Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 -Memories of Alex by his Father, Peter W. Garretson(Video)

When we planned Leif's memorial services, his father wasn't sure he wanted to stand up in front of those attending and express his feelings. It is a very daunting thing to do as a bereaved parent. So, I didn't put him on the format program for the Celebration of Life ceremony at the St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church. Everyone who attended was invited to speak during the candle lighting part of the ceremony, if they wished, and two people who weren't scheduled to speak did so, Peter W., Leif's father, and Leif's best friend, Michael Mauldin. The camera was on a tripod and pointed at the pulpit, so it caught Peter W.'s speech, but Michael spoke down in front of the pews and although his voice was picked up by the camera, he was not. Both had very personal and touching things to say. I posted a photo of Michael speaking when I was doing all the still photos of the ceremonies, but I won't post the video, which shows and empty pulpit with Michael's voice off to the side. I wish we had video of him, too.

The speakers were Rev. Misha, who gave a homily about Leif's life, and Darlene, who read the Twenty-Third Psalm. Unfortunately, the video ran out in the middle of Rev. Mishra's homily and so we have lost that portion as well as Darlene's reading. I have posted photos of them.

Rev. Mishra never met Leif, but he met with us for several hours to learn about his life and wrote and delivered a very honest and open account of his life and death. That was what we wanted, truthfulness, not eulogies, and we were glad for his forthrightness and his kindness to us.

I had never had to plan a memorial service before and I learned a lot planning and carrying these out. I had been to many funerals that seemed to have so little to do with the deceased and so much to do with Christian dogma, and they left me feeling as though the person we were there to remember and honor was almost left out. There was one funeral of a very dear friend who planned her own service that was wonderful, uplifting, truthful and beautiful, and it featured friends and family talking about her and her life. It was so wonderfully true to Betty that although we were all sad to have lost her, we were enriched by that service. The circumstances of Leif's death were tragic and terrible, and his adult life had much less that was happy and uplifting in it, but I wanted the memorials for him to be just as truthful about who he was and why and how he died. I wanted music that represented him and our feelings. I wanted readings that did the same. I think we were successful.

A memorial service is for those left behind. It is supposed to help them achieve some closure and say goodbye. I can't speak for the others who came, though I did hear from them that they felt the services were right for Leif, but although I am glad we had them, glad for every spoken word, glad for the flag, glad he received military honors, none of that represented closure to me, and I still cannot really say goodbye. I some sense, I am trying to keep him alive with this blog. I know in reality that isnt possible, but I am not ready to let him go.

The church ceremony concluded with a unison reading of the Christina Rosseti poem, "Remember," the benediction and extinguishing of the flaming chalice, and the piano music of "Think of Me" from "Phantom of the Opera" by Andrew Lloyd Webber, played by Dorothy Byrne.
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"Remember" by Christina Rosseti

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

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Thank you for celebrating Leif's life with us
May we all walk in the light
And find joy in the life we live.
For his sake, for our sakes,
May we all find friendship, purpose,
And above all, love.

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

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

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

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 - "My Friend, My Brother, Is Gone" - Jason Palenske (Video))

One of Leif's long-time best friends was Jason Palenske who came from Manhattan, Kansas to be with us for Leif's memorial services. Leif and Jason met in their senior year of high school. They shared many interests, Cyberpunk gaming, role-playing game development, Society for Creative Anachronism, motorcycles, and more. Jason refers to growing apart. It happens to so many of our friendships. Jason was married and had children, while Leif was divorced and alone. A married man has so many responsibilities and so little time. But there was always friendship and affection there. We were very touched that Jason came to be with us and gave his son Brayden, born March 4th, the middle name Leif.

Jason wrote a part of the remarks he read at the memorial service on his MySpace page on April 14. I found them meaningfl and touching and I asked him to read them at Leif's service. Jason did that for me, for us, and added to them. I have been profoundly grateful for the continuing contact with Jason and his wife, Melissa, who gave us the beautiful flag case for Leif's military honors flag.
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"My Friend, My Brother, Is Gone" by Jason Palenske

I was trying to make it through the day...

Not understanding why, not knowing what I could have done to make things better, not knowing how I could have helped...

