Remembering Never Ends

Memories are triggered by almost anything, at any time, even when least expected, and they bring with them so much emotion. Not only the emotion of the time they happened, but all the emotions that are associated since that time, including happiness, love, wonder, nostalgia, longing, and grief.

For us, like so many others who have grieved for loved ones, especially those who have lost a child, the holidays will always hold those memories of the happy days gone by, all we shared, and bring to the fore all we will miss this holiday season. I am trying to keep focused on gratitude that we HAD those wonderful days, those years we enjoyed so much with our sons during the holidays.

Today I was doing some straightening up in my home office and came across something I don't remember even seeing or noticing at the time I received it. It's a pamphlet for parents about the death of a child called, "The Saddest Loss," written by Jane Woods Shoemaker. It was sent to us in a packet by USAA, the company that Leif dealt with for his car loan, vehicle insurance and a checking account, after I notified them of his death.

It's probably just as well that I didn't read it then. I don't know whether I would have been in any condition to really appreciate its message. It won't change anything, but reading it now is like an acknowledgement of all we have been through. I haven't read it fully, but these phrases stood out:

"The death of one's own child is so devastating you may not feel like reading this booklet right away."

Perhaps that's why I didn't. Perhaps that's why I don't even remember seeing it before.

"When a child dies, parents grieve harder and longer than with any other loss."

I can't know whether that is true, as I haven't experienced every other loss, but I do know it is the most devastating thing that has ever happened to us.

"The ties of love and hope that bind parent and child are the most powerful in human relationships."

I've written about the role of our hopes for our children, and the bond between me and Leif, and how I wonder if deep in us somewhere, even our DNA knows of the loss; certainly our bodies and brains respond to the loss in deep and profound ways.

"The suicide of a child leaves parents with so many unanswered questions. It is the most difficult loss to accept."

The questions will always haunt us, as long as we live and are capable of thinking.

The booklet deals forthrightly with the emotions surrounding what to do with your child's possessions, and how parents hold onto their child by keeping possessions. How well I know that feeling . . . and also the sadness that comes from disposing of them, which feels somehow disloyal.

"Memories are the worst and the best aspects of grief."

Yes, and that is the crux of it. We WANT to remember. We WANT to keep our child alive in our hearts and minds, but as the memories come, the grief comes along with the happiness, so many times.

There is a section on "Memorials," ways to memorialize one's child. Here, I have perhaps fallen victim to my own feelings of grief, for she writes, "A memorial should be a celebration of the child's life, not an expression of your grief."

She gives some examples, but my memorial for Leif is this blog, and it cannot be truthful without acknowledging grief. I found that out as I wrote it. If you have followed this blog these three-and-a-half years, you may remember that when I started it, the day we found him, I said I wanted it to be about the "remembering the good times." But it was and is not a biography that progressed in linear order through his life. It is not just a series of stories about him. It is a collection of thoughts, stories, emotions, which all intermingle, just as life does.

Here is a sentence from the last paragraph of the booklet, "Recovering from grief does not mean that you get over the death of your child."

Yes, every parent I've talked to who has suffered the death of their child says this. You never get over it, but you learn to cope. You learn to go on. You learn to handle the occasions the sadness and nostalgia return. You learn to be grateful for the years you had. You learn to treasure every memory and every photo. You learn to be thankful for them.

And you will never, never forget.

Leif will not be with us this holiday season, not in person, not on this earth, but he will be in our hearts.
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This photo was taken of Leif in Hawaii in July 1984. He was nine years old. He looks happy, confident, adventurous. 

What would he think of this?

Last night after I went to bed and wasn't falling asleep, it suddenly occurred to me to wonder what Leif would think of this blog. Of course, I wouldn't be doing this if he were alive, so he would never be confronted with it in that way, but if he were to know about it somehow, after death, what would he think of it?

Would he be surprised? Touched? Pleased? Would he appreciate my memories and monument to him? Would he be glad to see so many people visiting the blog and reading about him and us?

Or would he be upset that his life was set before the world in detail for anyone to read?

Would he think I was an obsessed mother who couldn't let go of her son? Or would he see me as a loving mother who wants to keep his memory alive?

Would he wish he could tell me more, so that the picture of him would be more accurate and well-rounded? Or would he wish to keep things private?

I try not to post things that would be hurtful or embarrassing to others, or even to Leif, were he able to read them, but I wonder whether he would agree with my judgement.

I also wonder how I, a person who never wanted a gun in my house and who drank alcohol sparingly, managed to raise a son so deeply interested in and devoted to guns and beer, and though he never "converted" me to his beliefs, he taught me a great deal about them.

It is in the nature of death, especially a sudden death, that those left behind are destined to find out a lot of things about their deceased loved one they may not have known, or known fully, before. And that there will also always be many mysteries for which there will never be answers. The blog allows me to explore both sides of Leif's life and death.

For me, just knowing I have posted something is important, and I regret each day that I miss. I never knew when I started this on April 10, 2008 that I would still be writing it sixteen months later, would still have more to say, would find it so meaningful and necessary to my day.

As I was driving home tonight I was thinking about this again, thinking how when Leif was alive I spent so much time with him and helping him with problems in his life, and now I am still spending time, only I don't get to spend it WITH him or to help him any longer.

Yet he does not seem distant, not yet. Peter W. said the other day that it doesn't seem real that Leif is dead, that it seems like we should still be able to just meet him in Tampa for dinner or stop by his apartment. Intellectually we know we can't, but emotionally, it seems as though he should still be there. I know just what he means.

Probably the blog helps us keep that kind of feeling, for we see his pictures daily, and I write about him. The memories are refreshed, new again, savored. I am thankful for ever one of them.
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This photo of Leif was taken sometime in 1989. I'm not sure where, perhaps on a playground at Fort Sheridan, though I don;t remember one like this there. It's one that captures his vulnerable side, as few do. I don't know who took the photo. It was in his album and must have been taken with his camera by someone else in the family, most likely me . . . and yet I don't remember ever having seen this photo until I acquired Leif's albums after his death. He was fourteen years old.

A Sad Week

I haven't posted anything for a whole week. It's been too busy with Leif's inurnment, memorial service, a lot of company and family staying at our home and in town, and there hasn't been time, but many of us have been remembering him, at each event and gathering.

Yesterday we finished cleaning out his apartment and today I turned in his keys. That was hard for me. Even though he hasn't been there since April 10th, and I know there is no reason for us to go back there, there is something sad and final about leaving it behind and turning over the keys.

I made a slide slow of his life for the evening gathering after the memorial service, 439 photos from birth to his last birthday, and it turned out very nice. It was good to see all the photos of the good times, and not just think of the last sad day.

Now, it's time to turn a lot of my attention to settling his affairs and figuring out what to do with all his things. It's a sad task, dismantling someone's life possessions, things that meant something to him, though there is also a lot of it he just threw in a box.

Memorials for Leif

We haven't yet set a date for Leif's memorial service, but some of his friends and colleagues have asked about sending flowers. Please don't send flowers. If you feel you'd like to contribute something in his memory, please choose an organization that helps wounded soldiers coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan, or one for disabled veterans. Leif felt very strongly about the war (he was against it) and about what was happening to his comrades in arms there.

Jerri