Leif at Twenty - Handsome and Hopeful

It was so very long ago, April 4, 1995 when this photo was taken. Leif was twenty years old and at the height of his handsomeness. He was still exuberant and happy. He still had hair. :) He was slender and athletic, and about finishing his sophomore year at Kansas State University.

Just when I don't think I'll see a new photo of Leif (or Alex as he was still called when this photo was taken), someone brings me new ones. My sister, Leif's beloved Aunt Lannay, brought several photos to me in March that I had never seen before. I was so glad to get them.

This photo was taken at my mother's house on Pottawatomie Street in Manhattan, Kansas. We were there for the "April birthday dinner." Mom would make a big dinner for as many of the family as could come, sometimes as many as sixteen, to celebrate all the birthdays in that month. In April, the birthday "boys" were Peter W. (Leif's dad) and his cousin Tim. The original of this photo has Tim and his sister Holly in it.

Those were good times. Leif really enjoyed those family togethers, all the conversation, bantering, and Mom's excellent cooking . . . and I think he and Tim liked the peach fritters with foamy sauce the best of all.

I love seeing a photo of Leif that looks like this, happy, healthy and optimistic, joyful, even. It's so much better than the withdrawn and depressed person he became. He had hope then. You can see it in his eyes.

Quote from "The Little Prince"

Today as I was straightening up my office, I came across the guest book for our wedding. Inside it was a paper on which I had written a quote from the book, "The Little Prince," by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. I no longer have any idea why I wrote it down or what it meant to me at the time, but it is so terribly true.

"It is such a secret place, the land of tears."

Is it ironic that right under the guest book were two cassette tapes which contain a recording of my father's funeral in 1960 and some of his piano compositions? It's undoubtedly a coincidence. They were not "together" in the sense of meaningfully having been placed that way, but they belong together, just as they belong in a thematic way next to the red little metal bucket with the white polka dots that came from Leif's office and holds some of his things.

The land of tears IS a secret place, a place where no one else can really go with us, and from which we can only emerge by ourselves, though often with the help of the love of others.

I'm glad I found this today and not three years ago. Today I can say that I do not live in the land of tears. Today I can smile.

False Dichotomies - Happiness versus Unhappiness

When we are growing up and learning language, we are not only learning to understand and communicate, we are being programmed, learning how to think and what words to use to think about concepts. We have to learn that to be able to use language appropriately, but if we learn it rigidly, our thoughts, too, will be trapped in rigid thinking.

Today while I was riding with Peter W. on our daily bike ride, I thought once again to myself how when I took this ride in 2006 and 2007, I was happy. I remember thinking how beautiful it was, enjoying the sunshine, the clouds, the flowers and landscaping, the lovely homes. I remember enjoying the breeze and being with Peter.

And I thought how changed that became when Leif died and other family problems intervened, how our perspective changed, our feelings differed.

Then I wondered how one gets back to that place of happiness and what happiness means. Does a level of mild depression become a habit? Does lack of happiness become habitual and defining? I think it can for some people, and they don't know how to break out of it. For those who have severe clinical depression or bipolar syndrome, or brain injuries, brain chemistry or damage betrays them and prevents normal feelings of happiness or satisfaction from returning or staying. For the rest of us, slow healing usually brings back a level of happiness or at least contentment.

But what if it doesn't? Can we consciously work to bring it back? I think we can.

We are taught that the opposite of happiness is unhappiness . . . or sadness, as though the two have no shades or states in between. We "are" either one or the other, as though our attitude and thought patterns and actions have no real effect on those emotions. We are taught that if we are happy, we cannot simultaneously be sad, but I don't think this is true.

I began to think about this and the thought patterns we cultivate in ourselves some months ago and I particularly focused on my feelings about being Leif's mother. I asked myself the question whether I was happy I was his mother, and whether his death overshadowed that happiness. The answer I came to was that I was overwhelmingly glad he was my son and that I had him in my life for 33 years, even though there were many problems during those years. I look at all the photos of his life and at one and the same time I am happy to have them, happy to see his smiling or serious, or sometimes silly face, happy for the good times we shared, happy for all we taught each other and learned from each other, happy for the family life we had; and yet I am sad for his pain, for his problems, for his death, for our loss. The two will always be inextricably mixed.

It's normal after a death to focus on the loss, for it is painful and the impact is life-changing, but it's healthier at some point to make a conscious effort to stop focusing on that loss and focus instead on life. This is not easy to do. It takes courage and determination. It's easier to stay focused on loss. It is monumental. It becomes habitual.

I also learned that happiness and unhappiness, or sadness are not exact states. They are a continuum along which many other emotions can be charted, from contentment and pleasure to annoyance and anger. There are so many more nuances to our emotions, and the other negative ones can become just as habitual if we let them. Emotions can be like any other habits in our lives.

We learned as children that somehow happiness, unhappiness, sadness all come from outside us, from external influences, and surely, everything in our lives does impact and influence those feelings, but just as surely, in many cases, we are internally influenced by how we choose to think about them, by our attitudes.

That I learned from listening to my Great Aunt Victoria wail about things in her past for years that other people wouldn't have felt were worthy of remembering, and learning to joke about situations in which we could take things with good humor or understanding, or "be like Aunt Vic" and cultivate our hurts and unhappiness. I think unhappiness can even become one's identity, or a part of it, and then it is even harder to let it go.

There are times when we are plunged into the depths of unhappiness, sadness, grief, whether from the death of a loved one or the end of a relationship, or some other catastrophic change in our lives, from interpersonal problems or difficulties in work or career, and then we experience the full measure of what unhappiness means. At that time, at least for a time, attitude doesn't matter. We cannot escape it or climb out of the black hole of despair, but we can try to find other connections, other things to believe in, focus on.

With time, we can climb out of the black hole, if we choose. And perhaps this is part of the meaning of letting go. We have to let go of grief and unhappiness itself, not just the person we are grieving for. It's not a quick process. It's not easy. There is even a part of us, of me, that somehow, sometimes, feels it's wrong to be happy after such a tragic blow, that we have to pay the dues of sadness, that it's necessary to prove our love. But how long does it take to do that? When can we allow ourselves to move ahead? At some point, if we decide we want to be happy, choose to find happiness, then we have to realize just as consciously, that we have to give up the identity of unhappiness and reach for a new attitude and focus. I am trying, and I accept that I can be happy and still feel sadness.
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This photo was taken in our living room at Fort Sheridan, Illinois, when Leif was graduating from Northwood Junior High School in Highland Park, Illinois, May 1989.

So Many Reminders

On Tuesday I attended the funeral of a neighbor, a man who died of a stroke at 79, someone who had been active in the community, raised several children, a man who was friendly and outgoing. He will be missed, not only by his family but by the community he served.

As I was there at the funeral service, a Catholic Mass, I was struck by how different it is to have a funeral for someone who has lived a long, full life, who has raised children, enjoyed grandchildren, contributed to many organizations, had a host of friends, and someone like Leif who was only 33 and had none of those things. There is an additional and burdensome sadness in knowing he never had them and never will, in realizing that so much was missed.

These people, at least outwardly, all were so sure of their belief in the afterlife and what it would mean, while Leif was a nonbeliever and I think that if there is an afterlife, it is vastly different than our imaginings of it.

The funeral made me profoundly sad for a couple of days, and no matter how many times I told myself how fortunate I am, in so many ways, and to count my blessings, not just mourn for what I have lost, I could not shake it, but then I started to come out of that low place and appreciate the beauty around me. The full moon last night. The lovely sunset. My home. My wonderful husband. My son. My grandchildren.

It's funny how a small and unusual thing can give you a lift. This evening, I stepped into the garage to check whether Peter had closed the garage door when he left. He hadn't, but before I could press the button to close it, a little brown wren flew in, perched for just a tiny moment at the back of the garage, and then flew back out again. I knew we had wrens somewhere in our bushes, but I rarely see them, and never that close or in the garage. It was something sweet and precious, that moment, and it made me think of all the moments gone by that I can remember with love and joy . . . even if their memory also brings sadness that they will never come again.
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This photo of me and Leif was taken on July 20, 2004 at the dining room table of our old stone house in Manhattan, Kansas. It was a wonderful evening, one of those warm memories. Peter A. was there with his family. Leif's friend Michael was there to visit. We decided to use Peter W's German beer steins. Leif, Peter A. and Michael had provided a supply of interesting and unusual beers for all of us to try (Leif, the beer connoisseur), and we were telling stories and jokes, laughing, taking pictures. It was one of the happiest evenings with the family together, one of those memories to be treasurered. I am showing Leif a photo I took with my camera, and this one was taken by Peter W.