Then for a moment I saw you again, saw you riding the wheels of a stranger, but then your hand reached out...

I wanted to follow, I wanted to turn around and ride, ride until there was no where else to go. I can't follow you this time, you're riding somewhere I can't go yet...not yet.

My dad once said a person is lucky to have 5 true friends in their life, and as you drove me to his funeral I told you you were one of mine. I made mistakes though, I made one of the worst mistakes a friend can make. I went down the wrong road and didn't make sure you were there. I didn't make sure that we didn't drift farther and farther apart.

I took the wrong road and now I can never get back...

I want to be able to call, I want to say "Why aren't you here?", I want to here the surprise and then that mocking tone "I am here, but where are you, I'll be there in a minute."

I am here my friend, I am here...it'll be awhile before I get there though. I've got things to finish here first, then, then I can be there. So be patient my friend, my brother, be patient. I'll be there soon enough, it just may take awhile.


My brother is gone and I can't fill the void that he left...not yet, not yet.

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 - "Farewell to My Gentle Giant"

It was hard to write a speech that captured my thoughts and feelings about Leif, and even harder to give it without completely breaking down. When I planned Leif's memorial services, I knew I wanted to be a part of them, to honor his memory and my love for him by talking about him and his life, but I wasn't sure I could keep enough composure to get through it. In the end, I decided it didn't matter, that what mattered was that I wanted to do it and wanted to try.

People at funerals and memorial services expect tears and grief, not polished performances, and saying goodbye to my son and honoring him in this way was far more important to me than sitting quietly in a pew and trying to be composed while someone else spoke words that were not mine. I wanted to tell those who were there with me about my son, to bring some measure of understanding to his life and who he was. His death is such a huge and terrible loss. It deserves the depth of emotion and thoughtful observations about him and his life.

I posted the text of my speech last spring, not long after the memorial service. At that time, my grief and the blog were so new that I wasn't sure what I was going to do with either of them, how I would go on. When I started the blog, I thought I would just "remember the good times." I posted my "Farewell to My Gentle Giant" text thinking I was saying goodbye to the sad parts and would focus on the happy parts of his life, leaving behind the memorial services and sadness.

As I've said before, it didn't take long before I realized that was not going to work. It wasn't real. If I was going to write about Leif and his life, I had to admit his death and bare my grief. I would have to write about it. I have done that now for over a year. When the anniversaries of his death and memorial services arrived in April, I knew I had to tell the truth about the events of his death and post text and videos of the memorial services. It's time.
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(For consistency about the memorial services, I am posting my speech text again below.)

Farewell to my Gentle Giant

I can't listen to that sad, poignant song [Who Wants to Live Forever] without crying. It is so quintessentially Leif. He loved the movie, The Highlander, and there was a time people said he looked like Adrian Paul. He loved swords, was a romantic at heart, and was devastated when loved died. He wanted to be a hero, wanted to be needed, wanted to be strong. Through so many disappointments and crises, he held his head high and did not let others see his pain and frustration. Finally, it was too much.

From the day he was born, Leif was, in a sense, larger than life. He was such a large newborn that the nurses at the hospital where he was born joked that I was supposed to raise my kids after I had them, and teased me about what college he was going to.

He dwarfed the other babies there. I thought it was a fluke, that he would slow down to the family average size, but Leif was always the tallest in his class, even taller than his first grade teacher, and was 6' 1" by the time he was only in 7th grade.

He also had a piercingly smart mind. His teacher at the Montessori school he attended in Nurnberg, Germany when he was two years old told me at a conference that initially she thought Leif paid no attention to anything, didn't join the circle time, and wasn't getting anything out of it because he was puttering around by himself. Then, when they did their learning assessments, she was amazed to discover that Leif knew everything that had been taught to the class while he was silently working on his own.

Leif had a nearly photographic memory, and an amazing auditory memory that allowed him to quote movie lines, not bother with note-taking in school, and recall even how people spoke, not just what they said.

He was a beautiful child, so beautiful that people would literally stop us on the street and tell us that, but I don't think he ever sensed and would have been embarrassed it he had. By the time he was an adolescent, reaching puberty long before the other boys in his class, and spent years with a bad case of acne that he was teased about, he didn't believe he was attractive.

