Leif as Kenickie in Grease

It's been over thirteen and a half years since Leif departed this earth. What can one say that hasn't been said in all those years? And yet, as I go through all the old videos, photos, slides, and negatives, I find new images. I love to see them. I digitized our amateur video of the Antilles High School production of Grease in May 1992, in which he played Kenicke. I was surprised to see that we had some pretty good close-ups of him (that Sony camcorder had a great zoom lens) and I could grab screen shots of him, and am including three of them here. He surprised everyone, including us. No one, not his classmates (except those in the cast as they rehearsed), not us, knew he could act and sing until he got on stage. How I wish he had found a way to use that talent after this performance! He did play electric guitar, but I don't think I ever heard him sing again. He was 17 years old in these stage photos. The high school is located on Fort Buchanan in Puerto Rico. 

 

Leif on a Sailboat

I'm always hoping to find a photo of Leif I've never seen, that someone will have taken one, or more, that was never shared with me before. It's a rare delight, but it happened today. Peter was scanning negatives of photos he took during our years on Puerto Rico and this was on one roll, along with many others I HAD seen before. We were out sailing in the waters on the northeast side of the island. In most of the photos, Leif has on his Oakley sunglasses (here around his neck) and a blue shirt, but here, only his sailor's gloves. It surprises me to see him wearing a cross, because he was not religious, and I have no idea whose tiny ring he has on a chain around his neck. They will stay mysteries. The lighting in the late afternoon sun makes his hair look red instead of dark brown, and it looks this reddish color in all the photos taken that day.

Leif inherited my love of being out on the water and sailing. I think he missed his calling and should have gone into the Coast Guard. But, the requirements were stiff and he wasn't driven enough to pursue it, though if he had, he might well have had the same physical problems he had with the Air Force and the Army. I think he would have been good in the merchant marine, but he didn't want a career that would keep him away from a family for months at a time. We sent him on a teen sail summer program when we lived in Puerto Rico and he loved it. He went on two cruises with us. I wish we could have taken him on more.

Finding photos like this is bittersweet. I love seeing them, seeing something new of him, but it also makes me sad that he is no longer with us. It still hurts every day, even after more than eleven years.

He Could Play The Guitar Solo from "Sweet Child O' Mine"

We were at the pool the other day and another song Leif loved was playing, "Sweet Child O' Mine," by Guns N' Roses. He loved Slash's soaring guitar solo and worked hard to learn to play it. How I wish I had a video of him playing it, and also the "Star Spangled Banner" and other songs.

It struck me that there was something "Bach-like" about the "Sweet Child O' Mine" guitar riffs, and that made me smile, because my mother hates Bach but Leif loved his organ fugues and "stole" my CD of Bach's organ works. (I did eventually get it back.)

I no longer have any of Leif's guitars. I finally parted with them, as I wrote on this blog. His brother has the one in this photo, the one he designed and made himself in high school in Puerto Rico. It was a good instrument and very distinctive.

I hope the people who bought his Floyd Rose and bass guitars enjoy them as much as he did. His first guitar is still with his nephew, I think, though I doubt he will learn to play it.

It's amazing how music affects our memories, how many memories are tied to music. Leif loved music and had a huge collection of CDs. Since his death I have been asking family members who visit to go through them and take whatever interests them, but I still have quite a large number of them no one has chosen.

Leif liked strong stimuli, whether driving fast (or any other speeding vehicle), heavily spiced or very "hot" food, or loud driving music. Much, thought not all, of his music collection fit that description, but among it were surprising departures.

Since Leif has departed from my life, I know far less about the current music world. He kept me at least minimally educated about part of the music scene.

This photo was taken April 1991 in his room at Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico. It's been posted on the blog before, but I have so few photos of him with his guitars I have to re-use it.

Guys and Dolls at Antilles High School

Another find! I was scanning some of my mother's old slides, none of which we had ever seen, and found this shot of Leif (second from left), on stage in his first part in a Broadway musical . . . which we missed!

In April 1991, Peter was sent to a conference in the Washington DC area, and wanted me to go with him. My mother came to Puerto Rico to stay with Leif while we were gone and visit us when we returned.

Antilles High School was putting on "Guys and Dolls," and we knew that Leif was helping with scene construction and lightning, but didn't know he had a small part as well. I'm not sure he even found out he'd be on stage during the performance until we were gone. We were away when the musical was performed and missed seeing him. This photo seems to be the only one. He is wearing his Fedora and carrying his camera. I wish we had been there.

He seemed to be bitten by the theater bug by this experience, and the following spring tried out for a main part in "Grease." No one had ever heard him sing before, but he blew away the audience as Kenicke singing "Greased Lightning."

