Leif went to Northwood Junior High School.

Moving to the "frozen North" was a big shock after three years in Hawaii. No more balmy beaches . . . except that Peter W. discovered that we could fly "Space A" on Air National Guard military refueling tankers out of the military side of O'Hare airport on training flights to Hawaii. I think we did that nine times in four years. We would all have liked to stay in Hawaii. If they had let Peter W. stay one more year, he probably would have retired there, but no such luck. It was off to Chicagoland. The city had much to offer, and the Highland Park school system was great, but we would have much more happily stayed in Hawaii. Of course, Peter A. only lived at Fort Sheridan for one year before he was off to the Air Force Academy, but Leif spent four years there.

Leif had one two good friends that lived on our street, Nicholson Road, at Fort Sheridan, Robert and Chris. A lot of the younger neighborhood kids kind of "worshipped" tall Leif, who at that time was going by the nickname "Alex." Sometimes a delegation of them would show up at the door and ask if "Big Al" could come out and play.

One time we managed to lock ourselves out of the house. Leif managed to wiggle in through the kitchen window over the sink and let us in. It wasn't easy. The window was quite high up and we had no ladder out there. I was just waiting for someone to call the MPs and say there was a guy breaking into our house.

It looks like this cake has the benefit of a few of those premade sugar frosting letters you can buy in the grocery store. Looks a lot neater and more civilized than our earlier cakes, but not as imaginative, either.

I managed to catch Leif at the height of the blowing out the candles whoosh. I hope he got his wish!

Happy birthday, Leif!