I don't know what kind of perspective a child growing up like that gains on the world, how it feels to be the giant, both physically and mentally, but I know he felt a kind of distance from others and an inner conflict that probably lasted all his life. He was only partly at home in the world of his peers, whether as a child, an adolescent, or an adult.

I called him my gentle giant, for with his size and enormous strength, it would have been all to easy for Leif to be a bully or use his body and mind to dominate or torment others, but he never did, not after the day in kindergarten when he lost his temper, threw toys at other children, and then was so mortified and ashamed of himself that he crawled under a table and would not come out. It was clear he had made a decision that would not happen again, that he would not hurt anyone.

Leif became in some ways a very traditional man From babyhood he loved vehicles of all kinds, and became an expert on cars and motorcycles, driving either as though he were in the Monte Carlo Grand Prix. He could never have enough gadgets and even built his own computer. He loved guns and was a certified armorer and a passionate believer in the Second Amendment. He practiced martial arts and earned a black belt in judo, and loved fighting in medieval armor in the SCA, even wearing a 50 pound chain mail shirt he made himself. He loved movies about superheroes, men who saved the planet, the universe. He joined the infantry to fight for his country, to defend his beloved Constitution. Leif needed a focus for his intellect and his emotions, a defining purpose and a lofty goal, but unfortunately, he never really found them. He yearned achingly for someone to love, but a lasting relationship was not meant to be. He was deeply hurt, but he always forgave.

Yes, Leif wanted to be the hero, the gentle giant who would fight to defend his family, his friends, his country. His personal code was to never show weakness, and he kept his deep and towering emotions inside. He wanted to be needed, to be respected and loved.

Leif made many mistakes and he often lived life on the edge. He seemed to need and crave strong sensations, speed, danger, everything larger than life, as if life had to be over the top to be worthwhile, and yet he could patiently explain and teach almost any concept in a way the listener could understand, to an adult or a child.

I have been touched by the comments posted on my Remembering Leif blog, and I've asked one of Leif's friends for permission to quote her post because it captures some of how people saw him. Lorelei Siddall wrote:

“I met Leif in 2001 at the KSU Computer store where we were both employed. The computer store was a dim and humorless place at first, but then came Leif, a bright spot. I was intimidated at first since he was such a rambunctious person... full of ideas and interesting facts, philosophies, and an overwhelming presence that was almost bigger than the tiny alcove the store was tucked into.

“He quickly became the most interesting person in the store to talk to and work with, and soon my boyfriend at the time was coming up to the store specifically to talk to him as well. He spawned a sort of viral effect... whereas one person could meet him, then tell other people about this guy 'you just have to meet', and a sort of legend develops.

“I cherish the time I (had). You and your husband raised an amazing person, a person who has had a profound and global impact on the lives he had touched. He was a natural teacher, although this last lesson is the hardest one I think.”

It is indeed a hard one, one I don't want to learn. I don't want to learn to live without Leif, but I know I must. I don't want to miss his presence, his intellect, his humor, his dimpled smile, and most of all, his love.

As parents, we brought our sons into the world full of hope for them, and it is hard to accept that our dreams for Leif will never be realized, that he will never find his purpose and defeat his demons, that he will never have a family, that he will never be there for a birthday or a Christmas, never be there to teach us about the latest technology and set things up for us, never tease me about driving like an old lady.

It is hardest of all to know that our love was not enough to save him, that no matter what I tried, I could not help him be happy, or take away his pain. I knew it was there, but he would not admit to me how bad it was.

In many ways, he lived a life rich in experience, though it was also drowned in depression and loneliness. In many ways he engaged the world and wanted much from life, but he was also bitterly disappointed. In the end, he was overwhelmed.

I can't really talk to you about my feelings about Leif, or I would be overwhelmed. I brought him into with world with hope and love, how I wish he would have had the hope I had for him. He was and always will be larger than life, my gentle giant, a tragic would-be hero, and I will be grateful for the 33 years of memories I have of him, the things he taught me, the bear hugs he gave me. I will miss him every day of my life.

