Leif in the Leaves

Once upon a time, he was a joyful baby relishing the leaves in the fall. He was our little explorer, toddling around in the silly striped overalls I sewed for him, typical 1970s garb, I guess. Once upon a time, we looked forward to his future. Little did we know that 32 years later, he would no longer be with us.

Once upon a time, I listened to the music he loved, and to him playing the guitar solos from those rock songs, and they were just songs. Now, I go to the neighborhood pool where the radio on the loudspeaker blares out classic rock that reminds me so of him it makes me sad.

Once upon a time, this little boy had a future.

I dreamed about him last night, not as a baby, but as a man, and I called him "Alex," and then asked him if it was still okay to call him that instead of Leif. He laughed and called me, "silly mommy." Just what he would have done in real life.

I miss him.

This photo was taken in October 1975 in the back yard of our old stone house. It no longer exists, either.

Our Ninth Thanksgiving Without Leif

Today is a day to give thanks, and we have much to be thankful for. I will always be thankful for our son, Leif, but I will also always miss him, always wonder how this beautiful, curious child could end his life at 33.

This photo was taken on Thanksgiving 1976 in Virginia, by my sister, Leif's Aunt Lannay. He was fascinated with the old pump organ, the same one I, and my siblings, used to love to play at Mabel and Becca's house when we were children. Look at the little guy, hanging on by his fingertips, and still managing to finger some keys and pump with his little feet. He was determined to "play" that organ, and the only way he could reach both the keys and the foot pumps was like this.

That kind of tenaciousness was typical of Leif, at least when he was interested in pursuing something. He had intense concentration and determination. The corollary, however, was that if he was not interested in something, he could resist or ignore it equally well.

Leif had musical talent, which he pursued by playing the electric guitar when he was much older. He loved music, shown by his enormous collection of CDs and the expensive music systems he bought for his apartment and car. Music brought a lot of joy to his life. I believe that sometimes music and video games were about the only joys he experienced. So, I say thank you to all the composers and performers that brought him joy, and all the game designers and players he played with online who not only gave him good times playing but also supported him emotionally in gaming social networks.

And I will be thankful for all the days I shared with that bright, beautiful, curious little boy.

Songs with Memories of Hawaii and Florida

Music brings back so many memories. It evokes so many thoughts and feelings. I rarely listen to the radio while driving, but not long ago I did have it on, playing a local classic rock station. So many songs they played were popular when we lived in Hawaii. The brought back memories of our time there, of Leif as a young boy in third through fifth grades, of how both my sons loved music and each had ways to play the music they loved.

They were always up on the contemporary music, and I heard what they played, or what was on the radio when we were all together in the car heading for the beach or an evening in Waikiki.

One of their favorite groups was Air Supply. We all enjoyed their music. The song, "All Out of Love" seemed particularly poignant and appropriate now, looking back on Leif's adult life, though many of their songs would be so on target.

Air Supply singing "All Out of Love" at 1983 Hawaii concert

We went to a couple of rock concerts in Hawaii. One was the Norwegian group A-Ha at the Hawaii Shell on August 8, 1986, just before we left Hawaii to move to Fort Sheridan, Illinois. I remember well that open air concert and how much we all enjoyed it. The boys liked just about everything A-Ha did, but of course, the wildly popular "Take On Me" was at the top of the list, followed later by the theme for the James Bond film "The Living Daylights" in 1987. They enjoyed the music videos on MTV and Leif would certainly have found the one for "Take On Me" creative and absorbing.

A-Ha MTV Official Video of "Take On Me"

We all liked the BeeGees, too, and on my trip down memory lane with the car radio, the song "Too Much Heaven," which carries the line "Nobody gets too much love anymore," was particularly heartrending. So many songs of lost love, unrequited love, that seem so tuned in to Leif's life of loves lost.

BeeGees singing "Too Much Heaven"

Music was such a deep and important part of Leif's life. I wish he'd somehow found or made a way to be a real part of it, playing in a band, or singing in a chorus. Maybe having something positive and beautiful in his life would have helped, and maybe he would have met people he enjoyed being with, maybe met someone to love that would have stayed in his life. I know I should stop speculating on what might or could have been, but it's hard not to wish or hope that things could have been different.

