Coming Home -- and not coming home

Travel and work are the best antidotes to grief and depression, even if they don't always work. Initially after Leif died, even traveling didn't take me far from sorrow and tears, but as the two years passed, I found that being gone from home allowed me to focus on my trip and destination, the people I was seeing, the sights, even though we always talked about Leif. It was as though I didn't expect to see him in those places, so his absence was not painful.

Coming home, though, has continued to be sad. Although I love my home and look forward to returning to it, once I get here I am struck again with Leif's absence, with his things in my house, and the knowledge he will not be coming here ever again. I remember that the guest room was once his room, that my office was once his living room, before I moved down here from Kansas. So many memories. So many years of expectations, of seeing him, loving him.

Peter is so good to me, tries to hard to cheer me up, reminds me of all the good things in my life. He's so loving and sweet, and he's so right. I have so much to be happy about, so many reasons to enjoy life.

But none of them bring Leif back or take into account how much I miss him.

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This photo of Leif was taken in Norway in the summer of 1977 when he was two-and-a-half 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.

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.

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

Leif at Work a Year Ago - Age 32

Last December 20, 2007, Leif took this photo of himself at work. I found it on his computer after his death, yet another photo he had not shared with us. He rarely emailed photos to us. He was a telephone customer service agent for Medicare Part D and spent his workdays logged in on a computer and phone system accepting calls. Leif was good at his job and prided himself on his ability to explain things to people thoroughly and compassionately, but he came to abhor the US health care system because of its unfairness, with some people unable to get care without insurance and enormous amounts of money. Leif had health insurance because he was a military retiree and had VA benefits as well as health insurance from his job, and he was adamant about the need for universal health insurance. He felt terrible about having to explain to those who did have health insurance why something that was critical to their care wasn't covered.

I remember when Leif first came home from the army and wasn't yet permanently medically retired so the possibility of him losing his military benefits and health insurance was real. Even though he had asthma, he had the youthful expectation of good health and couldn't see why he should be concerned about finding a job with health insurance and benefits. Later, as his health deteriorated, his medications grew more expensive, and when he had to have the collarbone operation in July 2007, it became very important that he had health insurance. The bills for his operation alone totalled over $50,000, though they were greatly reduced by the limits the insurance had negotiated. Even so, he had out of pocket expenses that ruined his budget.

It's hard to believe Leif took this photo just under a year ago, and now he's gone. We never saw his workplace. After he died, we picked up the few belongings he had there in a box brought to our car by his team leader. There weren't many, but the box was heavy, mostly with the big jug of pennies that he had used to build the copper penny space ship in his cubicle. I posted a photo of that before. There was also the headset he's using in this photo, certificates of training, a one-year service award and commendation certificates, pens, pencils, and that's about all. You can see one of the commendation award certificates in the photo.

It would have been healthier for Leif to be in a job where he interacted directly with people. He was too isolated, both at work and at home. It might not have made a difference, but I think he would have been happier if he had had a job dealing with people and ideas and more activities with friends outside of work.