Bad luck and bad choices

Today Peter W. (Leif's father) told me that I make Leif out to be some kind of paragon, handsome, brilliant, and so on, and I countered that I have written blog posts about his poor choices and inability to manage his spending, his drinking, procrastination, terrible housekeeping, lousy record keeping, and fast driving, and that I'm quite clear-eyed about the real person my son was. It's true; I have a balanced view of him, but he WAS brilliant and handsome, and he had many wonderful qualities as well. What he didn't have was good luck . . . and in many cases, good judgement about relationships, job choices and spending money. He was a decent man who didn't harm others and showed remarkable restraint when dealing with people who were very difficult, even those who hurt him. And yet he could be exasperating, uncommunicative and evasive, or by turns helpful and generous or sullen and withdrawn.

But regardless of any of that, he was my son and I loved him dearly, and I appreciated his good qualities and regret all the times I had to talk to him or write to him about his finances or things he needed to get done. It makes me sad to look at the email and mail I sent to him, so often only filled with admonitions, financial figures, or in relation to some legal issue he had to deal with, such as the time he spun his car around near a car dealership and threw up some gravel that damaged some windshields or the time he was trying to get his apartment management to stop charging him for damage that was in the apartment when he rented it (and he had photos he had taken to them when he moved in to prove it). These were things I helped him with and we had to go over all that, but there is so little of our written communication that really reflects our relationship, all the great discussions we had, or the love we had for each other.

I not only miss what was, I miss what could have been. So much potential that was never realized. So much hope that was lost.
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This photo of Leif when he was super slender as a senior in high school was taken in our old stone house in December 1992 when Leif was almost 18. He would have been 18 a month after this was taken. I don't really like this photo of him. He looks sad, pained and haunted, and that's not how I remember him at that time, but perhaps there was that aspect to his life as he was kind of a loner and had been moved away from his friends in Puerto Rico. He never developed that kind of circle of friends in the brief time he was at Manhattan High School.

Leif & His Motorcycles - Kansas to Florida - May 2003 to November 2007 - Ages 28-32

Leif owned three motorcycles. The first one was the maroon and yellow Yamaha that he purchased in Manhattan, Kansas, moved to Fort Drum, New York when he was stationed there in the Army, then back to Kansas from 2001-2005 and then to Florida. It was that one he had the accident with at Fort Riley, sliding out on gravel when coming down a winding road from Custer Hill.

In the summer of 2005 in Florida, he was living at our house with his dad and spending his earnings from Amscot on dating, booze and a new motorcycle, the yellow Suzuki he's riding here. This was one fast crotch rocket and he loved it.

After he moved to Tampa, the Suzuki was stolen from his apartment house parking lot one night and with the insurance money, he bought a used Honda touring cycle. This was a very different kind of bike. I was surprised he made that choice, and I think he was, too. He said riding in the position required for the crotch rockets was hard on his back and knees, not comfortable for longer rides. He liked the position on the Honda but maintained he was "safer" on the Suzuki because its speed allowed him to avoid accidents. So he said. He refused to consider that speed might be dangerous. He was supremely confident in his riding ability. I told him it wasn't his skills that worried me . . . it was the other drivers on the road, and that turned out to be the problem when he was cut off by the white Cadillac not a mile from his house, when he wasn't even going over 45.

Leif took a lot of photos of his possessions, especially his cars and bikes. He took the photos of the Yamaha and the Honda that I'm posting here. He also took the photo of himself looking into the Honda bike's mirror. That one was taken on November 21, 2007, just a couple of weeks after he sent me a very depressed email about how life held no meaning. He was a very depressed and unhappy man at that point. Ironically, I took the photo of him on the Suzuki on November 7, 2005, two years earlier, when he was still hopeful. The Yamaha photo he took May 5, 2003.

It's hard to imagine Leif without a motorcycle, even though I didn't want him to have one and pleaded with him not to ride after his accident in July 2007. It was sad, though, to think of his joy being taken away, no matter how much I worried. Here is a bit of our text messaging about it, but only his side as mine were not recorded.

July 14, 2007 at 5:54 PM Leif Garretson wrote,

"July is not a good month for me. Crashed bikes twice in July. Had house robbed in July. Probably other bad stuff, too. July is like a country song. 'I crashed my bike. I crashed my other bike. My house got robbed and my best friend's wife died.6 And the car breaks down.' "Next year I am going to stock up on movies, food and beer and not leave the house."