We moved to Manhattan, Kansas the summer before his senior year, and he tried out for the MHS musical, and was terribly disappointed when he was told that he was good enough to get a major part, but was new to the school and didn't "deserve" it. We never saw him on stage again.

Where is the compassion for Robin Williams?

This is Leif at the age of 16, in his room in our house at Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico, with the guitar that he designed and made.

His initial time in Puerto Rico was difficult, as he was initially not accepted by the kids at Antilles High School, and was attacked by one group of guys and beaten up. But he overcame that and found a group of good friends and a place in the school. The years in Puerto Rico became some of the best ones of his life. Although he was sometimes angry and frustrated, he was also creative, had friends, enjoyed the sea and guitar lessons. He had hope. The future looked bright. He had every reason to think life would treat him reasonably well . . . and so did we.

It was in some ways unfortunate that we had to leave Puerto Rico the summer between his junior and senior years of high school. It's tough to go to a new school as a senior, hard to fit in, hard to make friends, especially for an introvert like Leif. Yet staying in Puerto Rico would have offered him less opportunity, and he would have had to return to the USA for college anyway.

All that aside, there was no hint in these days that he would ever be seriously depressed or suicidal. There were times, as there are for all of us, when he wasn't happy, but he found much to enjoy in life and went out to meet it with open arms.

Robin Williams' suicide this week has opened a bigger public dialogue about suicide than we have seen before, it seems to me. I think it is because it's so hard for people to believe that a man who could act so funny, so silly, so seemingly full of the enjoyment of life, could be so deeply depressed that he would take his own life. It's because he was so much a part of our lives that we all feel the loss, unlike with many others who have taken the same course of action.

I've seen so many comments on Facebook, discussions, sadness, even anger, misunderstandings, blame. Some people can't understand how someone who was rich and "had everything" could be unhappy. Why didn't he just "walk away"? Some can't fathom how he could do that to his wife and children, and think his act was cowardly and selfish. Some people who have struggled with depression can't figure out why Williams' couldn't tough it out like they have. Some have no sympathy for him, only for his family members left behind.

I understand where they are coming from, but depression is no respecter of wealth or position. Nor does someone like Williams do it "to" his family . . . more likely, he was just trying to escape his own deep misery and felt he had tried everything and failed. More likely he was in such a deep hole of hopelessness that he felt he had failed his family and they would be better off without him, if he was even able to consider them at the end.

None of us will ever know the depth of his struggle, how hard he fought to escape depression and addiction. Most of us will never know what it's like to feel so terrible that we try drugs and alcohol to "self-medicate" in an attempt to either feel better, or feel SOMETHING. My father said he felt "dead inside" for the two years before he took his life. Leif listened to a Johnny Cash song that said he hurt himself to see if he could still feel, not long before Leif took his life.

I think it's time we learned to be less judgmental and more compassionate, less angry and more understanding. Some people will be able to fight depression. Some will not. Just as some people can fight other illnesses and either be cured or manage the illness for a long time. Other people find no effective cure or die younger from the same disease. It's time we recognize that mental illness is as much an illness as a physical illness, and just as devastating. It's time to stop blaming those who suffer.

It's also time to have compassion for those left behind, those who every day of their lives will wonder if there's something they could have done to save their loved ones; those who will wonder every day of their lives what put them over the edge? The eternal question of "why" will haunt them. They will not only grieve as we all grieve when we lose a loved one, they will be tormented by questions that will remain unanswered.

So my hope is that all those who are blaming Williams for "taking the easy way out" or "taking the coward's way out," or for being "selfish," will keep their compassion for his family and extend it to him. We have not walked in his shoes.

Leif Clearing Out Fallen Coconut Palm Fronds in Puerto Rico

Here are two photos I had never seen before that I found among my mother's slides. I know why I never saw them. They are not in good focus, probably because she took them through the dining room window.

However, they are a treasure to me because I can see my "Tarzan son" the way he looked in high school in Puerto Rico when he was out in our large "rainforest" back yard helping to clear out coconut palm fronds, coconuts that fell (dangerous!), and mow the spongy lawn.

He was so slender in those days, with a terrific figure and long hair.

He used a machete out in the yard to cut things, and one time I looked out and he had used the machete to whack off the end of a coconut, had the big heavy coconut stuck on the tip of the machete, and was pouring the coconut water into his mouth that way. I wish I had a video of it.

Leif didn't like yard work and would have preferred never to do any, but he helped out in our postage stamp sized yard at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, whether mowing or shoveling snow, and then in our yard in Puerto Rico, where it was incredibly hot and humid, and then again in Kansas, at our old stone house and the one we purchased for Peter's mother, and finally our yard in Florida. I can't say he ever did it willingly (at least not getting started) but once he got started, he worked and got the job done.

When I think of him doing yard work, these pictures are what comes to my mind, that tall, slender young man who was strong as an ox and worked to help us in so many places.

