Hand-me-down Gadgetry

So many thoughts have gone through my head in the days since I last wrote on Leif's blog. Memories of the day of his Memorial Service in inurnment on April 29th six years ago, thoughts of another Mother's Day coming without him in my life, thoughts of him riding his motorcycle when I see some other young man riding his, thoughts of all my inherited technology over the years.

I was the benefactor of many a piece of Leif's cast off technology when he moved on to something better, newer, "cooler," like his Treo, like this MDA phone. It was pretty sophisticated in its day, with it's slide-out keypad and many Windows functions. He gave it to me when he got a new phone (of course), but I was never able to use it because it didn't get a signal in our dense concrete house. I should have sold it long ago. It still works, but who would want it a 2005 or 2006 phone now?

I think about all of the things I learned from him about technical gadgetry, and how many I learned to use when he bestowed his castoffs on me. He could have probably sold them on ebay, but though he was perpetually in need of money, he was never ambitious enough to learn to sell his no-longer-need-goodies, and so those he didn't give to me ended up stuffed in a box or drawer. This isn't the only cast off phone of his I still have. And who am I to talk, now that I've had them sitting around my house for six years I never sold them (or used them), either?

Some of his replaced-by-newer gadgets he sold to us or other family members, but not others as far as I know. He sold his dad a Mac Mini years ago, and his grandmother a Gateway computer (which has since bit the dust).

I wonder what he'd be using now, if he were still here to spend his time checking out the latest electronic gadgets. He was an early adopter of the iPhone, so I'm sure he'd be either finding some way to get his hands on an iPhone 5 or a Samsung Galaxy 5, and no doubt he'd either have or covet and iPad Air.

What I miss is talking with him about all that stuff, learning something new, finding out his opinions. I can read about it online. I can see it in the stores, but it's nothing like listening to him hold forth with enthusiasm.

Hand-me-down phones and computers; I was lucky to have them. They may have been secondhand, but they were better than I would have paid for myself.

Ah, Leif, thanks for all the fun.

It Means a Lot!

Today we received a card from my sister, Sherie. It means so much to me that she is thinking of us, and that she remembers this day, this week, and knows how much we miss our son.

Six years ago today we got up at 7:30 a.m. and got ready to go to Tampa to Leif's apartment to try to find out what had happened to him. It was with a mixture of hope, dread and fear that we left home. The best I could hope for was that he either was at home feeling ill or too depressed to communicate, but it seemed unlikely. We both knew that if we got to his apartment complex and both his vehicles were there, it most likely meant he was at home . . . but in what state?

They were both there. His door was locked and there was no response. We went to the manager's office, explained the situation, and asked if they could let us in. I'm grateful that the woman we talked to was sympathetic and willing to do so, and that she respectfully waited outside after she unlocked the door.

That was the saddest and most horrible day of my life, of our lives, and I hope there will never be another even close to it.

Peter said today that at least today we didn't find anything gruesome or horrifying. Yes. It was a beautiful day, full of ordinary work, with the anticipation of seeing Marcus and Darlene tomorrow.

Leif was and is on our minds. He always will be. We will miss him every day for the rest of our lives.

Thank you to my sisters for remembering these days and remembering Leif.

Six Years Ago Today

Six years ago today, our beloved son Leif died. On this day, April 9th, we did not yet know he had taken his life. We were trying to get in touch with him, trying not to worry that we were getting no response, trying not to think the worst. We were more worried than usual (after all, he didn't always answer his phone or text messages) because his supervisor had called us as the emergency contacts because Leif hadn't shown up for work.

We should have gone right then to find him, though it wouldn't have helped him any. We would have just known a day sooner, just had one less day of hoping he was all right, and one less day of trying to find out without embarrassing him by showing up.

We will never know exactly what time he died, but probably sometime between 2:30 a.m. and 9:00 a.m. the morning of April 9, 2008. We can place it at that point because his friend Michael was with him until about 2:30 a.m. He was emailing several of us earlier that evening. And, he didn't show up for work the next morning. We'll never know whether he never went to bed, or did so briefly and got up for work and decided to end it all instead.