Sunday Pancakes - Thinking of Leif

I've been cleaning up my office in preparation for a visit from my granddaughters, who "get" to sleep in there on the floor on an air mattress, and I keep finding more reminders of Leif, little things, a photo here and there, a computer trackball, the zippered case with software for the computer he built in about 2003. Sometimes finding those things brings a smile and some memory I hadn't thought of in a long time, sometimes they bring sadness that he's no longer here. It will always be that way, but I'm getting a lot better at looking at the wonder of having had him in my life for 33 years and not always turn to the sadness of losing him.

When the boys were still young enough to be living at home, we made pancakes on Sunday morning. Homemade ones, measured from scratch, and the boys enjoyed helping mix the batter. It was a Sunday tradition, kind of a ritual, that we all liked and looked forward to. You see, I started them young. :) This photo was taken in Charlottesville, Virginia when Leif was two years old. I loved those times together.

The Persistence of Grief and Mourning; Remembering How to be Happy

I was reading an article about how new experiences create new pathways in the brain. It was focused on positive new experiences, ones that would enhance one's life and help to keep the brain functioning. It talked about learning new things, trying new things.

What it didn't say was what happens to us when new experiences are thrust upon us that are negative, traumatic, or terrible. How do those experiences create new pathways in the brain? They do.

It occurred to me that the intensity of grief and mourning for someone as close and loved as a son, or for others a daughter, spouse, sister or brother, parent, someone deeply loved and part of one's life, must create new pathways of sadness and longing that are indelibly etched upon the brain.

When we are mourning our losses, we go over and over those pathways, over and over the ground, asking questions, trying to over and over to remember every detail and nuance, trying to understand and fathom how death could have taken away someone so loved. Each time we go over those details, think of our loved one, feel our grief, those pathways are strengthened. It can become an obsession.

Each time we think about the death; each time we think about our sorrow, it is reinforced, strengthened to rise again and again.

It's hard to get past grief because the neural connections we formed as the bonds with our loved one are still there, still yearning for that contact, and now, added to them, is a whole new set of sad ones related to their death and all that surrounds death; the funeral, disposing of their belongings, contacting friends and relatives, taking care of their affairs.

How can we get past it, when we are in essence practicing our grief a dozen times a day?

Some people never do get over it. They mourn and are sad the rest of their lives. Some get past it, manage to function, but are brought back to their grief when a reminder catches them. And some are able to move on after a time.

I've given a lot of thought to how they do it. I think first and foremost they have to want to get past their grief and sadness. They must have other good things in their lives and they must have hope. But I think the most important aspect of recovery is a conscious decision to work at it.

How does one do that? When we are depressed or sad, we don't feel like doing any of the things that would help. We don't want to be with people. We don't want to socialize. We don't want to have fun, because nothing sounds like fun. We don't want to exercise. In fact we don't want to do much of anything and we don't care about much, either. No matter what someone outside our grief might say we have that is positive and good (and regardless of whether we know we have much to be grateful for), we see and feel the hurt, the loss, the pain.

We have to also be able to forgive ourselves for wanting to return to a normal life, because there is a guilt about being happy when someone you love is dead.

Although I have come to see that much, what I don't know is how a person gets to that point, a point where he or she is able to do the things that will help them heal, to want to live again, to try to turn away from those strong and demanding mental pathways to something new and happier.

How does one "give up grief" when it has become the "habit" of the brain?

Does time heal? Yes, the acuteness of grief subsides, but what is left in its place? Sometimes lethargy, depression, and sadness. Sometimes they fade and the grieving person emerges into a new life at some point.

I think that partly what happens is determined by that conscious decision, which can only come when the deepest grief has passed, but another part is beyond our control. There are things in the brain we cannot begin to control. If we are saddled with a genetic disposition to depression, the death may well be the "switch" that turns on a lifelong battle with depression. Even when it is not a deep depression, it can sap the joy out of life and dampen down its pleasures.

I think Leif fell into depression when he lost his loves, not through death, but never-the-less through the death of relationships he so badly needed and wanted. To be cut off from love is excruciatingly painful.

For those of us recovering, we also have to somehow remember how to be happy. That sounds foolish to someone who hasn't been in this situation. Why would anyone have to remember how to be happy? But it's true.

I started thinking about that a few days ago while swimming outdoors at sunset. They sky was beautiful, the water warm, the evening balmy. Although I was glad to be swimming, I realized that I wasn't feeling the happiness and joy I used to feel in that very place and situation before Leif died, back in those days when I would look forward to a text message "conversation" with him later in the evening. I decided I needed to try to remember how I felt when I was happy, to remember what happiness was.

At first, I could remember WHEN I had been happy, and I could recount to myself things that had made me happy, but I didn't feel it. It still had the subdued, flat feeling of a mildly depressed person.

But I kept trying. On bicycle rides, instead of just looking down at the street and pedaling along, I made myself remember how I used to enjoy looking at the houses and yards to see what kind of landscaping they had, at the ponds, at the clouds, so often beautiful in Florida, and the birds. I remembered how I loved to listen to the mockingbirds sing. I didn't feel as I once did, but I began remembering that I HAD felt it and recalling what it was like.

In the pool, I remembered how I loved to float on my back and look at the clouds, swim toward the palm trees and marvel at how it was like being on vacation for a short time each day.

At home I remembered how good it felt to accomplish a task, not just what I had to get done each day, but something more, and something creative. So I created two photo books and began to work on getting some other things done that have been waiting for a long time.

This wasn't easy, especially the "getting things done" part. And it's not without backsliding. I don't yet feel as happy and energetic and motivated as I did before Leif died, and I don't know if I ever will. Even if I do, I know there will be days and moments of sadness and longing.

But I do know that I can find happy times again and that I have given myself permission to be happy. I do know that it is partly a choice, but partly a fight with my own brain and feelings.

Leif left a huge hole in my life. That isn't going to change, but I was thinking about another situation with someone I know and how she ought to make the best of her situation, and as so often happens to me, I turned the reasoning on myself. I asked myself, "Am I making the best of my situation?" I had to answer, "No."

So I am trying. It isn't easy and it won't be quick, but as I look back on the past 27 months, I recognize happy moments, however small or fleeting, along the way. I remember the first really happy trip Peter and I took in April 2009, to St. Augustine, and the best one since Leif died, to Germany in May 2010.

The tides of emotion will continue to ebb and flow. The rollercoaster ride isn't over. I know I am not yet a happy person, but I do have happy moments and I am working to have more of them.
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The photo of Leif was taken in our living room in Honolulu, Hawaii in about 1984 when Leif was nine years old.

The Falsehoods We Are Taught About Emotions

Stories are wonderful. They entertain us. They teach us. Sometimes they inspire us. And in the aggregate, they seem to program our minds to believe things that we somehow don't manage to learn are not true. Take the "happily ever after" ending, which isn't just attached to fairy tales, but to most stories in some form or another. Things get resolved. The characters go on with their lives, often without feeling the trauma of all they have gone through. It creates unrealistic expectations for all of us. What's wrong with us that WE can't live happily ever after, get past the hurt and trauma. Why doesn't love conquer all for us? Why doesn't something new and wonderful cancel and blot out the sadness or agony of the past? Sometimes it does, for a time, but not forever.

I've learned it's possible to be happy and sad at the same time, to go on with a good life and still feel grief at loss, to love my family and friends and still miss my dead son, to enjoy a beautiful day and still find myself with tears in my eyes when something reminds me of him.

We just returned home from a 23 day trip to South America. It was a fascinating trip, full of new places and things to see, time to relax, time to sightsee, entertainment, learning. We enjoyed it but even there we talked about Leif at least once a day and I found myself with tears in my eyes a few times, but usually not the deep sadness I felt so often before we left. I've learned that the best ways to keep that at bay are work and travel, being involved in something that engages the mind. Travel also takes me away from where Leif lived and all his things that remind me of him, and in South America I didn't see guys driving silver RX-8s, either.

