Steve Grace and “Patty” Grace on one Christmas Day in the 1960s at our parents’ farm.
The date “October 28″ weighs heavy on my heart. In 1944, my older brother Steve was born. He was closest in age to me in a family of four children. I can’t believe that it is 17 years ago (short of two months) that he was laid to rest at the age of 50 in December 1994.
Life was always a struggle for Steve. He was only five pounds when he was born as a premature baby, the son of a heavy smoker. As a child, he developed a stuttering problem that eroded his self-confidence. As you know, anyone who is “different” is always subject to a certain amount ridicule at school. A redhead with blue eyes and freckles, he was a tall kid and later a 6’3″ adult. My parents took him to doctors and speech specialists but he did not overcome his speech problem until high school.
He decided to attend Alvirne High School in southern New Hampshire because he heard they had a great program in agriculture and he loved animals, even though or perhaps because he was brought up in a city. Influenced by a certain teacher whom he really admired, he joined the Future Farmers of America Club. To encourage his new interest, my Dad bought a farm in Londonderry, New Hampshire so that Steve would have a place to put to use his new found skills of forest management. Dad rented the house on the farm to a family, and our family visited the land on weekends to picnic and enjoy the country air while Dad helped Steve do some forestry work.
Future Farmers of America proved to be a great organization for Steve. He wrote a speech that compared the state of agriculture in the U.S. to that of Russia under Communism and he presented his talk and won state and regional competitions. He was selected to compete in the national FFA convention in Kansas City, Missouri. Later, he decided to major in agriculture at our state university and was the first of my siblings to graduate from an institution of higher learning, with a degree in teaching. The family was so proud of him!
After being awarded a B.S. degree, he agreed to teach high school classes in agriculture. “Ag” was looked down upon by administrators as an inferior subject. Consequently, he was sent every kid who had a disciplinary problem in the school. Being serious about his subject matter but frustrated by the circumstance of having to deal with juvenile delinquents instead of teaching, he left the classroom for good.
Now a married man, he became a herdsman at a dairy farm and he and his wife had two children. Even though he worked very hard physically. life was a financial struggle. Skilled in the building trades, he later accepted work as the building maintenance man at an elementary school where he was well-loved by students and faculty alike. By that time, he was experiencing increasing chest pains, exacerbated by the difficult labor of cleaning and waxing the gym floor. Rarely did he see a doctor and when he did, he did not want to follow their advice. The last time I spoke with him, on December 27, 1994, he reported being in a lot of pain although he was his own jovial self and seemed more talkative than usual. Call it woman’s intuition but in the back of my mind, I suspected that the conversation might be our last.
The next day, I learned that he had died, the victim of sudden cardiac arrest. Only 50 years old, death stepped in to end his suffering. He did not take his own life. Despite his prayers, his good intentions and all of his hard work, life was difficult for Steve from beginning to end.
No one knows when our time on earth will end or how huge a gap our leaving will be for those who love us. Days like today trigger so many memories. In looking back, I treasure the fact that I knew Steve and that I was the last family member to have the opportunity to chat with him. I would not want the suffering Steve back again. I am sad to think of all that he has missed in the last 17 years. He never knew any of his grandchildren. He loved to sing and he did so often, in his deep, resonant voice, so strong, so full of life! I hope that he is now singing with the angels. He left me behind, a sister who loved him then and continues to love him now. Until we meet again on God’s golden shore, Steve, until we meet again…
“Patty”
