Are you over it yet?

Peter asked me on our bike ride yesterday whether I was "over" Leif's death after four years. I told him no, that I still felt like the man we sat with at a German American Club Christmas Party a couple of years ago whose 17-year-old daughter had committed suicide some fifteen years ago . . . that it still hurt just as much, just not as often.

We didn't continue to discuss it then, but today I asked him whether HE was "over it," and he said he thought he was. But then it occurred to me that so often we use words in different ways. What did "over it" mean to him? So I asked.

He said he still thinks of Leif "all the time" and misses him, but that life must go on and that he was able to enjoy our trip to Germany.

I guess my definition is different. I knew all along that life had to go on, and since Leif died I've helped take care of my mother through a broken back and a broken hip, and now am helping her with another move. We've traveled to Egypt, South America, Alaska, Germany, India and Russia since Leif's death, and I've enjoyed the trips. Most of each day I'm busy and functioning well. I don't dwell on his death the way I did for the first three years after he died. I cry more rarely, but I still do get tears in my eyes, and once in awhile grief still comes back for a pity party.

If being "over it" means being able to function and enjoy life most of the time, I guess I am . . . but if being "over it" means it no longer hurts or affects me, or that I no longer miss him, or that I no longer question and wonder why, no, I am not "over it," and I don't think I ever will be.

There is something so integral to one's life about being a parent, about loving someone so completely, that even if we can eventually let go of the daily depths of grief, we can never really let go of the person we love and miss so much.

I was thinking just today, again, of all Leif's things I still have and what to do with them when there he had no family to give them to, no children to wonder about their father, no grandchildren who would like having his things.

I was thinking of all the memories that we cherish, how glad I am to have them, and yet how hard it sometimes is to remember and know what we have lost.

There are so many days I'd like to write on this blog but find no time. The demands of life have closed in and taken away the time I used to spend each day here with "Remembering Leif," and it may seem to the casual reader of the blog as though I am no longer remembering as often or as deeply, but that would be untrue.

I'm glad I had the time in the first two years after Leif's death to write more often, even daily, to be with him in my mind's eye and share those moments in some inner way with him. Now those moments are fewer, but not because I think of him any less.

I think Peter, too, wishes for more of that time. He checks the blog every day and waits to see whether I've written anything new, tells me I should write something, even if it is short. He may be "over it," but he's not over wanting to see the photos and read about our son.

This photo of Peter and Leif was taken in the back yard of our old stone house in Manhattan, Kansas, in June 1976 when Leif was a year-and-a-half old. He had been playing in the little wading pool and gotten tuckered out, so he climbed up on daddy and fell asleep in the sun, all cuddled up, safe and warm. He must have felt so snuggled up and loved . . . and he was. It's a precious moment, to have a little boy asleep on you like that. They both were so young then.

Swimming in a Waterfall Pool - Manoa, Hawaii - Summer 1983

We went to the pool again this evening, our daily swim. It was another lovely, balmy Florida evening, and Peter W. said it reminded him of Hawaii, of the weekend evenings we went to Waikiki with our boys to have dinner at "It's Greek to Me," and then see a movie in the huge theater with the pipe organ, and go to play computer games at the video game store in the Royal Hawaiian Shopping Center.

Those were good times. The years in Hawaii were good ones for our sons. We hoped Florida would be good for Leif.

I knew what Peter meant about, why the air reminded him of those evenings in Honolulu, and the memories were sweet, though tinged with sadness that they will never come again.

It reminded me of this photo, taken the summer we moved to Hawaii and were exploring the island of Oahu. We hiked up Manoa Valley to the waterfall at the end of the line and swam in the chilly pool at its base. Leif was still so young then, only eight years old. We didn't get good pictures that day. Somehow they all were in poor focus, but they were enough to give us images to go with our memories.

Leif enjoyed the hike, along a very wet and muddy trail, and splashing around in the pool. He could swim well, but though he liked going to the beach, he never was an avid swimmer like his dad. Neither of our boys were.

Leif and Football

During this fall season of football madness I'm reminded how little interest either of my sons had in the game. Even their dad didn't show much interest in it until we moved back to Manhattan, Kansas in 1992 and the Wildcats had a winning team. It seems that we always had a football, and periodically their dad would suggest that they go throw it around to each other, but that was about the extent of football at our house. We didn't watch games much, either.

Thus this is kind of a rare photo of Leif, with the green Nerf football. There were about three shots taken during that same afternoon, and I can only think of one other picture of him with a football in his hands. This picture was taken in our yard at Am Römer 9 in Sachsen bei Ansbach, Germany. You can tell it was already pretty chilly that October as Leif was wearing a warm jacket. He was four-and-a-half years old.