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 - "Who Was My Brother? (Second Half of Video)

This is the second half of Peter Anthony Garretson's "Who Was My Brother?" speech about his deceased brother, Leif, delivered at the St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church on April 29, 2008.

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 - "Who Was My Brother? (First Half of video & entire text)

Peter Anthony did a lot of research about his brother, Leif, on the internet, from posts that Leif made on the ZAON forums to posts about him both during his life and after he died, to comments on this blog and on Leif's MySpace and Faceabook pages. He tried to formulate a picture of Leif as others saw him and integrate it with his own. Peter Anthony was six years older than Leif and left home to go the the Air Force Academy when Leif was still a twelve-year-old junior high school student. From that day on, he only saw Leif during his visits home, as he never lived under the same roof again. Leif went through his teen and adult years from from his older brother. Though they were family, though they were a part of each other's identity, and though they had been close as children, they had too little contact after Peter Anthony left home to keep the relationship close. In the year before Leif died, it seemed to me that they were contacting each other a bit more, that maybe there would be a closer relationship developing as they headed into middle age, but it was not to be. It was prematurely ended with Leif's death.

We found Peter Anthony's detailed analysis fair and penetrating, interesting and challenging, revealing and thought-provoking, touching and well-delivered, and we were very glad and grateful that he was willing to share it with us and with those at the memorial service.

The first half of the video of his speech is in this post. The second half will be posted tomorrow. The entire text is below.
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Who Was My Brother? by Peter A. Garretson, April 2008

Who was my brother?
People describe my brother as brash, unabashed, unappologetic, uncompromising, inconsiderate, incautious, arrogant, selfish, lazy (unless a project caught his interest), creative, talented, tolerant, accepting, enthusiastic, crass, deeply caring, forgiving, committed to his friends, practical.

He went by many names: Leif, Ashley, Lance, Alexander, first moving away from his given names (when unusual names weren’t cool) and then moving back to his given names.

He was a patriot, a man who loved and served his country, endured hardships for, and put his life on the line for his country, and he cared deeply about its future.

I think he would have been surprised at the breadth and depth of the lives he touched, and the positive effect he had on them. He had a kind of charisma, rawness and authenticity, inclusiveness, tolerance, and welcomingness that made people instantly like him. He was not the kind of guy who was going to get offended by anything you were likely to say or do (unless you were repealing constitutional liberties or mis-spending the lives of citizen soldiers).

A friend captured him perfectly, saying “He challenged us, provoked us, and never ever held back his opinion. This forum will never again be the same to me without him.” Another said: “He challenged me to be better and to think. He will be missed.”
Enthusiastic about the things that mattered to him, passionate about his chosen endeavors, unapologetic about his opinions and desires, Leif called people to look at the bigger picture and take life with a sense of humor.

Those who knew him said things like “He was an incredible man. A bright spot. The most interesting person in the store to talk to and work with. A rambunctious person... full of ideas and interesting facts, philosophies. He was an overwhelming presence that was almost bigger than the tiny alcove the store was tucked into. Words truly can not describe him. So full of infinite knowledge, a compassionate heart, and internal drive that will live on in the hearts of those he touched. Seemingly brash, once you got to know him you quickly realized just how caring and good a person he really was…He was definitely a good guy inside.”

On any subject, whether life itself, psychology, philosophy, politics, religion, or the latest videogames, Leif was never without some valuable perspective to contribute to the rest of us. And from my perspective, he was just now getting more sublime and interesting.

His associates saw him as a support, a champion of their cause, a loyal and committed teammate and ally, as someone who gave good advice, was encouraging, who helped them to see the big picture, and who challenged, pushed and encouraged them to be better and to think more deeply. Through that encouragement, those he touched grew, and tried things that otherwise they never would have. His friendship was transformative.

Leif was not one to hide his opinion, and so I will honor him, and a favorite book of his, “Speaker for the Dead” by telling the truth about my brother as best I knew him.

None of us knows or probably can ever know whether Leif departed us through design or accident, but if he thought he was not needed by his friends and family, he was deeply mistaken. While no explanation is satisfying to have lost one so young, full of potential, and such a contribution to our lives, it is my hope that his final moments were not of concealed quiet desparation and despair, but rather incautious enjoyment, and so I am personally happy that his last few hours were spent in joy with friends.