These photos were taken by my mother in April 1991. Leif was 16 years old.

Leif's Antilles High School Yearbook 1991

 We moved to Puerto Rico in the summer of 1990. It was a rough adjustment for Leif in some ways. Nearly all of the students at AHS were Puerto Rican and spoke Spanish, which Leif never learned. The classes were taught in English, and all of the students spoke English, but for many it was their second language.

Leif was the new gringo, and a tall one that stood out. He got picked on and attacked. He did make it through the initial hazing and made good friends there, but the start that summer and early fall were hard.

He went out for soccer and finally had to quit trying to stay on the team. He wasn't used to the incredible heat and humidity after living in Chicago for four years, and wasn't immediately able to keep up with all the local kids running in the heat. Then he sprained his ankle. Between that and the coach having no understanding of his difficulties with the heat, he gave up. It was a shame, because he was quite a good soccer player, and he never played again.

Instead, he invested himself in music and drama, not through classes, but through playing his electric guitar, building one himself, and working on the school musical that year, "Guys and Dolls."

Sadly, this photo is the ONLY photo of Leif in this yearbook. There are no photos of him in any activities, and no mention of them. It's hard to imagine that.

I am still wondering where his second (junior year) Antilles yearbook might be, and whether he even got a yearbook his senior year when he attended and graduated from Manhattan High School in Manhattan, Kansas.

Sailing With His Friends in the Caribbean

This is a mystery photo for me. I found it among Leif's photos after he died. Leif is sitting on the very top right of this catamaran named The East Wind, and it was clearly taken somewhere in the Caribbean during the years we were living in Puerto Rico, but I know nothing more about it. 

I've asked some of his friends from Antilles High School if they can tell me but they don't know either.

It's possible it was taken in the British Virgin Islands when he was there on ActionQuest, but it seems unlikely they would have gotten off their sailboat and onto a catamaran. Maybe this boat belonged to the family of one of his friends in Puerto Rico that I no longer have contact with. 

I hoped to find out the story behind the photo and who took it before I posted it on this blog, but since it appears I can't do that, I'm posting it now. Maybe someone who knows will see it.

Leif would have been in his element here. He loved boats and the Caribbean. I'm glad he got to do this, however it happened. He would have been about 16 years old. I think this was taken in 1991.

We thought a lot about Leif on our cruise in New Zealand and Australia last month. 
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Update April 21st: After I posted this, I found out I should have asked Peter W. about this picture. I thought it was Leif off with his friends, and it still looks like that to me, but Peter says that this was a SCUBA dive trip to the smaller island of Palominito, off the northeast coast of Puerto Rico, and they took this boat to get over there. Now I still wonder who took the picture. I went along on some dive trips but I know I didn't take this one, and I found it among Leif's things, not ours.

Four Years Since We Saw Him

Today it has been four years since we last saw Leif alive. Four years ago, March 23rd was Easter, and Leif came driving down from Tampa to have dinner with us. He was relaxed and happy, in love, seemed to be taking things in stride. We had a good visit, a good discussion. I can picture him just as he was that evening, first sitting across from me at the kitchen table and later in the green recliner in the living room with his hands behind his head.

I'm glad our memories of that last precious visit are good ones, that it was a pleasant evening together, glad I gave him the $20 for gasoline, since he'd said he didn't have the money to fill up his tank to come for dinner! I wish I'd give him $100.

There was no hint that he was desperate or suicidal. In fact, it seemed just the opposite. I remember that both Peter W. and I felt he seemed better than he had at Christmas or his birthday. Either we misread him completely or something changed dramatically in the following two weeks.

It still seems unreal to me that he won't ever show up for dinner again, that he won't ever bring his laundry with him, that he won't ever send me a text message. Unreal, but I know it's true. It doesn't seem like four years could possibly have passed since the last time I saw him.
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This photo of Peter W. and Leif was taken in Puerto Rico at Hacienda Buena Vista in June 1991 when Leif was 16 years old, with his trademark Oakleys hanging around his neck, of course.

Leif in Blue on a Sailboat in the Caribbean

I love these photos. Peter W. took them when we were out on a sailboat when we lived in Puerto Rico in 1991. Leif was such a "Tarzan specimen" then, so tall, slim, muscular and handsome. He was letting his hair grow long, was finding good friends and dating, doing well in school, making his own guitar. He loved the sea and sailing. This was the summer that he went on the teen sail adventure in the British Virgin Islands and came home really looking like Tarzan with his long hair in tiny braids -- not the Tarzan ever actually had that hairstyle, but this was the Caribbean version. :) The memories of that time are good, happy ones. I'm glad he had some good times. Though not all his time in Puerto Rico was happy, I think some of the happiest times of his life occurred there, like his first love, K., and his triumph as Kenicke in the musical "Grease," his sail adventure, guitar playing, his group of friends. How I wish the successes he felt then had continued.

