The last time I heard Steve’s voice, he was in a philosophical mood, talking about Ishmael and Moby Dick … and God. The conversation lingered on and I began to wonder why, as we customarily did not spend that much time on the phone together. Little did I know, that a few hours later, we would be making funeral arrangements for my brother. He was 50 years old. He passed on before seeing any of his grandchildren born, and he departed this world leaving a grief-stricken mother, and three siblings, the first “kid” in the family to “go.”
Born premature at only 5 lbs. and with a heart murmur, Steve was a frail kid. He grew to be 6’3″ and 400 lbs. Right before his death, (due to heart failure), he had shrunk to a mere 310 lbs.
Two years later, my older brother died from a sudden cardiac arrest. My sister had an episode, more recently, but she has lived to tell it. I have been tested and also have arrythmia or Long QT syndrome, that is an indication that my heart may just stop beating at any time. The Long QT factor is more common than people realize and is present, even in children. Of course, it is a genetic pre-disposition. Sudden Cardiac Arrest is a medical problem that is becoming more well-known today.
Steve loved to sing. In his late teen years, he liked Dave van Ronk, and attended the Newport Folk Festival to hear him, as well as Joan Baez, Bob Dylan and other folk artists of the 1960s. He bought himself a guitar, but never did spend enough time with it to play songs. Later in his life, as a Baptist convert, he enjoyed singing in church. He invited us to attend one church sermon he was presenting and I remember his impassioned and fervent vocalizations, imitating the words of Christ from the cross. He was nothing, if not a convicted Christian.
He was a hard-worker, but generous to a fault. It was always hard for him to make ends meet, and he often suffered from depression and despondency. He took joy in being on a frozen lake, catching fish to feed the family. In fact, there was no pretense to my brother, at all. He felt no need to impress anyone and he found more consolation in the Bible than anything else. Of course, I loved him and I prefer to remember only the good things I know about him. He was prone to anger, many times the result of frustration and the feeling of being inadequate. I’d like to think that I understood him, and at the very least, could lend a listening ear.
Today, 15 years later, the gentle snow is falling softly on his black gravestone with engraved deer on it. We decorate the grave with flowers, twice a year. Steve’s journey is over; his mission fulfilled. What do any of us leave behind? Memories of the living, sound bites in our heads, photos, and sometimes, writings, recorded music, or even our collections. Those things are all that is left to represent the lives of common, ordinary people. Of course, the rich are in another category. They leave their legacies in buildings, such as the Newport Mansions, or museums named for them.
Selfishly, I wish Steve were still here, but we mortals have no control over life and death. Today, I dwell on the words he left me: “Be an overcomer!” / “My God can do anything! How BIG is your God?” / “To be in contact with people, you must be prepared to constantly forgive them.” He was wise beyond his years. Today, on this cold December day, I remember my mother at his grave, trying to give a red rose to everyone in the immediate family. I turned away, sadly, and then walked away. I wanted no remembrance that would soon look like death itself.
The snow, coming down in heavy flakes, is a silent tribute, covering the ground with a cloak of mystery. Rest in peace, dear Stephen.
Patricia Cummings