I loved my brother, and had always wanted the best for him. Leif very much needed a partner, a complement. I had hoped he would get marreid, have kids, find his calling, moderate his excesses with age. But it was not to be. He had hard luck, both in love and work. He had many, many breaks, but not the ones that matter to a man’s soul.

As a kid, he wanted to be a fighter pilot, and would have been an excellent one (particularly in the era of Boyd and Yaeger when pushing a machine to its limit was a virtue), had poor eyesight not closed that door to him. Denied his first calling, never found another. Denied his first love, he never found his way to a safe harbor. He had great affection for children, and would forever be a child at heart, but never had his own.

While his rational morality understood Earthly virtues and had a place for wisdom, fortitude, justice, truth (and to a lesser extent temperance), he never had access to faith, hope, and charity which see so many through despairing times, and might have aided him as well. Leif cared deeply about truth and morality, but never found God, never found a faith in which he could trust, and so was denied the nurturing discipline, community, and security which it provides. He never found that higher purpose, and without it rejected protective constraints on his liberty.

When no path will get us to where we need to go, we tend to be more haphazard about our next steps since none of them matter to the goal. Perhaps that explains why, for one of the smartest people I knew, his life seemed to me an almost unbroken string of poor decisions and poor judgment.

Starved of higher purpose, he was a fountain of unchanneled energies, forever driving him to excess, whether it be drinking, guns, gadgets, cars, alchohol, and a lifestyle far beyond his means.

In one sense he knew how to enjoy himself, and drank more fully of life than most of us do. But in another sense he was unfortunate, for having drunk so deeply, he was still unsatisfied, and ever thirsty.

He seemed afflicted with that pathology that afflicts males with no children: No one to whom to devote resources but on one's self. No compelling reason NOT to take chances. A constant dissipation of frustrated libido, and a fascination with this thing called violence, not yet understanding what it is for.

My first memories of my brother go back to dramatic goofing around on the back terrace of a wonderful house on a hill in Germany, and later to our time in Japan watching Japanese robot anime, Ultra-man, and Kamen Rider, and endless hours of watching, and re-watching the first generation of real sci-fi movies: Star Wars, Star Trek, Alien, the Black Hole.

Later, I remember coming home and finding my little brother transformed. He had gone from a mop-haired, cute little kid, to this incredibly tall, long-haired guitar hero dude with his own fashion sense, with a room decorated with a gigantic stereo (when that was cool), a shrine to Cyndi Crawford, guitars, and having transformed my parents old station wagon into something that was not quite boring, but not quite cool yet either…but on its way. My brother, was a “cool dude.”

His death came at an unfortunate time in our relationship, when we were talking and connecting more. I was re-discovering a love of anime and video games, having just seen Final Fantasy, Macross Zero and Appleseed, and when he was developing not just his Bacchan side but had just taken philosophy, and I was looking forward to exploring his Apollonian side. I was looking forward to getting together this summer.

In the oddest and most perverse way, I can’t help but think he would have had interesting insights and observations on his own death and our reactions and its meaning to us. I find that more than anyone else, I’d like to get his take, his detached perspective on things. I’m greatly annoyed that he isn’t around to represent himself. No doubt he would have had a good bit of dark humor about his own death, and he certainly would council us to take nothing as sacred, and enjoy this opportunity to get together. He would certainly not encourage us to follow his last example.

In one of his favorite games, when things clearly aren’t going your way, when you know you aren’t going to win, you can just blow yourself up and re-spawn to try again. Perhaps, if the Hindus and Buddhists are right about reincarnation, that is exactly what he did.

He was fond of saying that there is no problem that a proper application of explosives cannot solve. And perhaps it solved the problem for him…but not for us. Leif jealously guarded of the liberty of human decisions, and had it been one of us, he would likely have rejected any notion of impaired decisionmaking, and would likey have been both accepting and disparaging if it had been our choice. If he were here, he’d probably say something shocking and callous, pretending to great selfishness like: “Why are you so upset over me? I woundn’t be so upset over you.” But I wonder how well he knew himself or how much he cared for others.

