Which Leif Garretson Should I Remember on Memorial Day?

When I remember Leif on Memorial Day, which Leif should I remember? The boy who wanted to grow up to be an Air Force pilot but couldn't because his eyes wouldn't pass the flight physical? The college student who joined Air Force ROTC to become an Air Force officer, scoring at the top his class at summer camp, only to be sent home when his body failed him again with a pulled muscle in his groin?

The man who enlisted in the infantry, the toughest physical challenge, to try to find a way into the military, hoping to qualify for Green to Gold to become an officer? The man who went through Infantry Basic Training on a broken foot after a fellow soldier fell on it during first aid training?

The man who breathed and ate sand and dust in Uzbekistan during UN maneuvers and developed severe asthma so that his body betrayed him yet again? The man who served his country with distinction in Bosnia as a peacekeeper? The man who was the best machine gunner in his battalion?

The proud soldier who became a broken man, the one who, with PTSD, finally ended his life like far too many of our veterans? He didn't die in a combat battle, but he died in his own private war, one brought on at least partly by his military service.

So, on this Memorial Day, I remember Leif Garretson, my son, who served his country, and is no longer with us. I will always be proud of him and his service.

This photo was taken around 1999.

What Leif Really Wanted to Be

 From the time he was very small, Leif wanted to be a jet pilot. I suppose some of the things that influenced that desire were visiting Air Force bases, traveling on jets when we moved from one continent to another or traveled, seeing movies like "Top Gun," and all the science fiction movies he saw with incredible flying machines. Two more big components would have been his love of speed and the skies. And lastly, the glamor of it, the cool factor, appealed to him.

He wanted so badly to be a pilot. We were the kind of parents who always tried to help our boys learn more about their interests and be supportive of them. When we lived in Hawaii, Peter W. took Leif to the reserve component of Hickam Air Force Base where a pilot gave Leif a tour and took him up into the cockpit of a jet fighter. Leif was in his element. It was a very special day for an 8 or 9 year-old. This would have probably taken place in 1984. Unfortunately, the photos don't have dates on them.

Leif lived his childhood dreaming of this career and planning on it. Although we all knew he could not definitely count on being selected for AF pilot training, he assumed that was what he would be.

I've posted before his high school essay about when he found out his eyes would not pass the flight physical and what a blow it was to him to have to give up this dream. It must have been even harder on him when his brother, who didn't really want to fly, was at the Air Force Academy and was selected for pilot training. Life is full of ironies we cannot foresee.

Leif tried to capture the feeling of speed by driving his cars and motorcycles like a demon, and would have dearly loved to be a race car driver. He would have been a good one, but that career was closed to him, too, due to the financial requirements.

I read a quote, which I can no longer find, that the death of one's dreams is one of the saddest things that can happen to a person, and that unless we replace the dream we've lost with a new one, a new plan or hope for the future, we flounder.

Leif did try to find new dreams or hopes, whether as an Air Force officer (starting with ROTC), or as an army enlistee, whether with love, or with the gaming and gadgetry he enjoyed, but none of those hopes and dreams came true. It was as though the heavens had determined that nothing he tried would work. How thankful I am that I did not have to live through all the disappointments he suffered.

In the past couple of weeks, we have, as always, had so many reminders of Leif. Yesterday I drove past a Japanese restaurant where we took him to dinner one December. We watched the movie, "Thor," and talked about what Leif would have thought of it. We went out to dinner at another Japanese restaurant and parked next to a silver RX-8 like the one he used to drive. Today I used the computer he built to check how something looked and worked on a Windows machine. Every day I use phones he gave us.

When he died, we lost some of our dreams, too, dreams for his future, dreams of how our future might be with him in it. I miss him every day.

I thought yesterday, after watching an episode of House, about all the babies that die before they are even born, the miscarriages that take their tiny lives, often because they are in some way not viable. Then there are the children who never make it to adulthood because of some congenital problem or disease. And then there are those who do make it to adulthood, but are cut down by, again, some congenital problem or disease, and lead short and sometimes problematic lives.

Perhaps Leif fit into that latter category in some way we will never be able to know for certain. Perhaps that genetic heritage of depression doomed our beautiful son in a myriad terrible ways. But that doesn't mean that he wasn't beautiful, brilliant, funny, loving, generous, kind, and loved. That his meteor only burned a short time and was gone doesn't take away from all that 33 year streak brought us . . . the good and the bad, the happiness and the disappointments. The memories are ours, those we treasure and those we wish had never occurred.

We don't get to choose in life just to have the happy moments. We have to take it all, the good and the bad. Life isn't fair, it just is. It certainly wasn't fair to Leif, and it still hurts every day to think about how he reached that point where he decided to put a bullet into his head. But I'm still glad I had the chance to love him. Still glad of all I learned from him. Still glad he was mine.

Leif Tries Out a Fighter Plane Cockpit - circa 1984 - Hawaiii - Age 9

Aside from exciting things like movies and television shows that sparked my sons' interest in the military and aircraft, there were chances like this where Leif got to climb into the cockpit of a fighter plane; heady stuff for a 7-year-old!

Leif wanted to see a fighter plane, up close, so his dad took him to see a plane at Hickam Air Force Base in Honolulu, where we lived from the summer of 1983 to the summer of 1986. This was a National Guard plane and the pilot was there with Leif. He was in the photo but since I don't know who he was or whether he would want his photo online, I cropped it.

In this photo, Leif is wearing kid's camouflage BDUs ("battle dress uniform" for you civilians) that Peter W. bought in Korea when he was there on TDY (temporary duty). Leif was thrilled to have them and loved wearing them.

Little did we know that he would be wearing the adult version for real, though as I've already mentioned, his hoped-for Air Force career was not to be, and as he found out as a high school sophomore, he couldn't be an Air Force pilot because he was too near-sighted.

Leif in Chopper - May 1981 - Japan - Age 6

Living on base in Japan was in some ways similar to living in a small town in the 1950s. We had little league baseball, soccer, Scouts, American schools, lots of family activities, and the base was small enough that we rarely went anywhere without meeting someone we knew.

Like all US military bases, we celebrated Armed Forces Day in May, and there were picnics, displays, ceremonies, and best of all, from my sons' point of view, the opportunity to climb on, in, and over military vehicles and equipment. Leif was thrilled to have the chance to get into this helicopter and put on a real pilot's helmet, complete with radio communication. How he would have loved to have been a pilot!

That was his real ambition, undoubtedly fostered by moves such as "Star Wars" and the chances to fly in airplanes and helicopters from a young age. Unfortunately, his hopes to do that were dashed when he found out in junior high school that he needed to wear glasses and his eyes would not pass the flight physical. He never found another real career ambition to replace that dream.

But here, at Camp Zama, Japan, he could still dream, still be thrilled at the chance to be in a real chopper. It was so much fun for us to see him do it.

Here he is, probably pretending it's his bird to fly.