Last Sunday we were at Coconuts on the Beach over on the Atlantic side of Florida, a place we first went in December 2003, without Leif, and have always wished we could take him there. It was a gorgeous afternoon and we had a bonus. They had a live band playing, The BroHams. The lead guitarist looked like he could have been Leif a few years hence, bald headed with a kerchief tied on his head, goatee like life, somewhat overweight, wearing baggy jeans and a t-shirt Leif would have liked, a kind of Leonardo da Vinci man but with a guitar. We really enjoyed the music, and I couldn't help but think that Leif might have been able to do that, if he'd had the drive to play well and found a band.

Here's a photo of the band, though you can't see the drummer behind the guitar player. That's the one I was talking about on the left.

Leif would have enjoyed the music, a beer overlooking the beach, the food, and the three young bikini-clad women who danced in front of the band and the audience, putting on quite a show. I wish we could have taken him with us.

The photo of Leif in Hawaii was taken in 1984 when Leif was nine year old.

Leif and Lannay in December 1992

 In December 1992, when Leif was just shy of his 18th birthday and in his senior year at Manhattan High School, his Aunt Lannay (my sister) came to Kansas for an early Christmas celebration with our family. At that time, a lot of us were living in and near Manhattan, Kansas, and she wanted to spend a Christmas with her family. Lannay and Leif always had a special relationship, ever since he was one-and-a-half and we moved to Charlottesville, Virginia for a year. He was more affectionate with her than he was with anyone else and they had a bond.

It's interesting to me to see this picture now, nearly 21 years later and see a family resemblance between them that I had never really noticed before.

Leif was so slender then, handsome with such cute dimples. He still had acne, but it was a lot better than it had been when he was in junior high. His hair was very long, not quite as long as Lannay's but close. In these pictures he had it pulled back in a long pony tail. You can see that even at 18 when his hair was luxurious and long, he had a high forehead and receding hairline.

I remember how important music was to him, always, and you can see one of his guitars hanging up behind him in the top photo. He had quite a collection of CDs. Sometimes the door to his room would be literally pulsating more like a drumhead than a wooden panel door from the deep bass he played on his stereo.

These photos make me smile. He looks happy, really happy. He beams. That kind of unreserved smile was rare from him. I didn't see it often, and I miss it.

Leif's Antilles High School Yearbook 1991

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

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

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

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

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

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

Graduations

This week, our granddaughter, Madeleine, Leif's niece, will graduate from high school. I was thinking today about all the graduations that have taken place in our family, beginning with my parents, and how much hope, pride, gratitude and expectation are part of all that surrounds the event.

When Leif graduated from Manhattan High School in 1993, he was already taking classes at Kansas State University. He was the "cool dude," the one with the RX-7 (used) sports car, the one with a cell phone (very unusual at that time, and he paid the bills himself), the one with the long leather coat and the long luxurious hair that the guys hated and the girls loved.

High school was not an easy time for Leif. He had many ups and downs, as so many teens do. He was shy, but had to adjust to three different high schools. He fell in love, deeply, but it was not reciprocated. He had parts in two musicals and found he could sing and make the girls scream, but he couldn't get and keep the one(s) he wanted. He had his first job and earned his first paychecks, but squandered the money. He managed to get through school with minimal effort but not know what to do with his life.

But that day in 1993 when he graduated from high school, he was happy and we were proud. I think he thought life was going to get better, and be easier, and he would shine. I wish that had happened for him.

Evanescence - Bring Me to Life

A friend told me today that this had been one of Leif's favorite songs. It certainly fit his dark mood and wish for something to give him life and purpose. It's cry for meaning and contact, the despair of being numb and cold. So sad we could not save him. Bring Me To Life by Evanescence.

Leif and the Antique Pump Organ - 22 months old

Leif's interest in music started when he was tiny. He always loved music, and he loved exploring things. Here was a great opportunity! We were visiting my sister in Alexandria, Virginia in November 1976. These photos were taken the same time as the last set, and also by my sister.

She inherited the old pump organ that used to belong to our mother's cousins, Mabel and Becca. When we were kids, this wonderful old instrument stood on the stair landing at the top of their steep stairs. To play it, we had to lean against a spindle railing, and had it given way, we would have fallen to the first floor. Luckily, it never did. We loved playing the organ, pulling out the stops, pumping the pedals. It was always a special treat to go visit Mabel and Becca and get the play the organ. I have photos or me playing it when I was about seven.