Today was a beautiful day, one that would have been lovely for a sail, a day at the beach, or Leif's other joy, a motorcycle ride. As we were driving down Dale Mabry in Tampa, a silver RX8 was alongside us. It might have been Leif's car. We thought of him, talked about him, reminisced, and how we missed him. BOB (big orange ball) was smiling on Tampa today. I wish he'd been there to enjoy it.

There are always so many reminders of him. I was thinking yesterday, as I was driving home from doing some errands, about this blog, about how I've been writing for more than three years. Haven't I said it all? Told all the memories, some more than once? Asked all the questions? At least all that I can put out here for an internet audience to read. What is left for me to write? And then I'll have a new dream, or something will trigger another memory, or I find a new picture or set of photos I'd like to post, and the blog goes on. I'm glad, for as long as it lasts. It's become a part of me.

Leif Loved Boats and the Sea

I've written before about how much Leif loved boats and being on the sea . . . not swimming in it, so much, but sailing, motorboats (especially fast ones), and diving. Peter W. took this photo of Leif sometime in 1991, when they were out on a boat in the sea around Puerto Rico, maybe on a dive. I notice the diving knife strapped to Leif's leg, and of course he is wearing those Oakley sunglasses, but the shirt tied around his head is a different look for him. The color of the water in the Caribbean is so beautiful, that marvelous turquoise blue that looks to perfect with the sky and clouds. The temperature was just right, the winds soothing and balmy. Leif seems so at home.

He Lives in Dreams

A few days ago, I awoke remembering a dream about Leif. It's rare that I remember my dreams, and rarer still that I dream about Leif. In fact, I can't remember dreaming about him since early 2008, when I was so worried about him but dreamed that he was about seven feet tall and immensely strong, and that something wonderful was going to happen for him. It must have been wishful thinking, hope. I remember telling him about that dream and him laughing because I said he was built like "The Rock."

The dream I had a few days ago was quite different, though equally positive. I'm glad that if I was going to remember a dream about him that it was a happy one, with him looking young, healthy, slim and strong. He was dressed in some snappy suit, more stylish than traditional. It was a charcoal gray silk suit. Unlike some men, Leif liked to dress up, enjoyed wearing a tie.

The dream was so like him because he was happy and eager to show me this fantastic new "cell phone" he had. It wasn't like any I've ever actually seen. I wish I could have taken a photo in my mind so I could show it to you. There's something about it that makes me think of the realtime email discussion that he was having with his brother, Peter Anthony, me, and some others, on the evening before he died, about what would make the ideal watch. This gadget combined many of the attributes that Peter A. had suggested, plus more. It didn't look remotely like a phone, but actually more like a very stylish, very smooth calculator, with a sort of brushed metal case, glass screen similar to an iPhone, and some kind of trigger mechanism that reminded me of a pistol, but it wasn't a gun . . . though Leif certainly could have been the one to figure out how to combine that, too.

He was eager, happy, energetic.

It was only a dream, but he lived in it, and I will treasure that time to "see" him once again.
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This photo of Leif in his "famous" purple suit was taken in our back yard in Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico around February 1991 when he was 16 years old. Of course he is also wearing his signature Oakley sunglasses.

The Bond With One's Child

I've written in posts shortly after Leif died that it felt like having a part of me cut off, and though it still does, like an amputee, I am learning how to live with it, though that doesn't mean I will ever stop missing him. I have speculated that there is something very physical about the bond between a mother and child, something in the DNA, perhaps, that knows when it is missing, but now I've read a study in Scientific American that has a different and compelling explanation. It says that the brains of new mothers change and areas grow as they bond with their infants. There literally are neural connections that are deep and strong, physical ones, not just psychic bonds, or are they one and the same? The article, "A New Mom's Changing Brain," by Nathan Collins, explains how these changes occur and what the effects are. The entire article is not available with this link, but if you have access to a good public library that has databases or a college or university library that does, you can access it there.

I found myself wondering just how profoundly my bond with Leif had changed my brain, and how acutely my brain, and thus my feelings, suffers from the lack of him and the bond being supported by his presence in my life. Is this at least partly why mothers (and perhaps fathers, too, for someone needs to research that) grieve so terribly over the death of a child, no matter what age they are when they die?

I also wondered whether love of any kind, romantic love, friendship, also creates changes in the brain, demonstrable proof of the response to another. I'll bet research would show that, too, but that it would be in some ways different than the response to one's baby.

I have felt sad that I haven't had time to post on this blog for the past 12 days due to other family needs. The living have to take precedence over the dead, and although I know that and believe it, still I felt as though I were neglecting Leif during this time, not giving him the time I want to devote to his memory, not keeping up the blog as well as I would like to do during the last part of the third year since his death. I can hardly believe that in only 18 days, it will be three years since he died. I still don't want to believe it, still want him back. It doesn't seem like three years could already have passed.

