How could his life end like that?

There are hours when I don't think of it, don't think about him, when I'm absorbed in the moment and the sadness over his death and depression is pushed aside or covered over and I think I'm doing better, much better, that it's time to focus on life and my living family. That feels right and good.

And then, out of the blue, something will remind me of Leif and his death and it floods back and I find myself asking again, with tears in my eye, "how could his life end like that?" I will never know. No matter how many times I think over all that happened to him, all the heartache and disappointment, all the debts he created and all the hopes that were dashed, I will not really fathom it. I look at these photos of that beautiful little boy, so innocent and sweet . . . most of the time; he could have quite a temper . . . and it's not even comprehensible how he could go from that sweet little fellow to the man I saw lying on the floor of his kitchen.

Memories are so bittersweet. I am glad for every one of them, even the bad ones, no matter how much I wish they hadn't happened. Life cannot be without hurt, it seems. Many of my memories are sweet, but thinking of them also makes me feel so acutely that I will never have more, that he is gone forever.

I remember the day we took this trip to Lichtenau, a village not far from where we lived in Sachsen bei Ansbach, about a mile and a half. We could see Lichtenau from our house, especially from the second floor balcony. It's a picturesque place with old half-timbered buildings and a small castle that we explored. I think the boys were as fascinated with these goats as they were with the castle, though. I caught Leif just as he was heading off to explore something else.

Both boys are wearing sweaters that were hand-knit by Peter W's Aunt Kathe, who lived in Stuttgart. This photo was taken in August 1978. Leif was three-and-a-half and Peter Anthony was nine going on ten. August in Germany can be chilly. It was a brisk day but a lovely one for a family outing.

Leif in Lichtenau, Germany, age 3 and a half

How can one predict what a child will become, or what will happen to him? Of course, we can't. Leif was always tall, strong, and could have easily intimidated other children or been a bully, but he never did, and he never was. He took all of the things he saw in movies, cartoons and fairy tales and wanted to mold himself into a hero. He made himself into the strong man with the weapons, the warrior.

But that was only one side of Leif. He also was a dreamer, a soul who searched for love, a man who felt vulnerable and unable to show it. He had an introspective, sensitive side and he used it to observe the world and analyze it.

As a child, he had strong moods that he learned to temper and hide when he was very young, but he still felt things deeply and strongly. He knew joys and frustration, hurts and pain.

He loved to climb things, test himself. He always had that infectious smile.

This photo was taken at a small castle in the southern German town of Lichtenau, not far from where we lived in the town of Sachsen bei Ansbach. He was three-and-a-half years old when this photo was taken in July 1978, and had climbed into this "window" to show off. There was a long, steep drop on the other side, but he was unconcerned as usual.

We did a lot of traveling all the years of his childhood, and saw many castles in Germany and other European countries. There's no way of knowing whether those experiences had any influence on his later interest in the Society for Creative Anachronism.