Leif spotted the organ at Lannay's house and, tiny as he was, not quite two years old, he did his darndest to play it. I have to smile, looking at him standing on the pump pedals and holding himself onto the keyboard with his little fingers, barely able to see the keyboard! He was having a great time.

Later, when he was in about third grade, Leif briefly took piano/keyboard lessons at Punahou School in Honolulu, but keyboarding was not his favorite. What he learned to love playing was electric guitar.

Another New Years Eve Without Leif

Leif loved parties and New Years Eve celebrations. This is our third New Years Eve since he died, and the holidays have brought so many memories of him. I miss him terribly.

To compound the feeling, I received a junk email from "him" at two of my email addresses. No message, just a junk link to a website that would undoubtedly have infected my account. And odder still, the message came from an email address of his that I had closed (or at least went through the process to close) over two years ago. I could see that the message also went to others in his contact list, and they probably found it startling to see an email from him.

I found that both his Hotmail accounts were still open. despite the fact that Microsoft says they will disable the account if a person doesn't log in for 270 days, and despite the fact that I had gone through a process to close them. I tried again and had difficulties. I hope I succeeded in getting the two accounts closed this time. I don't want them sending out junk that will be passed on by others when they click a link to see what it is, nor do I want people getting a shock when they see email from "Leif Garretson."

Yet even now, closing an account of his still feels like I am doing something I shouldn't, taking away something that was his, taking away yet another little piece of the identity he crafted, as though there is less of him left in this world. I know that's silly, and I know I have to do it, but the feeling is still there.

The "brave new world" we live in creates situations that would never have happened years ago, before the internet, before email, before social media. I doubt that Leif ever considered what would happen to all his accounts when he died, or whether anyone would have to deal with them.

Mail still comes for him, too, from mailing lists he was on, from Mazda, for instance, and Geico. I wonder how many years past his death we will still find envelopes in the mail addressed to him at our address, since he once lived here.

Other things linger on. I received two phone calls concerning an old account of his in the past two days. When are things really settled? When will I finally have taken care of all his belongings?

I go to the garage and see his bicycle hanging up. I go to my office and remember that once it was his. I enter the guest room and remember that once he slept there.

I think of New Years and know I won't see him or get a "Happy New Year, Mom" text from him on my phone. Now there are no new years for him.

Music still makes me think of him and cry.

Most days I'm all right. Most days I am finding more ambition and motivation than I've had since he died. Most days I am happy, or at least not unhappy. Sometimes I find joy, with my grandchildren, with Peter W.

And some days, some times, I am sad and miss Leif so.

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This is a photo I found on an old cell phone Leif had. I don't know where it was taken but it looks like a restaurant. It was taken on September 16, 2006.

Memories, Music and Christmas

This weekend has brought two days of strong emotions for Peter W. and me, emotions brought about by memories triggered by music. It's amazing how deeply music affects us, how closely music can be tied to memories.

Yesterday we went to the Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony sponsored by the German American Club. We go every year. For Peter, it was the sixth one; for me the fourth. It's a nice tradition, with carols in German and English, and German Christmas cookies, Stollen and coffee afterward.

I was doing fine and enjoying it until we started singing "O Tannenbaum," and then the tears welled up in my eyes and I just couldn't stop them. Peter got misty-eyed, too. The song brought back such dear memories, of our boys during Christmases in Germany, of Peter Anthony singing this song with the Sachsen Kinderchor, of Uncle Helmut lighting the real candles on the fifteen-foot tall tree, of Aunt Toni with little "Peterle" and "Peterle" with his little train conductor hat, all excited about his first electric train when he was two. Of Peter A. singing the part of Joseph in the Christmas Cantata in Sachsen and Katterbach. Of Leif with such joy on his little face opening presents in Japan when he was five or six. Of baking our traditional Norwegian Christmas cookies and bread together. Of all the Christmases we spent with our children when they were small and it was so magical for them.

It's embarrassing to cry in public, something I try hard to control, but the memories brought by the music were too much for me. I loved those days so much and I miss them.

It was "O Tannenbaum" that got me started, though I had trouble with some of the other songs, too. And then Peter W. said that when he sang "Sleep in heavenly peace" at the end of "Silent Night," he was thinking that he hoped Leif was sleeping in heavenly peace, and I lost it again. Just writing this tears stream down my face. I remember saying, "I wish he were just sleeping. But I hope he is at least at peace."