I was talking to my neighbor and friend whose son died six years ago this month and she said she heard a man whose son died man more years ago answer the question about whether it hurts and less over time this way, "No, but it hurts less often." She agreed with that, and so do I.

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These photos of Leif were taken in our quarters at Fort Buchanan, Puerto Rico around February 1991 when Leif had just turned 16 and was starting to let his hair grow longer. They are unusual because I think this was the only tan outfit or shirt he ever had. Tan was not his color or a favorite of his, so I don't even really know how or why he got it. Note the acid rock t-shirt under it.

A Sense of Style

Leif loved this pink "Hypercolor" shirt. He had a sort of mustard yellow Hypercolor sweatshirt, too. For awhile during our years in Puerto Rico, Hypercolor was a big fad. I still have two of my shirts, though they no longer change color. The tie-dye feature reminded me of the 70s. The flared "weight-lifter" pants with the narrow ankles were "in," too, in wild prints. I don't know whether the same things were all the rage on the US mainland at the time or not, and it seemed to me that the styles in Puerto Rico were a little more colorful and flamboyant, at least for the young.

Leif was right in step, wearing the ragged blue jeans and the wild print weight-lifter pants, an earring, "cool" shirts, Oakley sunglasses, and necklaces. This photo of him was taken somewhere on the island of Puerto Rico on an outing but I can't place it exactly. It was in November 1991 when Leif was 16 going on 17.

Leif was a stylish dresser until he was got out of the army. When he gained weight, he couldn't get into a lot of the clothing he had worn when he was younger, and he was always financially strapped. I don't know whether he didn't continue to dress with flare because his taste had changed, whether he was depressed and didn't care, or whether he just didn't have the money to dress the way he wanted to. He did spend a lot of money on his motorcycle jackets and boots, and just the day before he died he bought an expensive pair of shoes, but I think most of his money was going to support his debts and living expenses. We often gave him shirts as gifts, so he had some nice ones, but he gained so much weight that he didn't have the figure to show off the kind of style he once had. I wish I had seen him dressed to the nines one more time.

A New Realization: I Lost a Friend

I was thinking again the past two days about how families stay close and how we become friends and I thought of two very different kinds of time together. There are the family gatherings where we all enjoy being in a group and sharing time with each other, the kind that cements family closeness but in which there's never really time for any kind of personal closeness or intimacy, time to talk in depth with another person. Those times are what cements a personal closeness as opposed to a group identity and closeness. So often, once children leave home, find their adult friends, become immersed in careers, move away and have their own families, we only have the first kind of visit. The one-on-one or just parents and adult child kind of visit happens infrequently if at all. It happens with siblings, too, for many of us.

When I was considering this, I realized why we felt so close to Leif. He WAS with us as an individual all of his life except for his years in the army. We had him to ourselves, with time to visit, time to talk about so many things, time to be close. And that revelation suddenly brought another one. I hadn't just lost a son when he died. I lost a friend. A dear and close friend whose company I enjoyed. It was a loss in so many ways, the loss of our son, the loss of his future, the loss of the grandchildren we'd hoped to have, but it was also the loss of a friend, and I realize I've been mourning that as much as the others, without even knowing it until now. I miss my friend.

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These photos were taken in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico in 1991 when Leif was sixteen years old. I'm with him in the second one. When I was in San Juan a couple of weeks ago I pictured him on those streets and down by the harbor.

Leif at the beach in Puerto Rico

Leif loved the beach all his life, though without a companion here in Florida he rarely went. When he was with us, we had a beach vacation every year but for three years we lived in Hawaii and went to the beach often, and for two years we lived in Puerto Rico and went to the beach now and then, especially when Leif and Peter W. were SCUBA diving.

This photo was taken on the beach in Puerto Rico, probably Luquillo Beach, in February 1991. We had been in Puerto Rico for six months and Leif was 16 years old.

I look at these photos and I'm so grateful I have them, so glad to have a record of his life. The last couple of days I've been in a kind of funk of sadness on and off. The questions I had put out of my mind for a time came back to haunt me, and I am acutely aware that we are coming to the third anniversary of his death in April. For some reason having another year pass is very hard. The knowledge reinforces the finality of his death.

Peter W. is again talking about how Leif had so many things that should have given him a good life . . . good looks, height, a strong and happy family background, brilliant intelligence . . . and he asks how this could have happened. I reply that with all Leif's gifts, he was somehow cursed with the same misery that took my father's life, and my father's aunt's life. I find that some days it hits me and I can't get past it. He was and is so much a part of our lives that I don't think we will ever really be over it.