My brother had a deep reservoir of talent, creativity, and virtue. I suspect he was like many of the world’s greatest citizens that were ne'r-do-wells until fate placed them in places of responsibility in a time of need. I say this because those who were touched by him found him to be full of wisdom, insight, encouragement, and his pride had a meaningful effect. They looked to him as a confidant, mentor, teacher. They felt improved, enobled, an uplifted by their association with him.

As far as I could tell, his highest values were liberty, coolness, and loyalty to friends.

My brother valued coolness very highly. He sought it in all things, and wished to surround, accessorize himself, and project it. Whether it was computers, phones, guns, guitars, he seemed to have done a tremendous amount of research, knew exactly what the best and worst features were (and would gladly tell you), and of course, whether he could afford it or not, he most likely had the best and latest gadget. But he was not a materialist. He did not acquire them because he valued the things themselves, but rather the experiences they conveyed.

And the experiences he sought were not the quiet experiences of the soul. He was not one to sequester himself at a mediation retreat, or the solitude of a Walden Pond. Rather, he sought loud, stimulating experiences that would challenge his “coolness” and turn him on—and he had a much higher excitement threshold than most. He loved games, and spent tremendous amounts of time on games like Cyberpunk, Planetside, Mass Effect, and pouring his creative juices into ZAON, and he organized his social life around them.

He enjoyed many a pleasure to excess, took full advantage of the pleasures of this world, and was willing to risk life and limb to experience them. Nothing was muted.

And among the coolest and most compelling experiences for my brother was speed. He valued this very highly and was willing to take tremendous risks to experience it. I remember him taking me on a ride in his RX-7, and being utterly scared for my life. Never, in all my life had I been in a vehicle where the wheels did not turn at the same speed as the road, or where the experience was closer to a roller coaster than to a car ride. And he claimed that no car could compare to a motorcycle. He had numerous accidents, and continued to feed his thirst for speed. He seemed to me to be always cheating death, riding without a helmet, taking turns at the edge of performance, and living on borrowed time, and like some of you, I thought he would most likely die on a motorcycle, chasing the experience he valued so highly. Like one of his online friends, I too thought: “Never would have I thought something like this would ever happen to him. Perhaps out in a blaze of glory at mach 10 with his ass on fire on one of his toys, but not like this.“

As I said, he jealously valued human liberty, and rejected all claims of others to moderate his joys for their own benefit, safety or security. He took life lightly with a wry and often dark sense of humor, and he was quick with penetrating, humorous, and darkly humorous insights.

His “coolness” even permeated his person. He seemd to cultivate a Zen-like inperturbability, and gravitas. That gravity of personality seemed to attract, and he seemed to welcome, people who were much more volatile, emotive, and expressive and needed that kind of gravity to stabilize and hold the space for them.

And as far as I could tell, despite his outer coolness and brashness, he seems to have been a caring, reliable, forgiving individual who always sought the best for those close to him. Even through rocky circumstances and separations, I’m not sure anyone, once entering Leif’s circle, was ever outside it.

Certainly I had relied upon him to be there for my family should I be in trouble, or should something happen to me. I had relied upon him to be close to my parents and take care of them. And I had relied upon him to hold a certain position in life as a measuring stick for my own decisions and accomplishments. That rug has been pulled out from beneath me. His passing has made each meal simultaneously more flavorful and tasteless. In every bite, in every experience, I taste my own mortality, for we were made of the same basic cloth--both thrilled that I am still alive, and saddened that he is not.

Brothers are also competitive and run a good race to bring home to each other and their parents the fruits of their labors. Now I find every successful accomplishment is bittersweet, sweet because death causes us to appreciate life, and bitter because his passing deprives me of a meaningful victory because it is like winning not by virtue but by forfeit. In this life, at least, he should have stayed in the race. With his talents, frankly, he should have won it.