Without the music, I got through the rest of the day without tears, but today I was fighting them again when I was performing with the Women's Chorus. I don't know what it is about the act of performing that changes the depth of feeling of a song. I've been singing those songs all fall without a problem, but just like last year at the concert, there were certain words that choked me up and I couldn't sing for a few measures. One of them was "Merry Christmas, darling. We're apart, that's true, but I can dream and in my dreams I'm Christmasing with you." "I'll Be Home for Christmas" is another one that stabs.

The holidays can be very hard for those who are alone, lonely, depressed and unhappy, or not with those they love, or who have lost someone they love near the holidays or recently. Leif has been dead for two-and-a-half years, and this will be our third Christmas without him. We won't spend it alone and are grateful and happy that we will be with Peter Anthony, Darlene and our grandchildren, and my sister, Lannay and her family. It will be a happy time, and we will enjoy it, but there will be an empty space in my heart for Leif, and I will no doubt fight more tears when I hear certain songs or miss him most acutely.

When our boys were young, Christmas was such a wonderful adventure, full of their wonder and anticipation, their eagerness, utter joy. How fortunate we were to have those days, those moments, those memories. Even with the tears, they are a treasure to be cherished and held close.

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This photo of Leif and Peter A. was taken on Christmas Eve in Japan, probably in 1981 when Leif was six years old.

Songs that Speak

Today was one of those days that I heard songs lyrics that brought Leif to mind, not because he played those songs, but because they spoke of the life and feelings he had. Kris Kristofferson's "For The Good Times" seemed to pour out the kind of feeling Leif might have had for his lost loves, "make believe you love me one more time, for the good times." How sad those times were gone.

i don't normally turn on the radio, or even music. First of all, Peter usually has the television on so I don't like competing sounds, but I also treasure quiet and I'm usually working on something and would only be distracted by music. Music is very involving to me. it isn't just background sound. I want to really listen to it. So most of the time when I encounter songs like this, it's because Peter has turned on the radio in the car or I'm somewhere with piped in music, or it's in a television show. The pool where we swim has a soft rock radio station on all the time, so I often hear songs there that make me think of Leif and his life. So many songs are about love and love lost. They all have so much more meaning, and so much more sadness, for me now.

I have a CD of music that is supposed to help lull you to sleep. It's beautiful, haunting music, very soft and dreamy, and I like it, but for some reason, it often brings tears to my eyes because it makes me think of Leif. I have tried to contemplate what it is about this music that I associate with him, because I know he never heard it and I bought the CD after his death. I think I know what it is. There is something about the music that sounds as though it should be accompanied by beautiful photos of the cosmos, photos like those taken by the Hubble Telescope. They should be carrying us. me, though space. And that's why I hink of Leif. He had a marvelous slide show of Hubble space photos on his computer and he loved space. i associate that with him and I imagine him traveling through space, seeing at last a place his soul wanted to go. At least it's a lovely idea, whether it could possibly be true or not. The music, though, makes me miss him.

Music is so powerful.

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This photo of Leif looking so young and vulnerable was taken in Japan when he was five or six years old. I wish that I could hug him one more time.

Father's Day

Another women who lost a son to suicide was talking to me a few days before Father's Day and she said, "Why is it that these days like Mother's Day or Easter are so much harder? They're just another day."

The trouble is, they aren't just another day. They are days with significance, a significance we have been taught all our lives. They matter because humans measure time, and they designate certain days as having some kind of importance.

She said they only get "two months off," meaning that every other month has either a holiday or a family date like a birthday in it, so they are always anticipating those occasions when their son won't be with them.

I know how that feels now. We are into our third set of birthdays, Mother's Day and Father's Day without Leif, and soon it will be the Fourth of July (one holiday he really liked), then in the fall, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Each one of them is another day we will realize he won't be coming, something we had an expectation of over the years, because except for such rare instances, he always WAS there. He was an integral part of our joy and celebration of those holidays, and now having to experience them without him seems saddened and partly empty. We have other family members but they haven't been with us for these times over the years, so their absence is not so keenly felt. The expectation isn't there.

I find that my subconscious starts anticipating the holiday without Leif and I become sad. It happens to Peter W., too. We both feel that Mother's Day and Father's Day are diminished, that we have only half our children (for we had only two sons) still there. Does that mean we are half the parents we once were? It's hard to be happy on those days.