We were ready to come home after such a long trip and looking forward to being here with our home, our own bed, Peter's cooking, and more exercise, seeing my sister and mother, and I was glad to be back. But, I was unprepared for the flood of emotion that hit me the second day. I was terribly sad for most of the day. I came home, driving into the garage, to see Leif's bike hanging up. In the house, all the things he helped put on the walls and into place, his photo on my desk, the memories of him driving up the driveway to come for dinner, the memory of the sound of him playing PlanetSide in his room or his music, the memory of him sitting at my dining room and kitchen tables, the letter from the IRS answering my inquiry about what to do with his economic stimulus check, the knowledge that in just a few days, he will have been dead for two years. How could it go by so fast? I still miss him with all my heart.

The worst of the sadness passed that day, and yesterday was a happy one, full of activities, beautiful Florida sunshine, and fun with Peter W. Today it's raining and something of a mixture.

We go on. We have to. We find some happiness and joy, but they sit side-by-side in our hearts with the sadness at his loss. Peter said on the trip that he thought I might never get over it.

He was right.
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This photo of Leif was taken at a small temple in Thailand in December 1982. He was almost 8 years old. All his life he loved cats. What a terrible irony that as an adult his asthma was worsened by them.

Small Accomplishments and Thinking of Leif 23 Months After His Death

I was watching Fabio Zini perform on the guitar, a song he composed for a trio of guitar, sax and piano called "Feel Good," and although the mood of it may have been intended to be happy, it made me sad. It seemed more melancholy than happy to me perhaps because of the soft, rather mournful sax and the gentleness of the guitar and piano.

I wondered why I would feel sad for a moment and then it came to me. I thought about Leif's belief that no one but his parents would care if he died (though there were so many more people who cared about him than he knew) and it made me sad that he felt his life was of so lttle value to the world. His life was of inestimable value to me.

I thought that there are not so many who would care about my death, either. So few people in the world really matter to many others; so few of us have any real impact upon the world. I never expected that I would. As I've written before, I never had big dreams, never wanted or expected fame, never sought popularity or felt I could have it, but I would like to feel that I succeeded in the small goals I had.

But what have I achieved that I did seek, those things that mattered to me? Have I even managed those dreams and goals I set for myself? The ones that ultimately mattered, at least to me?

When I was in high school, I wanted to earn a college scholarship so I could afford to go away to school and I did that. I wanted to graduate Phi Beta Kappa, and I did that. At that age, such things are important, but in the great scheme of things they don't matter much, especially since I never pursued a real carer with my education. And during that time my dreams changed.

I had wanted to be 28 and have a PhD before I got married, but life has a way of changing goals. I met Peter when I was only 17 and a freshman in college, fell in love and married when I was only 18. Although I finished college and went to graduate school, what became most important to me was my marriage and having a family. It came as a surprise to me how badly I wanted children, as I had been focused on education and career.

I did have interesting and rewarding jobs that also fulfilled modest goals, whether working as a librarian or writing books, and I am thankful for those opportunities and the memories I have of those times, but they are not the measure of a life, nor was I well known in either field.

I have been lucky to enjoy an interesting life, living and traveling around the world, certainly rewarding to our whole family and for that we have to thank Peter and his career for making it possible.

I have been blessed with my birth family and a close relationship with my mother, especially, and my sisters, brother, and their families. I treasure my friends, though they are not numerous.

But the greatest meaning and value of my life is my family. I was (and am) so fortunate to have Peter, to have found such a loving and devoted soulmate and friend. I loved being a mother, loved my two sons, and tried my best to raise them well.

That is the real test of my life. Did I succeed? What is the criteria? Their childhood lives? Their adulthood? (How much influence did I have over that?) Is it their material success, their happiness?

If the measure of my success is my family, and if one thinks that the adult lives of one's children are in some way influenced by their childhoods, then I have failed sadly in some ways. Although I think my sons childhoods were good, either I failed I'm some terrible way or I wasn't able to influence their adulthoods in the way I wish I had. What greater failure can mother have than to have her son find life so painful that he takes his own life? I could not keep Leif alive no matter how hard I tried. Was it that I didn't know what I needed to do, or that it couldn't be done? Was it that I didn't provide him with what would have armed him against detachment and depression when he was a child, or that there was nothing I could have done?

I know thar Leif's death is not my "fault," not something I caused, but even so, it will always feel like a great and terrible failure.

I know I cannot measure the value of my life by Leif's death, but what IS the real value? It is still my family, and perhaps my accomplishments, small though they are in the vastness of the world and it's history, are at least meaningful to them. I know Leif knew I loved him, even if my love could not keep him alive. I know Peter Anthony, whose academic and work life have encompassed many milestones, knows I love him and admire his accomplishments, and would and will love him always, no matter what.

I have three beautiful grandchildren I enjoy who like being with me. And most of all I have my soulmate of 45 years whose love makes every day worthwhile.

So, as I thought all this, during the song, "Feel Good," I came around to that feeling after all. My life is meaningless in the great scheme of life, but it is meaningful to me. Ever since Leif died I have been telling myself to keep perspective, not to lose track of all I have in my grief over Leif's loss. I knew I should focus on all the good in my life but I was unable to really do it. My grief was still too strong and fresh until now to feel the appreciation I should.

Maybe it takes two years. Is two years of mourning enough? On March 9th Leif has been dead for 23 months. Thinking of it still makes me inexpressably sad. I still miss him every day. We talk about him every day. I don't think that will ever end, just like the eternal questions about why his life ended so abruptly and violently.

But I think now, for the first time since his death I can truly and deeply feel the overwhelming sense of gratitude for my Peter and my son Peter Anthony, for all of my family, to be thankful that unlike Leif at the end of his life, I have people who need me and a sense of purpose.

And I will be thankful for Leif's life and the purpose it gave me, even though his loss brings so much sadness and sorrow.
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This photo of my two beautiful sons was taken in Thailand in December 1981. They were fascinated by the giant leaves and the cute little puppy they are petting. Leif was a month shy of his seventh birthday and Peter Anthony was just days away from his thirteenth birthday.

The Last Love of His Life

Although Leif keenly felt the loss of his sense of purpose in life when he no longer was living with and trying to help D, he knew the relationship was not a healthy one for either of them. He was lonely and depressed. Although he did not want to get back into the relationship, he desperately needed companionship, love and a reason to live. He continued with his philosophy classes at USF, and it was there that he wrote his final paper on happiness and morality, the one he left on the "desktop" of his laptop computer along with the sad photo of himself the night he died. He emailed that paper to me not long after he wrote it and we discussed it, but to this day I don't know whether it was supposed to be some kind of a signpost for me or not, either when he first sent it to me, or when he left it on his computer. I believe the latter one was, but whether he was trying to convey something about his state of mind to me when he first wrote and sent it, I don't know.

He was struggling financially as well, using his GI BIll to help cover the loss of household income from D. However, he was spending foolishly. He had gotten cash from insurance for his medical bills after the motorcycle accident, but instead of banking the money to pay for the expenses that didn't get billed until long afterward, he spent it. I expressed my concern about his spending the fall of 2007 but he insisted to me that he was fine and that he wasn't really spending more than he had, just "wheeling and dealing." I foolishly believed him, since he had the extra GI Bill income and was still working full time at Humana. I think he believed he could pull it off, that he would be able to gradually pay off his credit card bills and stay afloat with that extra money, but it was a futile hope, since he didn't seem to be able to stop spending and then the medical bills from the ER came in, months after the accident. Of course I didn't find out any of that until after his death.

Meanwhile, he continued his quest for love and dated several people that fall, and once text messaged me that he thought he had a crush on one of his philosophy instructors. Another time he was briefly gleeful at having met a library science student that seemed promising, but it went nowhere.