Even as a high school student and as an adult, Leif showed practically zero interest in football, and although he knew who some of the well-known players were, he couldn't really discuss the games, players or the season with any real background or enthusiasm.

I've often wondered why this was so. He was enthusiastic about soccer, but never showed any interest in playing football, basketball (despite his height), or baseball, or any other games involving a ball. Aside from soccer, about the only sports he participated in were discus and javelin throwing in junior high school, swimming (primarily because we taught him and took him to the pools and beaches). The two giant exceptions to this were judo, in which he earned his first degree black belt at the age of fourteen, and the sport of fighting in the SCA.

As an adult, it would have been good for him to have some physical sport outlet to help keep him in shape and raise his endorphins, but he preferred riding a motorcycle and playing computer and online video games. He did have a set of weights but I have no idea whether he used them.

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Peter W. tells me that Leif used to play touch football in the yard across the street from us with some of the neighborhood kids when he was in junior high, but I have no memory of this whatsoever. I know he never went to games or talked about it. I know he played volleyball at times, but that and soccer are the only ball games I remember him playing.

Leif & His Dad & Peter A. at Manoa Falls, Hawaii - August 1983 - Age 8

What memories do we hold most dear? Is it the family holidays like Christmases spent together? Birthday celebrations? Trips? A special time making something together, like Leif and I often did, whether it was a Western town created with popsicle sticks, a giant R2D2 cookie, a papier-mache Daruma-san, or pancakes?

Or was it the day trips and outings that we took so often, going somewhere to see something new, see a movie, take a hike?

I don't think it's possible to choose, though there might be a special memory among any of those things. Photos are such a treasure, a wonderful way to preserve at least a piece of those memories, and often, the photo will bring back so much more.

Like this hike we took up Manoa Valley on the island of Oahu. This was shortly after we moved to Hawaii in the summer of 1983. As usual, I was busy reading as much as I could about our new surroundings and what we could do there, and I found out about the trail that went up the valley to Manoa Falls.

When we went, it was a hot, sticky day, and the hike through the "jungle" (it was practically a tropical jungle) was humid and there were some pesky mosquitoes, but it was truly beautiful, with incredible philodendron vines and so many new kinds of trees and plants. New for us, anyway. The trail was very wet and we got quite muddy.

At the end of the trail was a lovely, clear pond formed by the falling water, and Manoa Falls. You could swim in the pool and we peeled off our clothes (bathing suits on underneath) and plunged in. I took this photo when Peter W. (in the navy blue outfit) and Peter A. (in the green shorts) were just starting to get ready for a swim. Leif, in the dark blue trunks with the stripes on the side, at left, was all ready to jump in, true to form. There was another family there and you can see them in the background.

The boys had a great time splashing each other and cavorting around. The water was wonderfully cool in the damp, tropical heat. It was a treat.

Eventually we had to get dressed and head back down the trail to "civilization" and home.

I wonder if either of my boys remembered this hike, or so many of our other outings. Our experiences make up our lives, but how many of them can we recall?

Leif in Scheffau, Austria - March 1978 - Age 3

When we lived in Germany the second time, from the summer of 1977 to the summer of 1978, we made two or three trips to Scheffau, Austria. Scheffau is a lovely Tirolian village in the shadow of the Wilder Kaiser Mountain which in the winter is a terrific place to ski and in the summer is a wonderful place to hike.

Peter W. and Peter A. skied and Leif and I hiked around in the snow. We stayed at the Gasthof zum Wilden Kaiser, a lovely place with cozy rooms and superb food.

One of the highlights our our stays was the swimming pool complex in the nearby town of Söll. It had indoor and outdoor pools and one of the outdoor pools was heated to a toasty temperature in the winter. You could swim from the indoor to the outdoor pool through a passageway and literally swim surrounded by snow and ice. We spent one magical evening there swimming in the moonlight and watching the skiers on the mountain where they had lighted downhill runs.

There was another outdoor pool that wasn't heated, and it was so cold that ice was floating in it. If I remember correctly, some German or Austrian guy got out of the nice warm pool and walked (his body steaming in the light as the outdoor temperature was below freezing) and jumped into that icy pool.

Then Peter Anthony dared his dad to do it. I was not in favor of this experiment because I thought it was way too much of a shock to the body to go from a pool that was probably at least 95 degrees to one that was probably just above freezing, but what do wives and mothers know when there's a masculine dare afoot.

Peter W. climbed out of the warm pool, body steaming, and did jump into that freezing pool. To go the other guy one better, I think he even swam across the icy pool before climbing out and jumping back into the hot water.

He said the cold pool was bad, but going from that back into the hot one was much worse. He said it felt like a million needles jabbed into him.