It's impossible not to think about Leif's death on those days set aside specifically for mothers and fathers, for that's what we were to him, and those were days he shared with us.

I found myself fighting tears.

I made a card for Peter W. and had a hard time deciding what photo to put on it. It doesn't seem right to put a photo of our family without Leif, though he is no longer here, and that's what I did on the card last year. I chose a photo of our boys in Germany when they were small, beautiful little boys! Those days are gone now, are just fond memories now made all the sweeter because we know they not only will never come again but Leif will never be with us. I had tears in my eyes when I made the card, but I didn't expect Peter to have them in his eyes when he looked at it. He was affected, too, saddened again at the loss, asking why Leif shot himself, how he could do it.

And we will never know.

The thoughts and the feelings go beyond that. I rarely turn on the car radio but I did a day or so ago and there was some sweet and slightly melancholy love song playing, and the words just made me sad, both because, as I've written before, love songs can be interpreted as other than romantic love, and because I was sad that Leif never had the romantic love he so desperately sought and hoped for.

Coming home from a wedding on Friday, we crossed the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, and I think we will never cross it without thinking and talking of Leif. And at the wedding, which was beautiful, I thought why couldn't Leif have found a love like this?

The memories are everywhere. The feelings are still so strong and deep. The sadness comes back in waves. It has burrowed into my heart.
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This photo of Leif, Peter W. and Peter A. was taken in April 1987 in the area of Fort Sheridan, Illinois. Leif was 12 years old, and acting goofy because he didn't really want to be posing for a photo. There were others taken at the same time that were better than this one, but these are my three guys, the ones that mean the world to me.

Guns.N.Roses-Sweet Child O'Mine

This was a song Leif loved when he was in junior high and first began to play the electric guitar. He worked very hard to learn the song and I well remember him playing it. I wish I had a video of him playing it. He could have sung it, too, but I never heard him do that.

Always Chasing Rainbows?

Another song we sang at the concert on Sunday was "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows."

This one wasn't one we rehearsed to perform, but a sing-along with the audience. I didn't even know we were going to sing it until three days before because I'd been gone to South America for three weeks. Here again, the words tripped me up.

I'm always chasing rainbows,
Watching clouds drifting by,
My dreams are just like all my schemes,
Ending in the sky.

Some fellows look and find the sunshine,
I always look and find the rain.
Some fellows make a winning sometime,
I never even make a gain, believe me,
I'm always chasing rainbows,
I'm watching for a little bluebird in vain.

Was Leif always chasing rainbows? In a way, I guess you could say that. He was chasing love and I know he had other dreams, at least until the end. He had schemes, and the always hoped things would work out, until the end. When did he stop hoping? I'll never know. When did he believe that "I never even make a gain"? It must have seemed that way to him the way his adult life seemed to go.

The photo was his kindergarten school portrait. To me he looks kind of scared and sad in this picture. It was never one I liked. Now I see the vulnerability there, the uncertainty. He may have always had it and learned to hide it well with his bravado and size.

Tonight there was a beautiful full moon. I thought of him again, about his love of the stars and science fiction, and his love of technology and gadgets, of his need for real love . . .

of the rainbows he chased, of the gains that never came his way.

Why does fortune favor some and not others?
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Photo of Leif was taken in the fall of 1980 at Camp Zama, Japan when he was 5 years old.

No Matter How Your Heart Is Grieving

Sunday I sang in the Women's Chorus Spring Concert. I had been rehearsing the songs since January and although I had thought about the lyrics of some of them with a bit of sadness, I didn't expect any emotional reactions during the concert even though I often have strong emotional reactions to music. I was unprepared.

The first song we sang was a medley of "A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes" and "Once Upon a Dream" from Disney's "Sleeping Beauty." I knew the second one would make me think of Peter A. when he was in middle school and chose that as the solo he would sing in their chorus's spring concert, and I knew that would make me nostalgic. I also knew that these words from the first song would be sad ones for me:

"No matter how your heart is grieving,
if you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true."

It's a pretty song and a beautiful thought, but hardly true.