He seemed preoccupied at Christmastime and when he came for his last birthday dinner with us, didn't connect with us in the way I was used to. He was more emotionally flat and preoccupied with his laptop and phone. However, we saw him two more times after that, once in February for dinner at Sam Seltzer's Steakhouse in Brandon and then at our house on Easter in March. Those times he seemed much more like his old self, engaged, relaxed, and even happy. Although the financial rug had been pulled out from under him when he lost his GI BIll in mid-February, the financial disaster didn't hit until the end of March and the beginning of April, and in that time frame he had been on a quest to find love again and thought he had found it. I did have an inkling that he was living paycheck to paycheck (paychecks including the GI BIll checks) when I invited him for dinner the first weekend of February 2008 and he texted me back:

"Think i will stay in. Just paid rent etc broke till va check clears bank no gas for SCC trip"

When I commented about his being broke and asked about it he texted back:

"Well I am not broke broke but I don't want to tap into reserves always broke in first that is when the biggest bill is always due. Remember I had to pay tuition lastmonth extra $750 of expense I don't have most months"

Actually, he was broke, broke, with his credit cards maxed out, and having to pay tuition and car and cycle registrations in the same month had taken a bite, and I don't have a clue what "reserves" he was talking about.

However, he seemed to be so much happier and more hopeful as he started email, text and phone conversations with DT and quickly became enamored, as he so often did. She lived in another town and had children, so it took them awhile to be able to arrange a date, which gave them more time to talk. Leif actually liked that because he felt it was better to build a relationship before meeting, and before sexual issues got in the way of getting to know each other. They met for their one and only date on March 15th. He drove to her town and came home very late. He sent me a text message saying:

"Mmm so tired but so worth it"

Our text conversation when like this:

Me: Glad it was good. Glad you got back safely. Hope you can stay awake at work. So, what was so great?

Leif: Simply put. Everything. She is perfect.

Me: Ah, I'm glad she's great. Just take it easy. It's a first date. Takes awhile to learn enuf about someone, as you have seen plenty of times in the past. Would love to see you find a good match.

Leif: True but the way I operate by the time of the first date we have often had more communication than most couples have in a year

Me: That's good, excellent, but not the same as long term involvement, as past experience shows. People act differently when in the attraction phase and in the have to make it work phase.

Leif: Something just occurred to me. Remember how I always used to say with my neck I need to marry a masseuse? [DT] is a professional massage therapist.

Me: :-D interesting. Does she want to do it when she gets off work, too?

Leif: Surely not all the time but she is very giving and affectionate so I doubt she would leave me to suffer if I needed it.

Me: Boy, from first date to contemplating marriage? Whoa! (And surely you would be most appreciative and rewarding!)

Leif: LOL well that would be a ways off. Just musing over another way she is just right.

He was quite dreamy and excited about her and even sent pictures to me. Following that one date, they continued to be in contact via phone, messaging and email. They set up a second date for a week later on March 22nd, but unfortunately for everyone, her mother had a heart attack and she had to cancel it. He started texting me about the cancellation of the date and his feelings about her. In answer to something he wrote, I became concerned that he was trying to move too fast, and I sent him this, trying to be a bit silly about it to make him smile:

"Mommy Tip #4
Timing is critical. Procrastinate too long, you lose out. Jump in too fast, you may scare off the objective. This works with relationships, too, especially between men and women."

That sparked a long answer from him, one of the longest emails I ever got from him.

"from Leif Garretson
Date Sun, Mar 23, 2008 at 1:27 AM
Subject Re: Timing

I am trying to balance prudence with passion with [DT]. I have told her I am in no rush with her. It's a tricky proposition to balance honesty with intelligence. Honestly, it was damn near love at first sight. Which is what I wanted. But I have not revealed that. I have mixed feelings about tonight's events. I am of course disappointed that I did not see her but I think it maybe for the best. While there was some pretty hot making out on the first date we stopped at that. I told her I kinda wanted to wait as I want her hooked on my personality before she was hooked on anything else.

I have noticed a pattern in my relationships. It goes back awhile in its history. Back to Chicago and Puerto Rico, where I had many friends that were girls. I was privy to many inside conversations with women that few men ever hear. I heard everything men were doing wrong with young women I really liked and had affection for. I decided I would never be one of those guys that would be talked about the way I heard my girl friends talk. I learned a lot and paid attention. I had several opportunities to experience sex had I chosen to do so, including practically fighting off a girl in my bedroom at Ft Buchanan. It just never seemed right for something you do just once. So I waited till it was, and it was sooooo worth it.

Care to guess when it happened? Here is a clue. It was not in PR or Kansas or any other territory of the United States. It was on that ship, the Norwegian Cruise Lines ship, where I met that gorgeous British casino cashier, JF. That last night of the cruise I did not come back to the room, not only was I doing what you likely suspected but I was doing it for the first time. The fun fact about that is that afterwards I told her it was my first time and she did not believe me, as surely a virgin could not have been that good.

At this point I had a major ego boost and an egotistical requirement. Now that I knew I was good I HAD to be good. Not just good but great. And if I am to believe every woman I have ever been with, I am.

So where did this lead? Well, it ties into other traits I have and the effect that the combination has. I find that first of all, sadly, most women have had very poor experiences with men. Many women are happy just to have a man that doesn't hit them and think that is a find. That is tragic, but compared to most men I am a prince. I treat them well and am a gentleman. I am also very honest and I don't play games, and women tend to trust me readily and I don't betray that trust. Then we have mind blowing sex and they THINK they are in love with me. They feel more comfortable and secure with me than ever before and great sex feels like genuine intimacy and they are sure they are in love with me.

Then later....

once the euphoria of the beginning wears off, they start to look at day-to-day life with Leif, and then they see my flaws. I am independent. I am aloof. I am often insensitive. I also am usually stronger and need them a lot less than they need me. Thus, like with Nikko, it turns out she realizes that I do not engage her like she wants me to. Then they realize I am not what they really need.

Thus I am in no rush with [DT]. I am very disappointed not to see her but I am kinda glad I was not pressured or tempted to have sex with her prematurely, as I want much more from her and am prepared to give much more."

It wasn't true, though, that he needed them less -- he just needed them in a different way than they needed him. He suffered terribly when he lost them. It's so hard to read this and realize that here was a man thinking long term about a new relationship and yet in only 17 days he was dead.

Sadly, because of DT's mother's health and her job and family responsibilities, just as Leif had fallen in love, she had to pull away from him. He sent several text messages a day after her mother's heart attack and rarely got an answer, and if he did, it was a word or two. She did not answer his calls. Although he understood she had other obligations that took priority and was very busy, he felt left out.

He sent her a message hoping they could get together on their mutual day off, Tuesday, April 8th, but did not get a reply. He had gotten two very short messages on Saturday, April 5th, and sent seven messages over the course of four days to her:

":-( ok. Miss you what about Tuesday day"
Sent on Saturday, Apr 5 2008 at 1:52:31 PM

"Smiles"
Sent on Sunday, Apr 6 2008 at 8:59:57 PM

"Miss talking to you"
Sent on Sunday, Apr 6 2008 at 10:40:15 PM

"I don't like it when I don't hear from you for days. I miss you too much. "
Sent on Monday, Apr 7 2008 at 12:52:36 AM

"You're doing that not answering me for days thing again. :-("
Sent on Monday, Apr 7 2008 at 9:30:12 AM

"Working today?"
Sent on Monday, Apr 7 2008 at 4:26:42 PM

"Thinking of you"
Sent on Tuesday, Apr 8 2008 at 10:08:39 PM

He got no replies until the this one, which arrived after he had been dead for over 12 hours. He never saw it.

"Thinking of u too"
Received on Wednesday, Apr 9 2008 at 8:18:30 PM

He had seemed so up, so happy, so hopeful about this relationship, and I was so happy for him, even though I feared he had fallen in love too fast and was worried he would get hurt again. I'd had a dream in mid-January that "something good" was going to happen to him, and when this relationship began, I hoped that was what my dream had foretold.

It is so hard to reconcile Leif's death with the man who was in love again, who seemed so happy for the last couple of weeks of March, who talked to finding a job in her town and moving there to be near her.