Luckily, he was young and strong and survived this ordeal without any harm, and it became a favorite family story to tell. Unfortunately, we have no photos of it as we had no camera out there in the pool.

I don't know whether Leif remembered anything about our trips to Scheffau or not, but the likelihood is that he had at least some memories of it. He had an astoundingly good memory for things from his childhood and beyond. Even if he didn't remember it, he surely heard the story many times.

He was only three years old when we took the trip that is shown in these pictures, and although he was very tall for a three-year-old, it's hard to believe that my "gentle giant" was ever that small.

We were so fortunate to have the chance to live in so many fascinating places and be able to travel and enjoy them. I have warm memories of our Scheffau trips, and of walking in the woods with Leif and snuggling up with him and reading stories.

At the Beach Today

Peter W. and I had a relaxing swim at Turtle Beach on Siesta Key today. On the way home, Peter was saying he was feeling really happy, and how much he enjoyed being with me. I was relaxed and happy, too. However, inevitably in the car on the way home, our conversation turned to Leif, how we were feeling, how much we had wished for him in life. It's the recurrent theme of our lives now. We are rounding some kind of corner, where we are able to enjoy things, enjoy being together, but the undercurrent comes back, the loss that stands in the background.

Peter asked me if I still cry every day. I told him I do. Not always a lot, though sometimes more than others. He said he wished he could take that sadness away. I said, the sadness isn't mine alone, and he acknowledged that was true. He asked if I talk about it with anyone, and I said no. He said, you just keep it private? Yes, pretty much so, except for some times on this blog. Although anyone can read it, it seems impersonal when writing it, like a diary, and so it's easier than to actually talk to someone, when I might break down in tears and embarrass myself. Here, no one sees.

We talked about how we wished we could have taken him to dinner with us, remembered the beach vacations we had with our boys, talked about how we wanted to take Leif on another cruise with us and now will never have that chance.

We had such good years, such a good life, Peter W. and I with our boys. How fortunate we were. Even now, with Leif's death a shadow over us, we are so fortunate to have each other, to have Peter Anthony and his family, to have had those wonderful 33 years with Leif. No, they weren't all wonderful. They weren't without problems, but they are the problems of normal, everyday living, which, in the end, is all we have and what we must treasure.
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The photo was taken of Leif at the swimming pool near our townhouse in Charlottesville, Virginia in June 1977. He was not quite two and a half years old.

Leif & His Dad - Turtle Bay Resort, Oahu, Hawaii - May 29, 1986

I think it was Memorial Day weekend that Peter W. took Leif and me to lunch at the Turtle Bay Resort on the north shore of Oahu. It is a beautiful place. We enjoyed our meal and then the two guys had fun at the beach, renting a paddle boat and swimming. Leif was comfortable with adults and we enjoyed taking him places. He was eleven years old in these photos.

Leif & Us - Colorado Springs - May 28, 1991 - Age 16

It's hard for me to believe that the Leif I knew when he was a child and in high school, the one who loved the water, swimming, playing in the waves, SCUBA diving, became the man who wouldn't go in the water after the army. We couldn't get him to go to the pool with us, and if he went to the beach, he didn't go in the water. I don't know whether it was because he became self conscious about being overweight, or whether it was a symptom of depression, not enjoying things he had previously loved to do.

This photo of him was taken at the hotel pool where we were staying when we flew from Puerto Rico to Colorado Springs for Peter Anthony's graduation from the Air Force Academy. He sure looks right at home, doesn't he? At 16, he was tall and slim. His hair was getting long, and he looked like he belonged on the cover of a romance novel.

The evening after the pool photo was taken, we three went to one of the Academy Graduation Balls. My sister, Lannay, and my brother, Donovan, and my mother were also there. Leif was dressed in his snazzy, stylish "silver" suit. My, how all of us have changed! Peter W. is in his Army mess dress blues.

That was quite a trip. After Peter's graduation, he took off for South America with his best friend Dave, and we flew to California to visit Peter W's parents and then to Oregon to see Jerri's Uncle Jerry and cousin Marji. We all enjoyed the trip. It was a welcome interlude from the stress of being with the military during Desert Storm, the first Gulf War.

Leif in the wading pool at 16 months

Leif loved to splash in water, the bigger the mess he could make, the better. As a child, he enjoyed swimming, especially going to the beach, and we had a beach vacation every year. When we lived in Hawaii and Puerto Rico, the beaches were attractions we visited often.

As an adult, Leif didn't continue swimming, and although he wanted to move to Florida because of the warm weather and beaches, he seldom went to them. I wish he had. I believe sunlight is a wonderful mood enhancer.

I'd love to be able to go back and see him splashing around again. This photo was taken in May 1976 in the back yard of the old stone house we lived in in Manhattan, Kansas.