Had things worked out just slightly differently for Leif, he might have become a pilot and married that high school sweetheart, and perhaps he’d have a couple of lovely daughters. Doing something he loved and was good at, he might have been promoted below the zone, perhaps he’d even been selected as initial cadre on the F-22 Raptor and applying for this year’s astronaut class. I’d like to think that he’d have been motivated to continue his Judo, to stay in shape, and might be playing guitar or bass in a band. I’d like to think he’d have reason to come through DC where I’d take him to train with my local jujitsu group and amidst a likely argument about Col. John Boyd’s philosophy of winning and losing, I’d try to talk him into requesting an assignment to Air Force Future concepts where he could put his wargamer design skills to use for his country. Later, perhaps we’d be getting together, letting our kids play and our spouses talk as we enjoyed a good bottle of wine and and made plans for a family trip to Palau where we could dive and ride, two things we both enjoyed.

As one of his friends wrote, “I wanted so much for him to find the love and happiness, he deserved it more than anyone I knew.” Regrettably, the bright future or past we would author of Leif is not to come in this incarnation, and I hope Leif’s best guess about our Creator was not on target, and his spirit will persist, and he will get a second chance to realize the destiny he was meant for.

I would like to end with a something that one of his online creative collaborators, Rush Wingate wrote about Leif that both captures him and his dreams, and our best intentions for him:

"Leif was a free spirit in life. He loved speed, he loved adventure. Like us, he held on tightly to the child's dream and fantasy of rocketing among the stars. Well, through tragedy, Leif will the first among us realize that dream. In the summers to come, I will lie along rivers and beaches, or in fine pastures on my many camping trips, and I shall look at the stars. In winters I will continue to haul myself out into frosty fields with my thermos of coffee and many telescopes to gaze at the cosmos. When I do, I shall think of that "brawlin' SOB". I'll think of how that spirit is now free to roam and explore those very stars we all fantasized about. I know that our resident Speed Demon will have strapped himself to a blazing comet, rocketing in the cosmos, a permanent smile on his face."

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

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

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



























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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leif's Memorial Service at St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church - April 29, 2008 - The Program Speakers

Following the piano piece, "To Dream The Impossible Dream," which Peter W. and I chose because it seemed to fit Leif so well, Leif's older brother, Peter Anthony spoke about Leif's life, impact on others, talents, and failure to find his way in life. His speech was title, "Who Was My Brother?"

After he spoke, a recording of the Queen song, "Who Wants To Live Forever," was played. That was a quintessentially "Leif" piece of music. He had introduced it to use years ago and found it profound. I can't listen to it without tears because the words so perfectly seem to reflect his own anguish.

I was the next speaker after the Queen song, my "Farewell To My Gentle Giant." After I spoke, Ms. Byrne played "The Sound of Silence."

Leif's friend Jason read the thoughts I had asked him to share with us, poignant ones he had originally posted on his MySpace page.

These were the three family and friendship speakers on the program who were to give prepared, personal remarks. Others were invited to participate later in the service.

Tomorrow I will post more of the service and at the end, some video clips along with the text of some of those remarks.

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

I knew we wanted to have Leif honored with a military ceremony and inurned in a national cemetery, but I also wanted another, longer service to remember him. Initially it was hard to plan because I didn't know a good place to have it or what to do. I spent a lot of time looking at ideas online and in books. Leif was not a religious person, and called himself an agnostic. A regular religious church service would not have been at all true to the man, and a service at a funeral home seemed too sad and sterile to me. I once was a member of the Unitarian Universalist church by mail, called The Church of the Larger Fellowship, and that got me to wondering whether a service at a Unitarian church might be the best option.

Through the internet I found the St. Petersburg Unitarian Universalist Church and Reverend Manish Mishra. It was the place we needed. With him we planned a "Celebration of Life" that was truthful and fitting about Leif's life and death. It was held at 4:00 p.m. at the church at 719 Arlington Avenue, St. Petersburg. It was not a long distance from the cemetery, and that, too, was helpful. The people at the church helped me to find a pianist, Ms. Dorothy Byrne, to play songs I selected, and I gradually put together a program with Leif's family and friends participating.

The photos above are of the church and the program I made for guests. the program photos may be too small for you to read them, but in the following days, I will write more about the service which began with music and the lighting of the flaming chalice, a tradition in Unitarian churches. Rev. Manish welcomed the visitors and the pianist played "To Dream the Impossible Dream" before our first speaker.