The days leading up the the anniversary of his death are always hard for me. Remembering his death, finding his body, those are hard memories.

The years seem to fly by, six already, but it doesn't seem like six years since we heard his voice, his laugh, talked with him. He's still such a part of our lives.

I think few people remember the date. I don't think that's unusual. How many people's death dates do you remember? I remember three very clearly, and probably because they were all people close to me, and I was either with them when they died, or found them, as we did Leif. So, I don't expect people to say anything to us about this sad anniversary. Even if they remember, people probably worry about saying anything, making us feel sad . . . because the tears do come. But I would far rather have them remember that he lived, and died, than not remember or mention him at all.

I was touched deeply again this year, when my sister Lannay and her husband Doug again sent us a  beautiful bouquet of flowers, a card, and an ecard. Lannay always remembers. It means a lot that she remembers the day, that she remembers Leif, that she loves him.

Today's date is not on Leif's death certificate. It says "April 10 found." There's not even a statement of when he might have died. We pieced together as much as we will ever know.

The flower are beautiful. I appreciate them so much.

I will never stop wanting him back.

Falling Down on the Job

Peter tells me that I'm falling down on the job because I haven't written anything on this blog for so long. The days go by, and I think of it, and I think of Leif, and then I wonder what I can say. What is there new to say? Maybe one day I will remember some new stories about his life. Maybe one day I will have a new insight about his life and death. Maybe one day I will feel differently and have that to share. Maybe one day I will find a new photos I can post.

But those days have not arrived. So, what do I post then?

I looked through a stack of photos of Leif that my mother had, among a large box of loose photos I have sorted to return to those in them. The ones of Leif were all either those we had given to her or some she took and had provided copies of, so I found nothing new there.

One reason I haven't posted anything in the last few months except on his birthday is that I was taking care of my mother during her latest bought with another fractured vertebra and rehab. It's only during this week that I've managed to begin to catch up with all I didn't get done in the past two-and-a-half months.

Leif is never far from my thoughts, and often he completely occupies them. It still hurts so deeply that he is gone. I don't want to accept that it's true that I will never see him again.

I look up from my computer at the collage of photos of his life that Darlene made for us back in April 2008, and even in that limited number of photos I see so many aspects of his life, so many experiences. I look at the pictures I've posted on this blog and see a rich tapestry of experience. Maybe that's why living alone, with no one to love, just going daily to a job he hated, being broke from one paycheck to another, was so hard for him to live with. Life had not been like that when he was a child and a young man with us. While he never had a lot of spending money and wasn't allowed to get expensive clothes and shoes, while he never had the incredible amounts of toys kids today seem to have, he did have a life rich in experience and grounded in love. Perhaps as an adult, alone, he was like a starving, thirsting man in a cage.

I tried to find a photo of him I hadn't posted already, and I think this one hasn't been on the blog before. It was taken at the Hase Kannon Temple, or Hase-dera, in Kamakura, Japan around 1980 when Leif was about five years old. He's eating some kind of treat, and looks so sweet and calm.

That particular temple is a very poignant one. Well known for its 30 foot tall statue of Kannon, the temple grounds are full of small statues of Jizo, some with toys or tiny pieces of clothing like crocheted caps or rattles, and nearly all with red collars. These are placed all over the steep sides of the area by parents who are mourning children they lost to miscarriage, stillbirth or abortion. At the time we lived in Japan, it was difficult to find anything written in English about these statues and why they were there, but I was told by my Japanese friends. According to Wikipedia, there are estimates that "some 50,000 Jizo statues have been placed at Hase-dera since WWII." Apparently, they are removed after about a year to make room for more. I don't know what happens to the ones that are removed.

In our culture, we don't seem to have any such formal way to mourn the loss of an infant that never had a chance to live. The custom seems at once poignant and kind and yet inexpressibly sad.

Leif, of course, had no idea what all those little statues surrounding him were for. He was just enjoying the outing to some of the great temples of Kamakura with us that day. We went by train, something he always enjoyed.