We started singing and I immediately got choked up with tears in my eyes and had all I could do to keep from crying. In that setting, with the sound so good and the responsive audience, the words hit me as they had not during rehearsals. I realized what they meant and how my wish would never come true no matter how I wished, and the even believing would not help or bring Leif back to me.

It's like that with grief. You never know when it's going to crawl out of whatever hole you have managed to corner it in. You never know when it's going to take over your emotions and you have to fight to keep it down.

There I was, in front of several hundred people, trying to keep the tears from falling and look like I was singing. I did manage to get control of myself, even though the "Once Upon a Dream" sequence turned out to be far more nostalgic than I had expected, and I found myself sad that I could never get Peter A's childhood back, either, though that, at least, is a normal part of life . . . to have one's son grow up.

Sometimes I think of playing music, but I rarely do. So much of the music I like evokes too much emotion.

In just 12 days it will be two years since we found Leif dead. How can it be? How can that time have passed? It's like yesterday that he was here having dinner with us, two years ago on Easter Sunday.
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The photo of Leif was taken at Kodomo no Kuni, a woods and playground near Camp Zama, Japan, in February 1981. He was six years old.

He Would Have been 35 Today

If Leif had lived, today would be his 35th birthday. It's still hard for me to realize he won't be coming for dinner, that we can't take him out, won't get him a present. It's the second birthday since his death, and it all still seems so wrong that my beautiful son isn't alive.

It's hard to look at the photos of the last year of his life and see how he deteriorated physically, how sad he looked, how much weight he gained. He looked ten years older than he was, and it happened so fast. What terrible things depression and an unhealthy lifestyle can do to a person!

Last year in January I posted a lot of photos of the birthdays in his life. This year, just today, one of him as a baby with me, and one on that last birthday two years ago. That's the span of his life, in those two photos, but there was so much in between, so much adventure and so much heartache.

Today I will go to the cemetery. Peter W., his dad, says Leif isn't there, and of course, he's right. Leif was a living, breathing, thinking human being, not a small pile of powdered bones, but it's symbolic. Where else can I go?

I was participating in a focus group today, a group of "senior citizens" who all participate in music. It was for a research project about how music affects one's quality of life and it is focused on seniors. I had never met the others in the group and it was interesting to see how they spoke about the role of music in their lives. We all talked about the joy of it.

But there was something I didn't say. Music does bring joy, but it can also bring sorrow. Music is not only full of it's own emotion, but we associate many pieces of music with things in our lives, and some of those are sad. I've already written about how some pieces make me cry so I don't listen to them any more, and how hard it is to sing some of them. One of the choruses I sing with has chosen to sing "You'll Never Walk Alone" from the musical "Carousel." I loved this piece when I was a young teen. I purchase the sheet music with my allowance and I still have it. It's normally a beautiful, uplifting song. But not now. Now I find myself thinking of Leif and how many years he walked on with hope in his heart, hoping he wouldn't walk alone, but his hopes were dashed and he did walk alone. I know the song is probably referring to God being with you but even that, it seems Leif did not have, at least not that he felt it. I have a hard time singing that song because I know there are people who do feel alone, so along, and hope is hard to keep.

Two years ago, on his last birthday, Leif was here for dinner with us, actually the night before because of his work schedule. We had a good visit, but I was a little sad that I didn't get to make his favorite foods for him because he was trying out the Atkins diet again. I took it as a hopeful sign that he wanted to lose weight, and we made filet mignon for him. Maybe things would have been different if he hadn't lost his GI BIll stipend in February, taking away his last hope of being able to pay his bills (though he didn't tell us that). Maybe hope would not have deserted him.

How glad I am that I took pictures that night he was here, the last birthday I would ever see him.

Happy birthday, Leif, wherever you are.

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The top photo was taken on January 27, 2008 at Leif's 33rd birthday dinner in Sun City Center, Florida. The second one is Leif with his mother, Jerri, on March 14, 1975. He was six weeks old. It was in Manhattan, Kansas.

He Didn't Want to Be Alone

A day or so ago, Peter was watching a movie and I heard the Eric Carmen song, "All By Myself" playing as part of the soundtrack. It struck me that it could have been yet another theme song of Leif's, though I never heard him play it and don't remember finding it among his music collection. It is such a very sad song, haunting and poignant, and the lyrics sum up in great measure what Leif was feeling. So many songs have a lot to say about life, if you truly listen to the lyrics. It seems oddly coincidental that Carmen wrote it in 1975, the year that Leif was born, which may be one reason he didn't have it. It wasn't part of the popular music scene when he was collecting music.

