Understanding where I am means understanding how I got here. I've never had to be an adult without Steven. We met when I was 18. This doesn't mean to say that I was not mature; I've always been mature for my age. Ask my mother. In all technical aspects, my adult life has developed with Steven. As I've stated, he accomplished everything he set out to do. Starting his own business, being the best in his business, being well-known and respected in the community, and making me happy. He never failed. To describe the extent of his success, let me state that we couldn't go anywhere in town without running in to at least three people he knew or did business with. Everyone knew my husband, and everyone respected my husband. The 600+ people that attended the visitation is a great testament to that fact. He was strong-willed. If his mind was made up, there was little anyone could say or do to change it. In the end, I feel this was his biggest 'fault'. I remember driving him home Thursday morning, and almost out of nowhere he said, "There's only two things you can call me that would piss me off beyond belief. Lazy and worthless."
Another thing I always found fascinating about Steven is that he was never afraid of death. From the beginning (within weeks of meeting), Steven would tell me that there is no use getting too involved. He noted several reasons: 1. He was not the type to get married. It just wasn't his thing, and it was not meant as an insult to me. 2. He was too stubborn. He didn't like people telling him what to do. 3. He wasn't going to live long anyways or He was going to die young. Throughout our five year relationship, he repeated #3 often. I would get irritated at the mere thought that he could have this idea. I would think, "why would he entertain such a morbid idea?", "why would he think that we aren't going to grow old together?", or "how can he say that out loud?" It was never a serious conversation about death, dying, or leaving me. Rather, he would spout it off in the middle of a goofy, ridiculous conversation about buying a new bike, jeep, truck, mower, watch, etc. Not on every occasion, but I would ask him why he kept telling me that. I remember his words vividly: "I gotta leave a good lookin' corpse!" In fact, the first time I was able to see him that Friday night, this was one of my first thoughts. That night, I thanked him for having enough sense during that messed up time to at least think of what he was leaving behind (after all, he knew his way around a gun). He certainly held up to his promise. A clean shaven, attractive, and lifeless shell that was not otherwise tainted but for one small bullet hole hidden by two bandages. It was up to me what he would wear for the services. Being as vain as he was, I knew he had to look sharp. Suits weren't his thing, so I did my best to dress him in wranglers (the only pair I could find that weren't caked in drywall mud, paint, grass stains, or concrete), my favorite dress shirt (dark blue with white stripes), a high dollar watch (you're welcome, Steven), a shell necklace, black boots, and his favorite expensive hat. I was also unaware that the deceased were required to be buried in socks and underwear. Luckily, he had just bought a whole package of new socks. There aren't a lot of things that top a pair of new stocks. He certainly went out in style, just like he would have wanted.
I remember when his grandpa Norman died. He texted me the news. I went to the shop, and there was Steven doing business as usual. Later after closing, I asked if he had planned to take time off and if he needed to talk/vent about anything. He seemed almost nonchalant about the whole ordeal. I was confused, so he explained that he wasn't bothered much by death and to keep his world at a standstill for any amount of time would be illogical. When I go about my days now, I try to keep this in mind. Not only would he want me working and doing my best at my job, he would want me being happy and keeping with my life that he started for me. He gave me one hell of a jump start in life, and now its my job to finish it.
I've prayed the last two and a half weeks that Steven's soul is in heaven. This was another interesting conversation we always had. I was a church-goer, he was a worker. It was very clear that Steven was never going to be the church-goer type. I knew this from the beginning. He didn't mind that I went to church and even asked about my experience on occasion. I would tell him often that he should have gone with me so he could see for himself (half way joking). Steven was convinced that between myself, my mom, and my grandma, he would go to heaven. In a sense, I took care of him spiritually while he provided for my worldly needs.
Steven was gone a lot. He often left around 7am to start/continue/finish the project of the week. Then, he wouldn't be home til around 9 that night (sometimes 10, sometimes 11, depending on how full the coolers were). If I was in the shop, I'd get irritated as I sat and watched 7 drunk rednecks walk in the door at 7:45pm with a cooler, bring Steven a beer, and settle in for the evening. I'd like to apologize now for the dirty looks and stares dealt to these guys on those late weekday nights. I'm glad you now have those memories to cherish. You knew the door was always open, but you also knew it came with a risk. Raise your hand if you ever walked in to Habing Guns while out road tripping and walked out having signed paperwork for a gun you didn't know you needed. Keep 'em raised if you were ever told "Need has nothing to do with it" or "Its easier to get forgiveness than permission." Don't feel bad. He used these on me too, mostly to convince me that covering the living room walls in duck prints was exactly what I wanted. That was Steven. Here, I'll quote Mitch Myers. "Steve, you could sell a dead cat and make it sound like a good idea!" to which he replied, "Well, it doesn't eat, it doesn't shed, and you don't have to shoot it."
No comments:
Post a Comment