He was tall for his age, but so innocent and vulnerable, though I don't think any of us realized it because of his strength and his quiet way of holding himself in.

It seems somehow appropriate and sad that I have this photo of him at that temple. 

Leif's 39th Birthday

Thirty-nine years ago I first held Leif in my arms, a big, strong baby, who was a far more beautiful child than this picture shows . . . but I have so few of me and my baby son.

Thirty-nine years ago, this was such a happy day. Our Leif Ashley was born at Irwin Army Hospital, Fort Riley, Kansas.

How I wish he were here with us to celebrate his birthday. Every birthday since his death has been hard for me, glad to remember the joy of his coming into the world, so very hard to realize that his life ended at 33, and these birthdays do not mark another year older, do not bring a celebration, do not see him blowing out candles or opening a present. Hard to realize he will never do those things again.

This is his sixth birthday since his death. Some five years ago, I decided what I wanted to do for his birthday was to do something he would have enjoyed, in his honor, to make the day worthwhile, to seize the life we have and remember him.

And although Peter W. would prefer not to go there, as it is a sad reminder, I would like to visit Bay Pines Cemetery on Leif's birthday. I've wanted to just go there and sit and think or read, and just be.

And, I wanted time to look at photos and savor memories, remember the thirty-three years of his life, his laugh, his smile, his bear hugs, his rascally eyes.

My plans to do any of these things have mostly come to naught. Several of them have been spent taking care of my mother's medical needs. Like today; I spent a total of 12 hours either with her or taking care of things for her. Then I still had to take care of things at home. Now I'm exhausted and it's nearly midnight, and I haven't had any time to spend with my Leif.

It may sound foolish to say I want to spend time with him, but even though I know it's one-sided, even though I know he isn't there, I want to spend the time thinking of him, remembering him. It feels wrong and hurts my heart that I can't take that day "with" him . . . at least in my heart.

I'd like to wish him a Happy Birthday, though he is not here to celebrate it with me. I'd like to wish that somewhere, he is happy, though I do not really believe he is still a part of the universe in any discreet and personal sense.

I would not want my grief and the way I miss him to make him unhappy or sad. He had enough of that in his short life. I would want him to be happy, to laugh, to smile, to find the joy he lost.

Happy 39th birthday, my son.

"Think of Me"

I tried to post on New Years Eve from my iPad but somehow, the Blogger app would not upload the post. I wanted to post something on Leif's favorite holiday. We were together with his brother, niece, nephew and sister-in-law, and it would have been so good to have him with us, too.

We came back to Florida and I was busy with my mother's medical needs after a fall, busy enough that I didn't get to try the post again for over a week . . . and then it happened.

I went to chorus rehearsal and we got our new music for the spring concert. I was delighted to see that it was all wonderful songs from Broadway musicals.

Then the director told us to take out "Think of Me" from "Phantom." I got choked up immediately. I love that song, but we had it played at Leif's memorial service, and the words will always make me think of him and how much I miss him. I attempted to sing it, but I couldn't get more than a few notes out. I finally just had to put the music in my lap and sit there dabbing at tears while my friend Chris hugged me. I simply couldn't sing.

We went on to other songs and returned to "Think of Me" at the end of rehearsal. By that time I had pulled myself together enough to sing it.

This is such a good example of how we never know how something is going to affect us, or when grief will come unexpectedly flooding back. Most of the time I can talk about Leif without crying, but I can never predict when something will trigger sadness and tears.

It's hard to realize that his birthday is coming up and he won't be here, hard to realize in April he will have been gone from us for six years. I'm still using his computers. His wallet is still here, untouched except for his military ID that I turned in. My mind knows he's gone forever. My heart will never let go.
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This photo was a selfie Leif took on New Years Eve 2002.

Leif and Two of His Cousins

 This is the Leif that enjoyed kids, loved his younger cousins, and was strong as an ox. I'd never seen these photos until my sister, Lannay, brought them to me last summer. They were taken in July 1993, when he was 18 years old, slim, and handsome and having a good time with his young cousins Corinne and Jacquie. Kids always loved him. They gravitated to him. There was something about this giant of a guy that was just FUN. He had a warmth about him and liked to joke with them. You can see how happy the girls look.

