This morning

I have to take a little time for myself, to be alone and remember Steve in my own way.  I wish there were a way to make people really know him, because he was such a presence, and one that a person could not help but like or love.

Last night, a small group of my immediate family gathered in the back yard at Mom's and Dad's.  That was Steve's domain - he was the gardener, the king of the grill at cookouts, the one who filled the birdfeeders and prepared nectar for the hummingbirds.  He loved nature.

One memory very personal to me is the night Steve and I went spotlighting for deer.  We climbed into the pickp truck and he took me to the peach orchard.  We parked on a lane and he pulled out the spotlight from behind the seat.  "Now watch this," he told me, and the light he shone glinted off of eyes all over the place.  In a few minutes, the deer began running.  One leaped over the bed of the pickup truck and Steve just laughed...Would you look at that! 

Another is the night he called me from Atlanta.  It was 11:00, the phone rang, the operator asked me to accept the collect charges, and I - thinking the worst, of course - accepted.  GIRL!  He told me.  You won't believe what I just did!  He had been jamming with Bad Company.  That was one of the highlights of his life.

He was a musician who played with local rock bands.  I remember how he used to drive me crazy, playing those drums every single night and every single day..but after a while, I didn't even hear them anymore.  He was an incredible talent - taught himself to play guitar, drums - he had a voice that would stop me still in my tracks, so rich and beautiful.
His last big gig was with Roy Roberts, a blues musician.  He traveled up and down the East Coast with them, and the highlight of that gig was playing his drums on stage with Eddie Floyd, of Knock on Wood fame.

He was the only person my dog, Buddy, ever bit.  When he made his way home from being on the road once, he came to my house, came straight to my kitchen and hugged me.  That didn't set well with Buddy, who immediately went to Steve's ankle.  But Steve won Buddy over, too, just like every person he ever touched.

He was the primary care giver for Mom and Dad.  His days of CNA work with group homes prepared him well for giving shots and taking care of feeding tubes during my father's cancer treatment.  And Steve never complained.  All his life, he wanted a place in Mom's and Dad's lives - an important spot.  He had no idea that spot was already his because he was Steve.  Stevie Poo. 

He had a personality that would not quit.  He could make you laugh, want to smack him and want to kiss him all in the same instant.  And if you dared lock in a battle of wit with him, you could count yourself out before the first words left your mouth.  He was quick and creative.  A bubble of laughter waiting to burst.

A few years ago, he met a lady - a real lady - from Canada, via the internet.  Their friendship grew and somehow turned into love.  He proposed to her first on the internet - and when Patience laughed at him and said it wasn't a real proposal, he told her - if you want the real one, get down here.  She did, and he proposed.  They were one of the happiest couples I have ever seen.  They loved each other immensely.

I take a lot of comfort in knowing that she was with him at the end.  He had not felt well for a few days and had come home from work early.  He asked her to take a nap with him.  She did, had her arm across his chest.  She kept a check on him because she was worried...and then fell asleep with him.  She told us she was not sure what woke her.  The first thing she noticed was that his chest was not rising and falling.  She couldn't wake him.  He died with her arms around him, peacefully, in his sleep. 

Oh, my baby brother...if it had to happen so soon, too soon, I'm glad it was this way, with your love beside you and with peace. 

I will never, ever forget your caring, your heart, your love for so many.

The house has been full of people since Monday night, and I know the church will be overflowing.  The aisle between the family pews and the friends pews might as well be erased, because everyone you touched considered you their family.  Rest well, brother.  I love you.