I can only think that the combination of his financial collapse, which must have made it look impossible to continue a courtship, especially one requiring long drives and a lot of monetary outlay for gasoline, and her withdrawal must have made him feel that love was once again out of reach, that he would never have someone to complete his life and provide the intimacy he craved so much. He would certainly not have wanted to reveal his financial situation to her. It would have been humiliating, but even knowing all of that, I can't put it all together. I can't get from the man who was participating in a lively email discussion earlier the evening before he took his life, the man who was partying with his friend until the wee hours of the morning, to the man who, after they left, shot himself.

DT was his last love. I'm sorry it didn't develop into something wonderful for both of them. I'm sorry he never found the love and intimacy he needed, but I'm glad he had that one date, something that made him happy for a time.
------------------

This photo of Leif was taken January 7, 2008, three months before he died. It was three weeks before his 33rd and last birthday.

Reconciling the Life of the Boy and the Man

I need to get back to finishing the series of posts on Leif's loves and relationships but it's hard, hard to write about them, hard to be fair about them, hard to give a picture of his life and not hurt others, and in the meantime, I'm trying to deal in my mind with the conflicting pictures of my beautiful, brilliant little boy, who clearly was much more vulnerable than any of us realized, and the tall, strong, brilliant but unhappy man who ultimately took his life. So many of the photos of the last years of his life make me sad, realizing I could see the unhappiness there, realizing there will be no more chances to find the love and happiness he missed, but at the same time, trying to understand that there were moments of happiness among the days of misery.

Coming to terms with Leif's life and death is not easy, not for me, not for his father. I realized tonight that we had him in our home for the best years of his life, the happiest ones, though of course they were not universally happy. That at least makes me glad, that we were able to give him a good home life with loving parents.

I still think nearly every day that I want to just hold him and comfort him, and that will never happen. Even in death I wanted to hold him, to touch him, even though I knew he would not feel it. I would have.

----------------
This photo of Leif was taken in our quarters at Fort Sheridan, Illinois in May 1987 not long after he had picked out "Scamp," the kitten in his baseball mitt. Leif was 12 years old.

Leif's Birthday

It was a time to remember, to cry, to feel his loss so deeply, a time to share our grief, and time to wish that today, the day that would have been Leif's 35th birthday, we could see him happy, well and successful, not visit his remains at a cemetery. It's a sad form of remembrance, but it feels like the right place to be at this moment, the right commitment to his memory.

It was a beautiful day, the kind he would have loved to be out riding or driving, and oddly enough, when we parked our car at MacDill AFB after we had visited the cemetery, I looked to our right and the next car was a silver Mazda RX-8, the kind of car Leif drove. Such an odd coincidence.

And tonight there is a glorious full moon. Leif loved the moon and stars.

I'm going to drink a beer in his honor tonight and light his special candles, the ones made for us by Darlene and Marcus, and from Peter W's cousins in Heidelberg. It's not like having him here to celebrate, but at least we can remember the day of his birth and be glad he was with us for 33 years, even through our tears at his absence.

Telling Her Why Men Are Happy With "Real" Women

After Leif wrote to J about what happened to him after she left him, which I posted last, she replied some days later. She told him she often ran from the things that would make her the happiest and from commitment, and that she also ran because she couldn't believe he loved her. She was insecure about her looks and figure, and those insecurities were made worse because Leif had a large collection of pictures of "hot chicks," to whom she didn't think she could compare. His reply explains a lot about his own (and some other men's) psychology, and trust Leif to find a way to compare choosing a woman to choosing a car!

However, the end of this letter is terribly poignant. Leif, the hurt man who was so devastated by her leaving him and breaking the engagement, does is best to make her believe she is wonderful and worthy of love.

Thursday, June 30, 2005, 12:11 AM

It's funny reading this and then looking at pics of you. I understand what you were feeling but I look at the pics from Christmas, or Thanksgiving at my grandma's, and of you in that gorgeous black dress you wore to the WWC party and I just can't help but think how beautiful you looked. Women are always so much more critical of themselves than men ever are. I was so in love with you and I thought you were gorgeous. I remember reading things from your ex and he said things to you that were similar about the beauty of seeing you as a mother - when you thought you were fat.

It is cruel that women are tormented so.

Let me try to give you some perspective, because while you certainly have some demons to vanquish your appearance should be the least of them. I always loved looking at you, touching you, and was completely in love with you.

But as to guys looking at and fantasizing about these models and porn stars and such, surely you knew someone growing up that had a poster of a Ferrari or Lamborghini on his wall. What guy hasn't had dreams of having such a car? Every teenage boy had a poster of a hot car at some point in his life. It is a dream, a fantasy, and that is all.

In reality men drive Hondas and Chevys and Fords and they love their cars. When a man goes shopping for a car it is no different than shopping for a wife. He has many choices. There are sedans, SUVs, sports cars. There are many different models and sizes in each category from many makers. Inevitably he choses one, and in most cases it is not a Lamborghini.

Now I know what you are gonna say. They can't afford the Lamborghini. And to some extent that is true, just like most men aren't rich and famous enough to date a super model. There is that factor, but there is more than that.

Even if we could afford such a car, would we really chose to own one? What would it really be like? I will tell you. One, you can never be comfortable with it. You will always worry, worry that as hot as it is, someone will steal it away from you. Worried that someone will run a shopping cart into it. Worried it will get wrecked. Always worried, because it is too remarkable to just enjoy and be happy with.

Also, it is expensive. The insurance is crazy. It's high maintenance, expensive parts and up keep. And impractical. Can't do anything real with it because it is so exotic and fragile

No, realistically men like their Hondas and Chevys and Fords. They are HAPPY with them. But don' t think that if a Ferrari pulls up along side they aren't going to check it out. They are going to look and say, “Wow, look at that thing!” But if someone asked them, “Would you trade your beloved Mustang GT for a Ferrari and all that would go with owning it, most would be tempted but in the end they would say, “No, I got a good thing going here. Not going to mess it up.”

It is the same with women.

Looking at a hot girl is like looking at a hot car, but when we think about being with her, it's just like the hot car, a fantasy; but the reality wouldn't be that great. You'd always be paranoid that she would leave you for some Brad Pitt type. A woman like that is always getting offers from other men. Do you trust her enough and are you confident enough in her love that she wouldn't find someone better than you?

You talk about your insecurities about your body. Do you have any idea how nuts and paranoid my flabby ass would be if I was dating Angelina Jolie? I would be insane with jealousy, afraid that any minute she would find a better looking man and leave me for Brad Pitt. I would not be able to even feel safe or secure or content in her love for me. You never want your woman to be significantly hotter than you or "out of your league," so to speak, because you will always be waiting for the day she will wake up and realize she can do better.

Men look at hot girls like they look at hot cars. They like the idea of them but not the reality. In reality they want a match for themselves, a normal girl for a normal guy, one they can feel comfortable and secure with, and when they have that wonderful feeling of love and satisfaction they would not trade it for the hottest girl in the world because enticing as that may be, she is but a dream and dreams are not meant to last.

I loved you because with you I had a feeling I had never felt before and it was wonderful and I wanted it to last the rest of my life. I was in love with you and I thought you were beautiful, not just your flesh but your soul.

I have dated many women since we broke up. Many are good people but I compare all of them to you and none measure up. I have had sex with many of them but it is always a mediocre experience. It's like I am going through he motions but I am never really into it. It is flat, empty and unfulfilling. After the magical lovemaking I remember with you, it's just sex, and not even good sex.

But anyway, the point of this is to make you understand that you should not think so poorly of yourself. If nothing else, read these words and believe them as they are the truth. I loved you just the way you were. I picked out the gorgeous ring and gave it to you because I wanted to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you just the way you were. I have never been as happy in my entire life as those few months when you loved me, and I have never been so sad in my life as when you took that away from me.

You are a beautiful and tragic person, a scarred and scared soul that deserves to be loved, if only you will have the courage to let someone love you and trust them when they say they do. You are not perfect. Who is? I am very flawed myself. I have many good qualities but I have many flaws as well. Everyone has those insecurities. There were times when I thought to myself how lucky I was to have you and how scared I was that you would leave me, as I wondered, and still wonder, if I will ever find something so wonderful again. Fears that turned out to be well founded.

Just know, J, that if nothing else there was a man that loved you just the way you were and that you don't have to be anything more. If you want to get thinner, get a boob job or whatnot for yourself, hey, do so if it would help your self esteem, but you are a beautiful person just the way you are.