Sadly, he didn't live long enough to see another July.

July 18, 2007 at 4:28 PM Leif Garretson wrote,

"Saw bike. Barely scratched. Just looked up FL DOT stats on helmet use. In 2005 riders wearing helmets were 22% more likely to be killed than riders without them. (You mean INFJ. I am INTJ.) 8,147 bike crashes vs 268,605 total auto accidents. 441 bike fatalities or about 5%. 3533 total auto fatalities or about 1.3%. Bikes more dangerous but . . . not by an enormous margin. And that includes all the young stupid trickster and street racers out getting themselves killed."

8:25 PM,

"Well, I certainly see your perspective. I would give you mine but I am sure that would be pointless as anyone who rides will tell you if you don't do it, you don't get it."

8:59 PM,

"There is more guilt than that? Seems rather abundant already. However, you should know I am immune to guilt. Always have been. Guilt doesn't factor into my thought processes. Only logic. Logically, I know I will not be happy if I am not riding. Logically I know you will not be if I am. All that remains is deciding which of two undesirable and diametrically opposed options is the most acceptable. I am really sorry to upset you, mom. I don't mean to. I really don't get upset. I really am the cold, unfeeling bastard I am accused of being. If I decide to stop riding it will not be because I feel any certain way but rather because I rationally decided that it was the most just and logical course of action. Weighing my strong desire to ride vs your strong fears. I don't share those fears. I honestly don't experience fear. I weighed the risk vs reward and accepted the risks years ago. In that regard nothing has changed. All that has changed is that continuing what I have been doing will cause you pain. My decision is now simply one of compassion vs desire. Whose desires do I put first, yours or mine? I have not decided. I have not decided if I am willing to sacrifice one of the things that makes my life worth living to save someone I love worry. Were it up to me I would keep riding until I am physically unable. I know people that have lost legs and still ride with prostheses. I haven't decided anything just yet. I figured if the bike was totaled I would not replace it but it's barely damaged. From my perspective you are overreacting. It is understandable but to me this was a minor mishap and just a further reinforcement against my fears. I see this totally different than you. I see 3 accidents and none of them even required hospitalization. I see statistics which show that after 6 months of riding in the saddle of a new bike the odds of an accident are very slim and the odds of serious injury or death much slimmer. I could quit riding and get killed in my car. I am never as happy at any point of the day. Never feel so alive and free and content as when I ride. There is not part of me that wants to give it up. If I were to do so it would be a sacrifice on my part to make you happy. So guess what, the guilt goes both ways. So who gets to sacrifice? One way or the other, one of us is going to have to accept something undesirable to accommodate the other. How does one decide which sacrifice is most in the interest of justice?"

9:36 PM,

"I am not sure that is a fair comparison. Maybe it is, but I don't think riding is as universally destructive as other addictions. It's risky but no form of gambling has odds as GOOD as riding does. Again, it's about risk vs reward. If I am willing to risk death riding, do you realistically think financial ruin or bankruptcy would deter me? Hell, I have faced that danger since I moved out. I face it every day whether I ride or not, so losing money or being poor is no deterrent at all. Been there, done that. Got the bank charges to prove it. I don't fear death and I don't fear life."

There is a lot of bravado and male pride in those messages, and I think he believed them, but in the end, something put him over the edge, and the slide began with the accident, continued through a lonely fall, and reached a tipping point when he had no financial options left, though we didn't know it. He would not tell us.

On April 2, 2008, just a week before he died, he sent the last text messages to me that I recorded (he sent email through April 8th). He still cared enough about the life of a turtle to stop his bike on his way to work and save it's life. He sent:

"I rescued a turtle today. "
Sent on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:12:08 PM

"Where was it?"
Received on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:12:44 PM

"In the road by my work"
Sent on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:13:08 PM

"What turtle habitat is near there?"
Recevied on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:14:02 PM

"I Dunno but it was a pretty big turtle"
Sent on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:21:30 PM

"How big?"
Received on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:23:36 PM

"Shell like a dinner plate. Maybe ten inches long and five thick"
Sent on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:25:01 PM

"Looked like a walking speed bump"
Sent on Wednesday, Apr 2 2008 at 4:25:47 PM

He saved a turtle, but he didn't save himself. I miss him so!