Leif and El Morro - San Juan, Puerto Rico - Ages 16 and 17

One of the places in San Juan, Puerto Rico that we would all remember is the fortress of San Felipe del Morro, which people just call El Morro (the rock). It is a huge Spanish Fortress dating back to the sixteenth century. Approaching it via the expansive park grounds is beautiful but doesn't give one the full scope of it's enormous size. Near it are a famous cemetery and the School of Fine Arts (Escuela des Artes Plasticas). You can see El Morro in the background of one of the photos of Leif and the art school in another one, and I've included a photo of El Morro I took from the ship and one of the art school taken on the cruise I went on last week. The other photos of Leif show him on the walls of El Morro, a place he found very impressive. I wonder if visiting it, and some of the other places we visited in his childhood and youth, helped to further his interest in belonging to SCA and his fascination with swords.

Leif was sixteen in the photos of him at El Morro in 1991, and he's wearing his trademark Oakley sunglasses and the current fad in clothing at the time. The guys pushed their pants up to just below the knee and their socks down to the ankles and showed off their hairy calves. They were also fond of "muscle" shirts. The other photo, with El Morro behind Leif across the bay, was taken in 1992 at the time the tall ships sailed into San Juan harbor to celebrate the 500th anniversary of the discovery of America by Columbus. He's wearing another fad, a tie-dyed shirt that changed colors with heat and sunlight. he was seventeen.

Scars

We all have our scars, those injuries life has dealt out to us that heal over but leave their image and imprint on us forever. Sometimes they are things we would fervently wish that we had never experienced. Sometimes the experiences were worth the pain. Sometimes we learn from them. Sometimes we grow. But sometimes, they are just wounds that heal over but leave us irreparably harmed. The scars of our lives, whether visible or invisible all have stories, and all those stories are worth telling. How different they are than tatoos, which also may have stories, sometimes even ones from invisible scars, but which usually are meant as decorations on the body, not evidence of wounds. So, although I think Leif would have heartily approved of this t-shirt saying, I think that scars and tatoos are quite different.

Leif was fond of saying he had no regrets though in the end I don't know whether that was completely true. He also believed that it's the things we don't do we regret, not those we do. Both are popular viewpoints, but I am not so blithe in either assertion.

There are so many things that remind me of Leif, of his life, of the things he said, the things he loved, the places he lived and visited. I just returned from a Caribbean cruise that visited San Juan and St. Thomas. We lived at Fort Buchanan in San Juan for two years, during Leif's sophomore and junior years of high school, where he attended Antilles High School. I've written about him during those years on this blog. They were good years for Leif, years when he blossomed in many ways. I hadn't been back to Puerto Rico since we left in 1992, and each place I walked in Old San Juan was a place I'd walked with Leif many times. I remembered him there, remembered the times we took him with us out to dinner, the visits to El Morro fortress, the trip to the Bacardi Rum Factory, the trip to El Yunque Rain Forest, swimming at Luquillo Beach, sailing to Vieques, and so much more. How I wish I'd been able to take him back there again.

We visited St. Thomas, too, and I remember climbing the hill to have lunch at Blackbeard's Castle, the place I saw this t-shirt. The restaurant is now gone, replaced by a gift shop and a bar, but the view is still spectacular, now "graced" with statues of famous pirates. Leif would have gotten a kick out of the story of Blackbeard, a man Leif's size who was a giant in his time, when the average man was 5' 2". He wore 6 pistols across his chest and would put cannon fuses in his hair and light them, then jump on to a ship with his hair on fire, yelling at the top of his lungs, and scare the daylights out of the crew of his victim vessel. They say he had little need of his guns to intimidate them. Leif would have loved hearing that.

I think that Puerto Rico and the Caribbean was the closest place to a home where Leif really felt AT home, where, after an initial series of difficulties, he made good friends, had an active social life, fell in love the first time, and loved the climate and culture. I am grateful he had those years.

Leif - Palominito Island, Puerto Rico - July 1991 - Age 16

In July 1991, we were invited to go on a day trip by private boat to the island called Palominito off the eastern coast of Puerto Rico. It was a lovely yacht and we had a beautiful day swimming and picnicking. This yacht even had a hand-held shower the you could wash the salt water off with before you got back into the boat, and a nice set of steps to make it easier to get back aboard. The water was the gorgeous Caribbean turquoise, and quite warm.

Leif was at his physical best, slender, muscular, and tanned. This photo is of him using the shower before getting aboard. I wish I had better photos of that day.

We made other trips to Palominito; Peter W. and Leif went SCUBA diving there. We also went to the islands of Culebra and Vieques in the same general area off the northeastern coast of Puerto Rico.

There was one trip we took with an army captain when we rented a sailboat and sailed out to Vieques. It was a lovely day, but unfortunately, no one was a really good sailor, and coming back into port we managed to run the keel aground on a reef. How embarrassing!