Know that J. Read this sentence over and over if you have too.

Leif loved me just the way I am. Leif wanted to marry me and spend the rest of his life with me.

Keep telling yourself that 'til you start to believe it.

--------------------

The photo of Leif was taken April 4, 2004 in Manhattan, Kansas. I never liked that particular pair of glasses. Leif always wanted fashionable specs. I thought these were just kind of "evil" looking. They seemed to small for him, to me, and were bent so that they fit his face pretty much like a glove. I still have his last pair of glasses. What am I to do with them? I donated the others to the Lions Club vision program, but the last pair he had, I can't quite bring myself to part with.

The Love of His Life

Leif dated many women that he liked but did not fall in love with, but when the chemistry clicked, he fell in love fast. He wanted love more than anything else and looked for it with passion and zeal.

The relationship with L. apparently didn't develop and he had a period when he wasn't involved with anyone other than casual dating from late 2002 until August 2003. In May 2003 he graduated from Kansas State University and in August he started working at the Sykes call center in town. There he spotted J, a 5' 7" redhead, the perfect height and hair color for him, and she looked quite a bit like Gillian Anderson (Scully on the X Files), a actress he was crazy about. She was separating from her husband and had a two-year-old daughter from a previous relationship. She was having a hard time making ends meet with a child to support and a low wage job, and Leif's protective instincts came to the fore. Again he wanted to rescue the damsel in distress. He feel deeply in love with J and moved her and her daughter into the house at 710 N. 9th Street. I think the months he had J in his life, from August 2003 to March 2004 were some of the happiest of his life. He glowed and beamed.

I came across an email I wrote to him about living with a two-year-old and how to handle it, in response to something he asked me. He was trying to learn how to be a parent, and he cared a lot for that little girl, too.

J professed to love him deeply, and said so in person and in emails. He bought her a beautiful ring and proposed to her on February 27, 2004. She said yes. Then, a week later, she got cold feet and left him, going back east to her family. At first he insisted she would be back, that they would get back together. Then they were going to meet in another city. Then finally she didn't answer his calls or email. She had left with a phone on his account and ran up bills he couldn't pay, and she didn't send him money for them, saying she didn't have it. I'm sure that was true, but it was another hurt on top of losing her.

Leif was in a deep depression a second time. We were very worried about him. It was one of the reasons we started making trips to Florida and trying to find a place to live here. We had planned to do that anyway, but we did it sooner than we had anticipated partly to get Leif out of Kansas and give him a new start, hoping to counteract his depression.

For a time, it worked.

It would probably have been better for Leif if he hadn't had any further contact from J in email, IM, on MySpace or by phone. He hadn't had any nearly a year, and then, in May 2005, almost three months after he moved to Florida, she contacted him. They had several emails stretched out over a month before she disappeared for another three months. She contacted him again in October 2005 and they talked on the phone, Then she disappeared again and didn't answer brief emails from him asking if she were still "there" in November 2005, January 2006, June 2006 and July 2007. I think the last time she sent an email to him was in October 2005 and the last time he tried to contact her was in July 2007. I know they had a few conversations during those years. However, he never stopped loving her or thinking about her, though he realized they would never get back together and indeed, he didn't trust her at that point.

Leif was very open with the women he was involved with after J, and told them about her. They could see he still cared deeply for her, loved her, and found that a threat. Leif told them repeatedly it was over, which was true, and that they were not getting back together, which was also true. He told them that he didn't trust her, which was true . . . but it was also true that he still loved her, and they felt that.

Leif wrote a lengthy email to her on May 26, 2005, after she had contacted him, explaining how her leaving had affected him. Some of what he says was modified later, in the last three years of his life, but he never stopped loving her.

Leif not only forgave the women who hurt him, he continued to be in contact with them, or tried to reestablish it. He needed their friendship, their love, and their affection. He reached out, but knew he could not trust, knew he would never have the relationship he really wanted.

Here is what he wrote to her (edited):

Date: Thursday, May 26, 2005, 2:34 PM

Hey Jessie, It's late. Been a very long day. I am a bit drunk and have had a bit of fun playing Planetside. Game is losing it appeal as the short hours of sleep and long ours of work catch up so I thought, what better time to write you? They say a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. So this must be the real skinny.

So what has happened since you left? I assume you might want to know. At least I hope you would want to. I am curious what happened to you myself.

After you left I was crushed. I am sure you remember the phone calls, the break downs and the heartache, and a fight or two. The last one was the last I ever heard from you.

There are some things I want you to know. Some things you need to know if you are to understand what transpired after your departure.

The first thing you need to know is that you were and likely still are the only woman I have ever really been in love with, at least that returned or professed to return that love. You need to know that I was sincere in my intentions to marry you and I honestly loved you so much that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Regardless of any hardship or difficulty, I still recall the months from August 2003 to March of 2004 as the very happiest of my entire life. I try to remember that and the joy I felt rather than the pain that came after its loss. As much as I sometimes want to hate you for hurting me, I can also thank you for giving me hope that such a feeling is possible, even if I couldn't find it with you.

After you left and cut off communication I became very depressed. My parents were rather worried about me and were concerned I might sink into suicidal depression, as I had once experienced when stranded in the army in NY after Nikko left me. I was really bummed, but not that bad off. In my typical fashion I managed to hide the pain from all but the most intuitive and closed myself off from others.

As a distraction I finally picked up that online game, Planetside, and got addicted. I did little else but work, sleep and play for a long, long long time. That game is now both my salvation and my curse, as I am still very addicted to it.

For the next 6 months after you left I was so hurt I could not even think of dating. Any woman I met got compared to you. Frankly, they still are compared to you and few measure up in the ways that matter, at least that matter to my heart. Many have had fine qualities that make them good people but I have not felt any affection for them.

Bottom line is, for 6 months after you left I couldn't even think about dating anyone. You took a piece of my heart with you and until it grew back I couldn't imagine giving any of it to anyone else.

After that I realized that I was terribly lonely. I missed you terribly and had no real friends left in Kansas. I went out now and then but either was terribly disappointed by the uninteresting Kansas women, or if one was interesting, losing you had so destroyed my confidence in myself that I hadn't the balls to approach a woman to ask her out.

So, for the next 3 months or so I was just a pathetic lonely wuss that spent his life playing video games and drinking a lot because they were the only things that I could enjoy.

After that my parents found this house down here and decided to buy it. That is a whole nother story, but bottom line is, it got me to Florida. At that point I decided I did not want to date anyone because I might get attached to them and then decide not to move.

So, I basically spent the last year of my 20's alone and miserable. I did not want any attachments that might make me hesitate about moving to Florida.

Since then I have arrived. I have gotten a good job and the new bike and am doing pretty well. I started dating again. Dating is weird and a pain in the ass.

I must say that I have a rather different outlook now. I am much happier overall here in Florida and have much less need of a woman to fulfill me. At this point having a woman in my life is kind of gravy and the few I have dated seemed to like me and I am now rather selective. I date when I have time and nothing I would rather be doing, and have someone I like enough to go out with. For a while I was juggling like 3 girls, none of which really interested me, so I decided it wasn't worth the trouble and stopped seeing 2 of them.

Later on I will be going out with the one that remains. Her name is R. She is 25, professional, divorced, has a baby girl, is tiny, at like 5'2", but with big D cups. Fun, chic, good taste in stuff. I like her a lot but I doubt I will ever be in love with her. That is the sad truth. There are lots of women out there with great qualities and personalities but I have never felt such attraction to them like I did to you.

So this leaves me with rather conflicted feeling towards you. On one hand I have never found anyone I was so compatible with sexually. Every woman I have been with since felt a bit awkward and unfulfilling. I know how to push their buttons but few know how to push mine. I so miss the sex we had as it was magical. My mind tells me I am better of without you as I don't think I can rely on you and that you have some growing up to do yet. And my heart is torn both ways.

They say the opposite of love isn't hate, it is indifference. I know this to be true. I loved you deeply and you made me happier than I had ever been. When you took that away from me I hated you intensely.

