Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Stephen
I guess this past week was the hardest of our lives. Stephen passed away last Monday morning. Cynthia and I had been with him for about 20 minutes the night before, but he was very uncomfortable and had trouble breathing. It was hard on him to have visitors (even family, except his wife, Melanie) because he was somewhat embarrassed about his appearance and his inability to speak well because of his breathing difficulty. Evident though, was his great love for Melanie.
Monday was so difficult, but we were surrounded by family and three Episcopalian priests who helped with the pain. He passed away just a mere 82 days after being diagnosed. He went so fast, yet seeing him gradually get weaker helped prepare us for the inevitable. We maintained hope for recovery until about the last week. Three weeks before he was gone he called me on the phone and told me that the doctors had told him it was a very aggressive cancer. He told me that he and Melanie were aggressively fighting it with the intention to win the battle. He said, “I intend to win, but if I don’t, I am in God’s hands and He may have other plans.” I didn’t like what he said but he added, “It’s OK. Melanie and I are at peace with that.” “I am not,” I replied. He said, “Dad, it’s OK.”
Monday also began a series of events I will never forget. Friends had been coming over to Melanie and Steve’s house ever since he was sick, bringing food, bringing flowers, doing chores, making repairs. Melanie’s school teachers took over for her and ran the school, allowing her to be constantly at Stephen’s side. Of all this we were aware and had seen it first-hand. But, Monday, after Stephen’s passing, there was a crescendo of visitors, helpers, doers, supporters, prayers at the house. Frank arrived from Gulf Shores. A group of her sisters, with Josh Westerhold, went to the airport in Atlanta to pick up Margaret, Stephen’s oldest, who was flying in from Miami.
By Monday evening “The Boys” arrived. This was a group of young men who mostly knew Stephen through his mentoring at college or through his ministry at Red Mountain Church. They were a close knit group with whom Stephen went camping and on motorcycle rides. These were the guys who built the tree house for Stephen’s and Melanie’s sons (it was on Stephen’s “to do” list but he couldn’t get to it). These are the guys who pressure washed the house; cleaned the basement and arranged it (another of Stephen’s projects); repaired the plumbing; were preparing to paint the house. These were the guys who would drop anything at anytime to help Steve. They brought bourbon and beer and sat on the large front porch reminiscing about Stephen, joined each night by family who were there. Sometime there were up to twenty or more on the porch; another group inside the living room. Cynthia and I would leave to go to our apartment across the street about 10PM. The boys stayed until about 2AM. Our Frank, Marshall and later (after he arrived from Rome) Charlie stayed up with them.
This scene played out every night as about 8:30 or 9PM, already with a house full of visitors we would hear the bikes, and there they would be again, gathering on the porch, paying tribute to one they said had been there closest friend, mentor, helper. I asked each how he knew Stephen. One would say that Steve led him all though college, and taught him to love and to accept others unconditionally. Another told me he knew Steve from Red Mountain and that he always accepted as he was. Unconditional love was the theme in each conversation. I have never heard that word mentioned so much; I have never seen so many rugged men hugging each other; I have never heard so many speaking about being accepted for who and what they were. And to each it really mattered! Their wives were just the same, sitting more quietly to the side. I asked one young man (he’s 28) who knew Stephen all through Auburn and who is a mechanical engineer, what his wife thought of his giving up every Saturday morning to work on Melanie and Steve’s house. He replies, “She loves Steve. She pushes me out the door!”
Before the boys arrived each evening we would sit on the porch and have vespers; sometimes just family, but more often with friends arriving. We would read, sing, pray, tell stories, weep and laugh. This was a typical, daily ritual of Melanie and Stephen, so was continued all week. The laughter was good as was the weeping.
Friday night before Saturday’s Memorial Service, vespers began at 5 PM. People started arriving from near and far. Stephen’s God-mother from North Carolina; close friends from Baldwin county; family members from afar; the boys; the dear friends of Melanie and Steve’s, and a priest from All Saints Episcopal Church, Eric Stelle. Maybe fifty were gathered. Certain ones were chosen to speak; some could not speak when asked. Brian Murphy, whom Stephen called “his little brother” and whom he had mentored through Auburn and through Red Mountain Church, spoke so eloquently that all were in tears. Music followed, led by Brian, singing some of Stephen’s favorite hymns.
After the vespers gathering, activities returned to the porch until the wee hours again. Cynthia and I were overwhelmed by the stories told by all how Stephen had helped them in time of need. We were often cornered by one or another to be told a unique story of what Stephen had done.
Saturday was the memorial service at All Saints Episcopal Church in Homewood. At 3:10 PM Brian Murphy began with his music on the piano accompanied by his group of 2 guitars a violinist and a vocalist. Brian is quite an accomplished musician, writer and producer of music. He played until 3:50 PM then there was silence until 4PM when the service began. The church was overflowing with friends filling all the pews, the balcony, the choir loft, the side chapel and the hallway—aver 400 friends, Three priests, led by the senior priest, the wonderful Glenda Curry, and Stephen’s Aunt Lyn, an Episcopalian Deaconess conducted the service, then communion. Glenda’s homily was a touching and fitting description of Stephen. She was so important in his life and in Melanie’s.
Saturday evening was back at the house with the gathering of family, friends, and the boys. It was highlighted by Brian’s music again, and laughter, tears, sadness, happiness, and joy! Then our son Charlie, Stephen’s brother, joined with Brian. Strumming the guitar, and with Brian on the piano, Charlie sang a song he wrote for Stephen. It was so beautiful, so touching, and had the whole group, boys and all, in tears. One could not have experienced a more touching moment.
Again the night went on until midnight. Sunday was a day of needed rest, reflection and quiet. We had so much on which to reflect. We had just gone through a week of the lowest periods and the highest. But Stephen was present because I saw a part of him in all those people who came and who made up the nightly crowd; who even made up the crowd of 400.
It was truly a week of God’s Grace.
I am so grateful for what our son Stephen was.
I know I have left out many people and many events but I wanted a summary of what went on this past, difficult week. Forgive me if I have left out important people of events of the week.