Leif enjoyed being around the water, the beach, boats, and diving. That same summer when he was 16, we sent him on a teen sail adventure in the British Virgin Islands, ActionQuest, which he loved. I wrote about that some time ago.

I think it was memories of how much he had enjoyed Puerto Rico that were part of the reason Leif wanted to move to Florida so much. Unfortunately, he didn't have the companionship he needed here to make going to the beach enjoyable, and didn't have the money to go out on boats or SCUBA diving, so he made little use of the wonderful beaches here.

Falling in Love at Seventeen

When we lived in Puerto Rico, Leif was in his sophomore and junior years of high school. We arrived there in August 1990 when he was fifteen years old and he left in July 1992 when he was seventeen. Initially he had some problems, being harassed as the new "gringo" but he got through that and had a great group of friends. It was the first time he had blossomed out and had a lot of friends, both boys and girls, and even had them over for parties. He found several girls very attractive but his interest wasn't reciprocated, or, if it was, the girl wasn't yet allowed to date. There were a couple of girls who had quite a case on Leif, and he had fun with them, but wasn't infatuated.

I don't know the date any more, or even whether it was during our first or second year in Puerto Rico, though I think it was the second one, that he met K. at a party we went to. It was given by one of the men who worked with Peter W. in the JAC Office, and Leif wasn't keen on going because he felt he wouldn't know anyone there. However, he decided to go and it became a fateful and pivotal event in his life.

K. was a very beautiful and intelligent young woman and Leif fell for her. It wasn't "puppy love." (After all, I can hardly dismiss falling in love at seventeen. I did, and I'm still married to Peter W., whom I married as soon as I turned eighteen.) Leif never stopped loving her, though after several years he did manage to stop yearning for her and look for others. They had a few dates but like so many of Leif's loves, his feelings were not reciprocated. It's a sad fact and I've always wondered about it, that it seemed that Leif often fell for women who didn't love him back, and with those that did, the relationship didn't last.

Leif usually had little interest in writing anything, let alone long messages or letters, except when it came to expressing his feelings to women or getting to know them. Then he wrote copious letters or email messages. When we lived in Puerto Rico, email wasn't yet something most people used. He wrote his school papers on our old Atari 1040ST computer, which had no hard drive, so he had his own 3.5 inch floppy disks for his files. When I sold that computer prior to moving to Florida, I saved all of the text files any of us had created in case they might be wanted or useful someday. After Leif died, I looked at his files to see whether there was something I could post on the blog, and in the past, I have posted some of the papers or opinion pieces he wrote.

One very personal letter I found was his declaration of love to K. I don't know whether he sent it, or what the reaction or reply was. I do know that the relationship did not develop further, and that even when we moved back to Kansas, he tried to find out where she was going to college in the hopes he might be able to go there, too, and see her. That didn't happen.

One of the things I found interesting about this letter is that he talks about having been in love before, but I never knew about him being in love with anyone else when he was younger, or even having a girlfriend or any dates. If he was "in love" before he was sixteen or seventeen, it must have been a crush on someone he kept to himself. I wonder who it was.

He ends this letter with permission for K. to share the letter with her family and friends but not to make it public for all the world to see, as these are his innermost thoughts. That gave me pause about publishing it here, but he is no longer alive and it is such an integral part of the man he became, such an important part of his story, that I am going to print it. It allows a lot of insight into the depth of feelings he had for the women he loved, how important it was for him to have the connection, and how terrible the loss of it made him feel.

Dear K,

This letter may come as a surprise to you but it has been all too long in waiting for me. I am writing this letter not to ask you for anything but only to inform you of the feelings that I have keep secret for far too long. I think I shall never forget the night I met you at Mr. C's house. I had gone to that party reluctantly, thinking that it would be boring and uneventful. In retrospect I realize that my decision to go anyway was either one of the best or worst decisions I have ever made. Meeting you changed my life significantly. I had been introduced to a woman, to which I was unaccustomed. Not a superficial, gossiping little girl like most of my fellow students but a woman, secure and confident but yet vulnerable and attractive, impressive but not intimidating, assertive but not aggressive, demure but not submissive, an almost perfect balance of Beauty, intelligence, and personality. I had always known women who were: beautiful, smart, entertaining, fun to be with, sweet, mature, but never had I encountered one that possessed all of these qualities. Until that night.