I eventually had to forgive you. I know that what you did you didn't do out of malice. I know you didn't want to hurt me, that you weren't trying to be mean. I know that it was your own weakness, not maliciousness that made you do what you did. You disappointed me greatly and while that is very disappointing it is much easier to forgive someone for weakness than it is for just being mean.

So, while you don't want to spend the rest of your life knowing that people you loved hate you, likewise I don't want to spend my life hating the person I loved most. So while I want you to know exactly what you did to me, I also want you to know that I forgive you. You don't have to be afraid of talking to me. I will not try to punish you or make you feel bad any more than you will likely do to yourself after reading this.

I must admit that I still love you. I am sure that part of me always will and unless I find what we had with another, part of me will always want you back. I just don't know if I could ever trust you again.

Well, that is all I have to say for now and until you respond. Other than I could still gripe about the phone bill you left me which from the sound of things you won't be paying me back for anytime soon.

So there you go Jessie. Ball's in your court. You decided what happens next.

I am gonna ride the bike up to Tampa and get an estimate to fix it, then go get some Japanese food with R. Maybe see a movie.

Take Care of yourself

Leif

-----------------------------

This photo of Leif is a self-portrait he took on June 22, 2004 in the bedroom he couldn't stand to sleep in for months after J left. He looks so sad and serious.

What a day of ups and downs is like

This morning when I woke up Peter W. said he had been awake for a long time, thinking about Leif and his car, his beloved Mazda RX-8 and how it had been a kind of validation for him, something he had achieved, and that it had probably become a burden, a millstone of debt for the car payments and insurance.

How true that was! Leif struggled to pay his car payments, insurance and rent, credit bills, and still have money to eat or do anything else. Of course, those were poor choices he made, spending too much for too many cool things he couldn't afford, but by the time he died and was in over his head and didn't want to tell anyone, he must have felt as though he was working just to pay debts and nothing more.

So, I was thinking about that and walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen and the first thing that caught my eye was a set of mugs he and Nikko had given us for Christmas around 2000. For some reason, the combination made me very sad. I looked at the front door and it hit me hard that he wouldn't be coming for Christmas. Of course I have known that all along, but knowing it and having it hit me like that are not the same. No sending home his favorite cookies with him. No giving him presents. No hugs. No teasing from him. Never again. I started crying and went to my office.

I thought how I wished I could just cry my heart out on someone's shoulder and tell them how much I miss him, and then I thought about Peter Anthony's admonition not to "wallow in grief,' and his statement that he didn't want to "inflict" his grief on anyone else, and realized that I basically feel that, too, so I got control of myself as I always do and got to work.

Work has immense value. I got busy sending out Christmas letters, answering email, and later, working with Peter W. to translate our annual newletter into German and was so absorbed I was feeling entirely normal and reasonably happy. My feelings about Leif's absence were pushed to the background.

In the afternoon, I went to the Macintosh computer club meeting and was completely absorbed in the program and reading stuff on my laptop on the side. I walked out talking to a genealogist who belongs to the club and telling her about how genealogists could use Google Translate and then drove home.

Halfway there "Leif's" car drove right past me and I burst into tears. Silver Mazda RX-8s are not common, and even less so in our small community. It isn't often we see one here, and basically, the only one I ever did see right in town was his. It was as if things had come full circle from this morning, with Peter W. talking about that car (which was repossessed after he died) and now I was seeing it.

Of course I know it probably wasn't the same car, and even if it was, it was no longer Leif's, but it's those unexpected occurrences that surprise us and start the chain of emotions flowing.

I was five minutes from home and by the time I got there, I was fine again, ready to enjoy dinner with Peter W. and spend the rest of the evening finishing up sending out the newsletters . . . until I saw the photos of Leif with Peter A. on his first Christmas Eve.

That's how the days go, ups and downs, happy and sad, some happier than others. Work is the best distraction, having something constructive to do, being with other people and involved.

I hope I don't see that car tomorrow.

----------------------------

This is a photo Leif took of his car not so long before he died.

And another thing on happiness . . .

Just because it's all right to be happy, just because one wants to be, doesn't mean one will be.

It's All Right to be Happy

I was driving along a couple of days ago, thinking of Leif. For some reason, I always think of him when I'm driving alone, and usually it makes me sad. I often talk to him then, though I have no illusion that he is there listening.

It was a gorgeous day, and I realized I was actually feeling happy, even though I was still missing him and thinking of him. The thought came into my head, as though someone had said it, "It's all right to be happy."

That made me think. I realized that a few days earlier, I had been happy on a bike ride, the same kind of happiness I used to feel before Leif died, a real appreciation of the beautiful day. Its not that there hasn't been any happiness since he died. There has, but it hasn't been the same. It's been in some sense subdued, or tinged with the knowledge of Leif's death and the sadness and regret that brings, the feeling of a hole in my heart that is never going to be filled.

These two instances of a real happiness, not weighed down by grief, were a window into what was and what I expect will be. The thought or voice telling me it was all right to be happy was something (me? Leif?) giving me permission to feel it without guilt. I asked myself the question, "What kind of a mother can be happy when her child is dead, particularly the kind of sad death Leif died?"

I think the answer is not simple. It depends on time. It depends upon the mother. It depends upon those around her. It depends upon being able to live through grief and mourning long enough to understand that it will in some sense always be with me, but it doesn't have to overwhelm everything else forever, that time and coming to terms (not peace, terms) with it will allow happiness to shine through, even while understanding that the sadness will still come back at times, and so will the tears. It depends upon the slow appreciation of something I knew all along; all of the good people and things I still have in my life.

I think some people carry grief like a badge, like a new identity, and don't know how to give it up, thinking there is something wrong with them if they do. I remember feeling that I would somehow be a bad mother if I could be happy again after Leif's death, even though I knew that was wrong. Feelings and ways of doing things can become a habit, too. Grieving is emotionally all-consuming at first. It wears off only slowly and slightly at a time, and it is right for the loss one has been dealt. The transition from that encompassing misery to the kind of sadness that comes over one occasionally when one thinks of certain things or is reminded of the loss is neither easy nor a straight path. It twists and turns. It doubles back. It ebbs and then crashes in full force. It was in the same week that I was driving home one night and was overcome by sadness, thinking that Leif would not be here for Christmas, the second one since he died.

I think it will be like this for a long time.

But it is all right to be happy, and I will be glad for the days and hours when happiness comes.

How I wish Leif had been happy, as happy as he was in this picture.

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This photo of Leif was taken in our old stone house in July 2003, when we were all sitting around the dining room table having a great conversation and beer (which Leif brought) in Peter W's German beer steins. His brother, Peter A. was there, and so was Darlene, and Marcus, and Leif's friend Michael. It was a happy evening.

Not Always a Happy Child

Peter W. remarked to me yesterday that when he looks at this blog, he sees that Leif had such a good life as a child, was such a happy child. I answered that one reason it looks that way is that we are usually likely to photograph people when they are smiling and happy, so that's not always an accurate picture of the rest of their lives.

Leif did have a good childhood, but he wasn't always smiling and happy. Like any child he had his ups and downs, disappointments and frustrations. I photographed some of those moments, too, and I have pictures of him looking serious, contemplative, bewildered, pouting, and a variety of other expressions, especially when he wasn't really aware of the camera with someone telling him to smile. When you think about it, why do people have to tell us to smile in photographs? Because we want photos of people smiling. They are more pleasing, generally. However, if it was natural to smile for the camera, or we felt like doing it, no one would have to tell us to.

Leif had the usual assortment of childhood tantrums, upsets, and hurt feelings, though as he grew, he was more and more self-contained and unlikely to reveal much about them. When he became a man, he had almost completely erased showing much emotion or allowing his hurt or misery, or even anger, to show, though he felt them deeply.

As an adult, he took many self portrait shots and usually was not smiling in them. I've posted some of them here. Although I like posting the childhood photos of Leif that show him happy, even joyous, perhaps in the interests of a more well-rounded view of him, I should post some others, like the one above.

This shot was taken of Leif in the backyard of our old stone house in Manhattan, Kansas, in July 1976, shortly before we moved to Charlottesville, Virginia. He was one-and-a-half years old. He's climbing onto the glider on our swingset. Little mister adventurous, barefoot and all. He looks so serious!

