At Bedtime They Were Mine

I loved bedtime for my boys, and not because they'd soon be in bed and I'd have time for myself and Peter W., though I enjoyed that, too, but because it was a special time together. During the day, I had "competition" from friends, play, television, and school on their part, and household chores, cooking, work, shopping, and more on my part. Bedtime was just us, no distractions, a time apart. After they were bathed and in their pajamas, I'd cuddle up and read to them, and after that, cuddle in the dark and talk. That was always the time when they'd talk about things that really mattered, the things that were on their minds, things that happened to them, what hurt their feelings, what scared them, what they had questions about, their dreams, the future. It was magic and sweet.

After that, I'd sing to them. Sometimes each one separately, but more often, once Leif was about two years old, I'd sit on the floor in the hallway between their rooms and sing to them.

It astonishes me that with the literally thousands of photos we have of our boys and our family, there is not one single photo I can find of me singing to them, or cuddling in bed with them, or singing with my guitar. I can picture those times in my mind, but no one else will ever see them now.

This photo of Leif asleep on a train in Europe the summer of 1977 is something I took. He was so little and sweet, though very tall for his age at two-and-a-half. We took a long train trip that summer, from Germany to Norway, back south to Paris and the Riviera. The boys slept on trains and in hotels, and it was a great time for us. I posted a photo of the two boys cuddled up in a hostel bed in Norway. But no photos of me with them.

I think so many of today's children don't have a "bedtime," not in the sense of a time to go to bed, or in the sense of a comforting and loving ritual they can count on. So many are allowed to stay up way too late and are tired the next morning. Even with a regular bedtime I had a hard time getting my boys up to go to school. They slept soundly and didn't want to wake up!

I wish I had a list of all the books I read to them and all the songs I sang to them. I'm trying to make a list of the songs. I'll probably be able to remember a few of the books. I'll have to post those lists when I think I've exhausted my memory of things to add to them.

Most of the time the boys were cooperative about going to bed, and I think that the pleasant ritual and the affection and cuddling made it something enjoyable instead of something to fight against. However, it wasn't universally that way. When Peter A. was about four he would go to bed just fine, but then in a few minutes start calling that he needed a drink of water, or had to go to the bathroom, or saw a monster outside his window.

Leif went through a period where after we'd gone through the bedtime cuddling and I hugged and kissed him good night and went downstairs, he would wait about five minutes and then sneak down the stairs after me. I'd put him back in bed and down he would come again. This would go on repeatedly until I had to be very stern with him or put in in his Zip-a-Babe harness so he couldn't get out of bed. Oddly, as I've written before, he didn't seem to mind that, seemed to find it a relief that he couldn't get out of bed. The "getting out of bed" period didn't last long, just a month or so.

I missed those bedtime routines when the boys got into high school and I think they did, too.

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Four years ago tonight we were having dinner here with Leif, his last birthday dinner, a day before his birthday because he had to work on his birthday, the evening shift. Little did we know it would be the last birthday dinner we would share with him

Coming Home -- and not coming home

Travel and work are the best antidotes to grief and depression, even if they don't always work. Initially after Leif died, even traveling didn't take me far from sorrow and tears, but as the two years passed, I found that being gone from home allowed me to focus on my trip and destination, the people I was seeing, the sights, even though we always talked about Leif. It was as though I didn't expect to see him in those places, so his absence was not painful.

Coming home, though, has continued to be sad. Although I love my home and look forward to returning to it, once I get here I am struck again with Leif's absence, with his things in my house, and the knowledge he will not be coming here ever again. I remember that the guest room was once his room, that my office was once his living room, before I moved down here from Kansas. So many memories. So many years of expectations, of seeing him, loving him.

Peter is so good to me, tries to hard to cheer me up, reminds me of all the good things in my life. He's so loving and sweet, and he's so right. I have so much to be happy about, so many reasons to enjoy life.

But none of them bring Leif back or take into account how much I miss him.

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This photo of Leif was taken in Norway in the summer of 1977 when he was two-and-a-half years old.

Leif & Peter Anthony - Norway - July 1977 - Age 2

In the summer of 1977 we moved from Charlottesville, Virginia to Nurnberg, Germany (actually Fuerth, but it's one large city area) and while we were waiting to get quarters we took a trip by train to Norway. Leif was two and Peter A. was eight years old. We saw spectacular scenery, the mountains and the fjords, met many Norwegian cousins, and saw many more beautiful sights. We experienced the midnight sun.

This was the second trip to Norway for Peter A. and me. We went with my mother and sisters in the summer of 1970 when Peter A. was two years old.

I don't have photos of Leif with any of the scenery as a backdrop, but I have these to precious photos of our two sons together, asleep cuddled up, Peter A. with his army protectively over his little brother, and the two of them snuggled close on a train seat smiling at me.

It was a good trip with happy memories.

Leif Ericson & Books for a Grandchild I Will Never Have

My mother's ancestry is Norwegian, and I grew up with a keen appreciation of Norwegian heritage and the saga of Leif Ericson and the discovery of America. In those days, when we were taught in school that Columbus discovered America (with, of course, no regard at all for the many peoples who already lived here and got here from elsewhere!), my friends would not believe me when I insisted that Leif Ericson was the discoverer. Now that is accepted as fact.

Leif was named after that intrepid Norwegian explorer, and the name fit him well. He would have made a fine Viking, a fine ship's captain, a fine explorer, had he been born in another time and place.

When I was a children's librarian, I purchased three books which had a "Leif" as the main character. Two were about Leif Ericson. Leif was already over 18 when I got these picture books and wouldn't have had much interest in them. I bought them for the children I hoped he would have someday. Since most books go out of print so quickly, I couldn't wait until he actually had children, and I didn't doubt that he someday would. I thought it would be both satisfying and fun to read the stories about Leif's namesake to his children and teach them about that part of their heritage.

At that time, I thought that "Leif the Lucky" fit my son. He was tall, slim, handsome smart, funny. He seemed to have so much going for him, to BE lucky, but somehow, the luck did not hold.

The third book, "Master Maid" would have been appropriate in another way. It is a retelling of a Norwegian folk tale in which a prince is able to trick a giant by listening to "Master Maid," who is able to give him the secret advice he needs. In this retelling, Leif has to learn to trust her advice the hard way and finally resolves to marry her and listen to her advice the rest of his life. Leif really needed that, needed a level-headed woman with good life skills and advice. I wish he had found the soulmate he wanted and that she had been a "Master Maid."

In his twenties Leif said he didn't want children. I wondered if he would ever change his mind. I think what did change it was his love for and romance with the young woman who had a daughter. I think he loved her daughter as his own and when he lost them both it was a terrible blow. One evening when he was here for dinner in the fall of 2007, about six months before he died, he made a very wistful comment that he used to think he didn't want children, but now he knew he just didn't find the right woman to have them with. He seemed to think he never would have any, and I could see it made him sad. He got along so well with kids, and really enjoyed his nieces. I'm sorry he never had that chance, to be a father. Maybe it would have given him some purpose in life, someone who needed and depended upon him. Maybe it would have changed him.

But those speculations are useless now.

He would have had beautiful, intelligent children and we would have loved them.

Now, what am I to do with these books, intended for them? The books that tell the saga of the great explorer for whom Leif was named, the book about the "master maid" that Leif needed in his own life. Who will I read them to?