They say ignorance is bliss and they are quite right. I was happy, content to flirt with the attractive but insubstantial girls of Antilles, having fun and a few laughs but no relationships. Naturally I was happy. After all I didn't know what I was missing. Forced to live a lifestyle that uproots you every three years or so, I had trained myself rather well not to allow myself to get attached to any particular place or person. But I have arrived at a point in my life that I need to attach myself to somebody. I have been alone for so long now that I'm not sure I know what it is like to be in love anymore. And so I was unprepared, unprepared to fall in love again. The more time I spend with you the more I realize how unusual and special you are. Unfortunately I also became more clumsy in my dealings with you. I have always been comfortable talking to members of the opposite sex and have often laughed at others inability to express themselves in the presence of a woman. But now I understand all too well the feeling of wanting something so badly that you are afraid to do anything that might risk it.

If you think back to when we had just met and I barely knew you, you will remember that I was much more aggressive and sure of myself. I was playfully affectionate and concerned only by what felt right at the moment. Later, as my feelings transformed from a casual attraction to serious romantic interest I began to become cautious, too cautious. I was afraid to touch you, to tell you how I felt, afraid of anything that would be interpreted wrong, that would make me seem to be pushing you. So afraid that I did nothing, just waited and hoped that it things would just work out somehow. But I also knew that there was no hope of that.

In addition, adding to my fears were the mistakes that I had made in the first few weeks of knowing you. The time I criticized your driving and the time I dumped you off my shoulders at the beach. You may have long since forgiven me for these things, which most would consider trivial, but I have never forgiven myself. They may sound insignificant but I knew afterward that I had hurt you and there is no greater guilt than that of knowing you have hurt someone you love. There was also the time at Pizza Hut that me and Will pried from you your reason for hating water skiing. Although I am truly honored that you would trust me with such a personal piece of information, we had no right to pry into your personal affairs and bring back painful memories of things that are none of our business.

All these things and my fear of rejection by a person who I respected so much kept me from telling you how I feel. But now things have changed. I know who I am and what is important to me. I know that It is better to live with no than maybe. I must know where I stand so that I may either take the next step or get on with my life.

I had managed to get along for several months with out seeing you and was doing just fine. Out of sight is out of mind as they say. But seeing you at your brothers' party brought back every feeling every desire tenfold. Even as I enjoyed a pleasant conversation with L. I could not help but glance over to see what you were doing. I saw you interacting with all your friends. I watched you as you lived this life that I am not a part of and felt hurt as you so innocently ignored me. So I immersed myself in the conversation with L. I doubt she ever suspected just how close to tears I was at that night. When I got home I let down my guard. There was no one there to see my pain and so I let it all lose. I had already been depressed that week (and most of this year for that matter) and that in addition to seeing you was more than I could bear. I went to the playground at the elementary school and climbed one of the Jungle-gyms. There I sat, staring at the lights of San Juan crying silent tears as I resolved my feelings for you. It was then I decided that I could no longer float between friend and lover. I had to become one or the other.

I had intended to tell you this on Friday night but that would have been impossible with seven other people around and I could never have remembered everything I wanted to say. That is why I have chosen to write you a letter instead of telling you in person. I have waited so long to tell you this that I wanted to make sure I got it right, all of it. I needed a way to tell you how I feel without sounding corny or overly dramatic, (which i'm afraid this letter may be) but if you like I will be happy to tell you anything in this letter in person at any time. I wanted to tell you how every time I see you I long to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you, to take you in my arms and never let go. And if I had less respect for you and your wishes, I might not have been able to resist doing just that.

You once told me that you were tired of looking for somebody and that you would like someone to look for you, for a change. Well Karen, somebody has been looking and he has found what he was looking for. The only question is, can he reach it? If I am reaching you, if something in this letter touches you, then you will know where to find me. If not please do not cause your self any pain over what will happen to me. I can't have that on my conscience. They say that it is easier to love than to be loved. Having received a few of these letters myself I must say that it is true, it is always easier to be hurt than to hurt another.

I have been prepared for a long time now to deal with your answer, whatever it may be. I offer my love and ask only this: that you be as honest with me as I have been with you. Because to have you because you felt some obligation or guilt would be meaningless.

If ever you need a friend or a shoulder to cry on or just want to talk, I want you to know that I will always be there for you. There is an old saying that says "old lovers make the best friends." Well, that is also true of would-be lovers and you shall always have a friend in me.

All my love,
Alex

P.S. Whether or not you share this letter with your friends and families is up to you. I would not object to you sharing it with your close friends but given the fact that these are my inner most thoughts and emotions I would prefer that they were not distributed openly for everyone to hear. Share what you must but keep the rest between us. I am including a picture and hope that you will either give me one of you or allow me to take some. Also, if you feel bad about dinner then I'm sorry but I'm a little old fashioned and perhaps too generous. If you like you can take me out next time.

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These two photos of Leif were actually taken of him with K. on two of their dates. I believe they were taken in April 1992. I think he looks kind of like some debonair Spanish caballero. You can see how happy he looks. The chain mail he is wearing around his neck he made himself. I think there were few high school juniors who were already able to grow a beard and mustache.