It must have been hard for him to be that tall and strong  and have his body betray him so badly with the asthma and pain from his neck and collarbone, and his shin splints. I suspect he had other medical problems he didn't confide in us, probably at the least a bad case of acid reflux, since I found medication for that.

It must have been hard for him to feel that he was getting older and not finding anyone to share his life, that he had no children.

But here in these photos he was still healthy and optimistic, still had his long hair, though his hairline was already receding, still had that wonderful smile.

He is wearing a chain mail necklace he made himself, even the links.

It's hard to believe these photos were taken twenty years ago. Where did the years go? How did they go so fast?

Missing Leif for the Sixth Christmas

I will never get over missing him, but it's hardest on Christmas, New Years, his birthday, and Mother's Day.

He loved cookie dough.

If Leif were here, he'd be eating this. He loved cookie dough, particularly this kind of cookie dough, for Norwegian Berliner Kranse. This is our family's favorite cookie and a Christmas tradition. I grew up with it, and so did my mother and her mother, and her grandmother. It's an old and strange recipe that uses both raw and hardboiled egg yolks pressed through a sieve, and it's wonderful. Leif and his brother used to tell me I should just put the bowl of cookie dough on the table and let them eat it instead of dinner.

I always loved making cookies with my boys. These were especially good for kids to help make the dough because you have to work the flour in with your hands. What kid doesn't like squishing his hands in flour, sugar and butter? We had a good time making the dough and eating it, forming and baking the sugar covered rings. I practically had to guard the cookies to make sure we still had some for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. The tradition was to bake them on the 23rd.

So, I baked them today, but it was only fun through nostalgia for all those Christmases past. When my boys grew up, they no longer wanted to help, but they still liked to eat the dough and the cookies. Later my grandchildren helped make them.

This is the first time in a long time we haven't had either of our sons or our grandchildren with us for Christmas, and it seems too quiet and not really festive. Christmas is meant to be shared. My heart goes out to all those who are alone and lonely on Christmas and New Years.

I have Peter and my mother to spend our traditional Christmas Eve with, and on Christmas Day we will be joined by Leif's best friend and a friend of mine and her sister. I'm glad we will have the company and I hope they'll enjoy the cookies, but it won't be the same as it was when I was looking forward to Leif driving up to our door and Peter Anthony flying in.

This is our sixth Christmas without Leif. It still isn't right. I still miss him. I still want him to come home for Christmas, and I still get tears in my eyes when I hear the song, "I'll Be Home For Christmas." How I wish he were! He could eat all the cookie dough he wanted!

Nostalgia

This time of year is always bittersweet. It brings back so many memories, and I am grateful for all of the good ones we have of the years with our sons, those years when they were children and Christmas was magical, when their problems were small and we could actually handle them and really help. Those years when there was someone with young bright eyes to appreciate the Christmas decorations and help make the cookies and Norwegian Christmas bread, to sing the carols and anticipate the fun of Christmas Eve.

There's enough nostalgia in the air already, but it seems lately there are more reminders everywhere. Last Monday we went out to dinner at a Japanese steakhouse, and I remembered our years in Japan, the boys trying Japanese food, taking them to Japanese restaurants here.

Then, when I was driving home, the car on my left for a long time in a traffic jam caused by an accident was a silver RX8 like Leif's, like he was there accompanying me home.

Today, we went to the German American Chorus Christmas concert. I sang with this group for six years until their rehearsal time conflicted with Mom's retinology appointments. They sang German Christmas carols and I remembered the years we lived in Nurnberg and Sachsen bei Ansbach and Peter Anthony sang with the Sachsen Kinderchor, and how much he loved listening to Andrea Jurgens singing carols. I got tears in my eyes remembering and missing those days gone by.

We are fortunate that we had all those years together, that our memories bring them back. I miss my boys. I miss Leif. But I am grateful.
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This photo was taken on July 4, 1976 in Manhattan, Kansas, in our old stone house. Leif is on the right.