He Dreamed a Dream

Leif was a dreamer who dreamed of being a hero, a warrior. Someone who discovered him on Facebook or in this blog and asked to befriend him after death wrote to me that Leif would have liked this blog, that Vikings wanted the songs of their deeds and lives to be sung, to be remembered.

Leif's persona in the Society for Creative Anachronism, SCA, was a Viking pirate. For years SCA was an important part of his life, and he reveled in dressing in his garb, improving his armor and weaponry over the years. He made rattan weapons to fight with and fought many a Sunday battle in the Manhattan City Park (in Manhattan, Kansas), wearing an incredible amount of weight, especially toward this end of the time he lived there when he had the fifty-pound chain mail shirt he made. Several times I went to watch him and take pictures.

He dreamed of being the kind of hero he could perhaps have been in an earlier age, and surrounded himself with both ancient and thoroughly modern weaponry.

I was looking online for information about the Viking songs and sagas and was surprised to discover that they have fragments of ancient Viking songs written in a kind of musical notation using runes, and one site showed both the old runic notation and a modern translation of it. The title of the songs was so completely appropriate, "I Dreamed a Dream," so I decided to try to record it with GarageBand. I wish I had the time and talent to add accompaniment to it, though I have no idea what the Viking sound would have been, beyond the tune. I wonder, too, what the rest of the words were, and whether they, too, would have fit Leif.

The photos I put with the song are ones Leif took of himself on August 7, 2003 when he had just purchased his new armor. He was posing in the living room of the house at 710 N. Ninth Street in Manhattan, Kansas, where he was living at the time. It was a good time for him. I think he had at least somewhat recovered from the breakup of his marriage, he had graduated from Kansas State University that May, and was looking forward to a brighter future. He has just gotten a job at Sykes, which no longer has a call center in Manhattan. Little did he know how his life was about to change, first for the better, as he was so ecstatically in love beginning a couple of months later, and then dashed to pieces when the she left him. I think the period from about May 2003 to February 2004 was one of the happiest of his life, and it shows in his looks. He was so handsome then.

So, my Viking son, although I do not sing your exploits, I do write them and give them to the world.

How could his life end like that?

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

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

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

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

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

Emotions are like being harnessed up to powerful horses

I was thinking this morning as I woke up that our emotions are kinds of like powerful horses that we are harnessed to. Sometimes we are in control of them; sometimes we are not.

Emotions are the real stuff of life. They are what makes it all worthwhile. Without love, joy, happiness, what would life be? Mechanical? Flat and boring?

We are forced to endure the other side of emotion, the sadness, pain and misery, the boredom and ennui, and the grief, because life cannot go on forever, because disasters happen, because those we care about sometimes hurt us, because illness and accidents take a toll. We have no choice but to experience them and feel them. That's when the horses get spooked an run away. We are not in control and it's frightening and miserable.

Because emotions cause chemical changes in the brain they aren't just something we can "decide" on and control completely. We are in some sense at the mercy of the runaway horses.

But we can fight to regain control. We can fight to bring our emotions back to something happier and more stable. We can sieze the reins and sometimes force our will upon them.

However that takes immense effort and a real desire to change one's feelings. One reason it is so hard is that the emotions are natural and we feel that. We feel justified in having them and giving in to them, and to some extent, it's necessary, but there comes a time when negative emotions can become like a bad habit, something we keep feeding and feeling because we don't know the way out . . . or even want to stay there because there is some other goal being met.

I've thought a lot about this in relation to grief. When we lose someone we love, it is not only their death for which we mourn, but the loss of a future together, the loss of our identity as their mother, father, brother, sister; the emptiness where they once filled our hearts. Grief is real and consuming.

But I think it could become a habit, and I think it's possible to want to hang onto it as proof of one's love. How can a good mother be happy ever again when her beloved child is dead? How can she ever get over that loss?

In one sense, she (me) never will. There will always be that sense of missing Leif, of life not being right or complete without him. But gradually, if she is healthy and willing to fight to regain happiness, it's possible to see that letting go of grief doesn't mean letting go of love, doesn't mean letting go of the bond of love and care for that child. Gradually, she will rein in the runaway horses and settle them down, make them trot along a path that leads to something better.

I really do think that it's hard to let go of grief without feeling like a bad mother. You have to come to terms with that, to decide (and yes, it is a decision) that spending the rest of your life making yourself unhappy over something you cannot change doesn't make you a better mother or even a good one; it just makes you unhappy, and that unhappiness spills over onto the others you love.

You can't rush this process. For some it takes a year. For some longer. Some will never get there. But in that initial period you have to let yourself grieve and feel it. You have to mourn, for it is a real loss, and the grieving is not just a mental thing, not even "just" emotional, but a chemical process in the brain.

At some point, though, and it's a point you have to recognize, you find that there are moments and hours when you are happy, when you feel "normal" again. At first they don't last long and you feel guilty when they happen, like somehow you shouldn't feel that way at all as the mother of a dead child. You might even talk yourself into a crying session to "make up" for the happy moments, to "prove" to yourself that you really are sad . . . and of course, you ARE sad, but you are beginning to find your way back out of the hole of misery. Now, when the sadness sets in, you find you can haul yourself up out of it like a tour-de-force. You can pull back on those reins and stop the runaway horses.

Before this point, the things you used to enjoy had lost their luster. Counting your blessings didn't help because you were still constantly reminded of what you lost. But at this point, if you are fortunate, you  begin to realize that life is still precious, that you have spent your time in mourning and it's time to emerge, groom those horses and set off down a better road, time to live the life you have.

That doesn't mean you won't have periods of sadness, times when remembering will bring some tears, or when some trigger you didn't expect will make you turn away to hide the emotions that start to run away again. But they will not be the fabric of your life, but a pattern within that fabric, and you will begin to weave a new way to live.

I sensed I had rounded some kind of corner about three weeks ago, roughly after Leif had been dead for 18 months. I no longer cried so much when I was scanning and working on photos to post on this blog. I could smile at them and feel love, more than sadness, but yes tinged with sadness. I could write posts without crying.

And I could feel enthusiasm for things I had enjoyed before, real enthusiasm, more than I have felt since his death.

Peter noticed this, too. He said the other day that it was the first time he remembers me being spontaneously happy since Leif's death. I think he is right.

Part of this is the healing of time. Part of it is Peter's love and support. Part of it is this blog. And the last piece is coming to the time when I can decide it is all right to be happy again. It is all right to feel less grief. It is all right to fight depression and sadness.

I think when we are at the point when we can tell ourselves this new story that we can slowly begin to change the chemical processes in our brains to something that allows happiness. It doesn't happen quickly and it isn't all or nothing. It's baby steps, but they are in the right direction.

We have to hold onto the reins. The horses are powerful, and they are also wonderful. Life without emotions would be empty and worthless. We need to treasure them, along with our memories, and then figure out how to guide them where we want to go.

I am fortunate that I am at this point. If I were someone like my father or Leif and suffered from severe, chronic depression, I would not be able to do this. Chronic deep depression is not something the sufferer can "decide" to get over, or more precisely, they might make that "decision" but they would not be able to change the chemical processes in the brain that cause that kind of depression. Grief could be said to be a short term "mental illness" because of it's symptoms, but it is a normal process. Clinical depression, however, is not a normal process and it doesn't clear up on it's own. It is the black hole of despair. I am sad that my father and my son went through such misery and found no way out.

I know I will have sad times when something hits me about Leif's death, but I think I am over the worst of the process of grieving. Now I look at these pictures and I smile with love and memories. It won't bring him back, but I am thankful I had him, thankful for those memories, thankful for the years we spent together.

Is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? I think if you ask someone that, their answer will depend a lot upon how close they are to the loss. Even Leif, though, in his depression, answered yes. I will, too.
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These two photos of Leif and me were taken by Peter W. in Heidelberg, Germany in August 1978. He was three-and-a-half years old.

In the second one he is sticking out his lower lip. When I was growing up and we kids did that, my mother called it by a Norwegian name. I don't know how to spell them properly in Norwegian, so I can only do it the way it sounds to me. For a boy it was, "struteper," and for a girl it was "struteguri." I used that with my boys, too, so in the lower photo, Leif is a "struteper." Maybe a Norwegian reader will comment and correct me.