Leif & His Dad - Highland Park, Illinois - June 1, 1987 - Age 12

Leif and his dad spent a lot of time together throughout Leif's life, much more than many children get to be with their fathers, and we have so many photos of all the times we spent together at home, on outings, hikes, trips, special occasions. His dad was always there. Leif looked up to and respected his dad and Peter W. loved his sons deeply. You can always see that love and protectiveness in the photos, where his arms are around his sons.

Leif also felt he was very different from his dad and that his dad didn't understand his lifestyle and choices, which was true in some respects, particularly his obsessions with weapons, fast vehicles and beer and his irresponsible spending. There were many conversations and letters between us (probably even more often from me) about our concerns over these things, and for a time in his early adulthood, Leif felt he was nothing like his father. However, after he came back from the army and lived near us again, he began to see character traits and mannerisms that were very like his father and at least for those, he embraced that. I wish he had been able to also embrace his father's thriftiness.

Leif and Peter W. lived together in Florida for eleven months during the period when I was still in Kansas finishing up a work contract, figuring out how to move Ravenstone Press, helping my mother move to Florida, and selling the houses. They were both lonely, Peter W. without me being there all the time (though we saw each other ever five weeks) and Leif without a wife or girlfriend (or even friends), so they appreciated each other's companionship.

This photo was taken June 1, 1987, the day that Peter Anthony graduated from Highland Park High School in Highland Park, Illinois. Peter W. was 44 and Leif was 12. Note the "signature" sunglasses. I don't think he had discovered Oakleys yet, but he was always into cool, stylish sunglasses. I you look at the photo I posted yesterday, you can see how astonishingly Leif shot up in height in four years. By the age of 12 he was already his Dad's height and by 13 he was 6' 1" tall! He was always the tallest kid in his class.

Leif's Copper Penny Space Ship

Leif had his iPhone for about 5 or 6 months. The only photos I could find that he took with it were of his car, his motorcycle, himself (in cycle gear and in his work cubicle) and this space ship me made of pennies on the desk surface of his work cubicle at the Humana call center where he worked.

Leif loved science fiction and was absorbed in such sagas as Orson Scott Card's Ender series (books beginning with Ender's Game), and Battlestar Galactica. He played Planetside and other online games, and as I've written before, was deeply involved in the development of the ZAON game.

Leif needed to be in a job where he dealt face-to-face with people and wasn't confined to a cubicle on the phone, but he never had that kind of job, unfortunately. This space ship is something he carefully and exactingly constructed while doing customer service for Humana Medicare clients on the phone.

I never would have known about it if I hadn't been able to access the photos on his iPhone, but when I first saw the photos, I didn't realize where the space ship was or that he had built it. I thought it was something he photographed elsewhere.

Then, when his dad and I picked up his belongings from Humana, among them was a very heavy, huge Alltel drink "jug" that was full of pennies. Those were the pennies he used. There were over $16.00 worth of pennies in that jug.

That reminded me once again how small things add up. They say most people these days won't even reach for a penny on the sidewalk or parking lot. Not worth their time. I always do.

I tried his whole life to teach Leif to save money, but I never succeeded. Intellectually he knew he needed to do it, but he was unable to resist cool cars, motorcycles, computers, phones and gadgets, and as soon as he got a bit of money, he spent it on some new cool thing he just had to have, though it was truly an unnecessary luxury. I understood that because he didn't have a satisfying home life, was lonely, and didn't have the kind of job he needed, he found his pleasure in these things and in pasttimes like online gaming, riding his cycle, and movies, but ultimately, his spending got him into debt too many times. He then had trouble paying his bills or handling an unexpected expense like a car repair.

Saving pennies by throwing them in a jug netted enough for a couple of decent meals (more if it was home cooking), and I found coins all over his apartment that he could have thrown into a jar as well. It's true that these small amounts wouldn't have solved his financial problems, but the willingness to save even small amounts here and there (like taking a sandwich to work instead of buying lunch, for instance) could have added up substantially in the long run.

I have learned since Leif's death that compulsive overspending is also a sign of depression, a form of "self medication" to bring the depressed person some brief happiness . . . yet eventually, that same spending brings more depression because of the debt incurred.

How I wish Leif had gotten help for his depression and had been able to curb his spending.

How I wish his talent for artistic design and precision had been put to some creative uses. He had remarkable artistic talent as a child, but it wasn't something he chose to pursue.

More about art and choices later.

For now, imagine a beautiful copper space ship rushing through the universe, carrying Leif into the sci fi adventures of which he so avidly dreamed.