Having someone to love and be with is so critically important to human well-being, and being alone and without love is so sad and demoralizing. Leif kept himself closed off in many ways, not opening up to anyone except the woman he loved, and when he was without that kind of companionship, he suffered in many ways. He keenly felt the need for a soulmate.

One subject I have alluded to many times in this blog but haven't really addressed is Leif's love life. I did write about his romance with and marriage to Nikko, but not the other women in his life. I can't really write about them as openly as I have about other areas of his life because it isn't fair to them to expose their lives on this blog. However, I can't pretend to close the story of his life in the next few months without trying to tell the stories in whatever ways I can without identifiying people other than Leif. Partly, I can use essays and emails he wrote, but before i try to begin that process, I'm going to post the lyrics to "All By Myself," because they speak to me of Leif's life and longings.

Eric Carmen's "All by Myself" Lyrics:

When I was young,
I never needed anyone.
Makin' love was just for fun.
Those days are gone.

Livin' alone,
I think of all the friends I've known.
But when I dial the telephone,
Nobody's home.

All by myself,
Don't wanna be, all by myself anymore.
All by myself,
Don't wanna live, all by myself anymore.

Hard to be sure,
Some times I feel so insecure.
And love so distant and obscure,
Remains the cure.

All by myself,
Don't wanna be, all by myself anymore.
All by myself,
Don't wanna live, all by myself anymore.

When I was young,
I never needed anyone.
And makin' love was just for fun.
Those days are gone.

All by myself,
Don't wanna be, all by myself anymore.
All by myself,
Don't wanna live, all by myself anymore.

All by myself,
Don't wanna be, all by myself anymore.
All by myself,
Don't wanna live, all by myself anymore.
All by myself...

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If this song speaks to you, I hope you find love, companionship, friendship. If you want the song, it has been sung by many artists, beginning with Eric Carmen himself in 1975. Carmen used music that he composed along with a theme from Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor. I am going to embed a YouTube video of him singing it in another post.

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This photo is a self-portrait of Leif that he took (among a series of similar shots) on April 26, 2003, when he was divorced and alone and hadn't found a new love yet. It was taken in the 710 N, 9th Street house where he was living in Manhattan, Kansas.

Christmas Eve

Our family has always exchanged presents on Christmas Eve after a family feast which of course included our Norwegian Christmas bread (that the boys didn't eat because of the raisins) and Christmas cookies. It won't seem right tonight without either of our sons here, but we will be able to talk with and email Peter Anthony at least.

It's our second Christmas Eve without Leif in our lives, since 1975. We will miss him.

This photo was taken on Christmas Eve when we were living in Hawaii. Leif got his first "boom box," and he was delighted. Although it wasn't more than a few years later that he had a large component system, this boom box remained among his things for many years, long into adulthood, though I don't know if he ever used it at that point. He had passed beyond the technology of cassette tapes. But at the time, it was pretty cool, and he had quite a collection of music even then. Leif always loved music and I wish he had continued to play his guitars and sing throughout his life.

Tonight I will remember the good times of him opening his presents and finding something to delight him, eat a cookie in his memory and try not to focus on the fact that he is not there.

At Fourteen, Leif had a dream shattered

Leif had dreamed of being a fighter pilot for years and I think he fashioned a good part of his personality around that dream and what he thought a fighter pilot would be like, but when he was fourteen, that dream was shattered when he found out his eyes weren't good enough to pass a flight physical. It wasn't only the end of a dream to fly, but also the end of something I don't even know if he was fully aware he was pursuing . . . following in the footsteps of his father and older brother as a pilot.

I found this short essay that he wrote for a school assignment that year, when he was a freshman in high school, about how he learned of the end of this dream. While what he says is true about it opening other avenues he hadn't considered, his way of brushing aside his disappointment is quintessentially Leif. He would always present things to others as though he could take it nonchalantly, whether this was true inside or not. This was a major disappointment for him. I think if it had been the only one, it would have passed and he would have excelled at something else. Unfortunately, his life seemed to be a series of such disappointments when it came to both love and career.

He went into Air Force ROTC in college, and was a top notch cadet, but when he went to summer camp, he pulled a muscle in his groin and wasn't able to do the sit-ups, and ended up failing the physical fitness test because of that. Then he was out of sequence for graduation and would have been a year behind. In typical Leif fashion he decided that wasn't for him. He didn't want to have to go back and do it over, and he didn't want to be around college an extra year, so he dropped out of ROTC. This was a big shame because he would have been an excellent officer.

Then when he enlisted in the infantry and tried to excel there, and did, as the best machine gunner, he was once again, for the third time, betrayed by his body, which looked so incredibly big, strong and tall. This time it was his lungs when he got asthma and couldn't keep up on the runs.

But here is Leif in his own fourteen-year-old words;

End of the Illusion

After they finally called us in from the waiting room I was led into one of those typical optometrist's offices with one of those chairs with one of those odd-looking gadgets that resemble a pair of goggles attached to it.

After waiting around examining the equipment I was greeted by by the most attractive brunette I have seen in some time who
introduced herself as "Dr. Danny" (short for Danielle).

We fumbled around for a while trying to make sure that my eyes weren't going to explode from glaucoma and then she planted me in the chair and began to flip switches, turn dials, and make me dizzy with all the different lenses that blurred everything totally out of focus, and this discomfort was compounded despite her charming company by the itchy sensation produced by the aggravating dye that she had dropped in my eye for the glaucoma test.

She constanly asked me which was clearer and to read the smallest line on the chart. After about an our of this she pulled
the metallic monster away from my face and said in a rather sympathetic voice, "How do you feel about wearing glasses."

It was that moment that began my realization that I had been deluding myself for several years as to what I wanted to do for a career. Ever since I had been a little kid I had dreamed of being a fighter pilot and had gotten myself so locked into this ambition that I had completely ignored my other interests, and as I know now, I have many. Flying has always been a passion in my life and still is, but other things, not the least of which is music (this is evident to anyone who enters my room, which is cluttered with dozens of tapes, CDs, and records, guitars, music books, and last but definitely not least, is the giant centerpiece, my Kenwood "Spectrum 875 music system and entertainment center," with a matching set of speakers boasting a combined output of over 620 WATTs, which I was willing to part with $1,199.00 to aquire).

Although it came as a bit of a shock to discover that the ideal of being flight eligible that I had been dreaming of for so long was no longer a possibility by the normal means, it was also a blessing in disguise because I had locked myself into an occupation that I really wasn't sure that I wanted to do for the rest of my career, and music, photography, and snowboarding, all have become an integral part of my life.

Today as I was thinking about this, we were in a store in Sarasota where they have many of these placards with witty, interesting and poignant sayings, and I realized when I was reading them, for many of them were about believing in dreams, having hope, believing that something wonderful will happen, that I have lost that belief, that my illusions were shattered when Leif died.

Leif With an Accoustic Guitar - circa 1999

I keep discovering new things about Leif. I'm sure that for everyone we think we know, there are many things that we don't know and probably never will. Many families seem destined to learn new things about their deceased loved ones, sometimes secrets they wanted to hide, sometimes just interesting tidbits that round out our image of the person we have lost, and sometimes, intimate details of their lives that would have remained private but for death.

I knew Leif played the electric guitar, and that he had four of them. We gave three of them to him, and he made the fourth. I posted photos of them on this blog long ago, as well as photos of him playing in a band at Antilles HIgh School. However, as far as I know, he never had an acoustic guitar or any interest in playing one. Therefore, I was quite surprised to find these two photos of him clearly playing someone's acoustic guitar.

The photos were of several guys, dressed informally, sitting on folding chairs in what appears to be a basement or garage or some such, with a concrete floor. They have beers. I don't know any of them. The photos were mixed in with photos from the time he was in the Army, so I'm guessing they are Army buddies, but whether this was taken at Fort Drum or while he was in Bosnia I don't know. The only clue about the time frame is his hair. It's a military haircut and he hadn't yet started shaving his head, so I'm guessing it was taken either in late 1998 or in 1999.

I find myself wondering whether he was also singing or what they were all doing. Leif had a great singing voice, but the only time I ever heard him sing was when he was playing the part of Kenicke in the Antilles High School production of "Grease."

Leif has considerable musical talent, a characteristic he shared with both me and my father, his grandfather, but like me, he didn't keep up with his instrumental music as he got into adulthood, unlike my father, who continued to play piano all of his life.