Now I Think I Know, Steve

September 2013 has come and gone. We did it; we made it through.  Were you holding you breath? I know some of us were. 

September 8, 2012, my uncle Steve died suddenly while out for a bike ride.  Four days before that, my dad's close friend and his sixteen-year-old daughter were killed in a motorcycle accident.  September 11th brings with it each year the pain and memories of that chilling day.  The following week mayhem and unkindness broke out at my father's church in Texas.  September 2012 felt like the month that would never end.  This time around, I braced myself.  The end of this month brings a little relief, although I know that tragedy can hit anytime. This post however, is a happy one, in some ways.  I don't want to look back and cry, I want to remember what made me smile.

In my last post I wrote about the joy in knowing that I will see my saved loved ones again in heaven one day.  Never has that meant more to me than when my uncle Steve passed away. I wasn't prepared for that phone call or the following week when it felt like a hole had been cut in my chest.  The trip to Oregon to be with my family and the memorial service celebrating his life helped to fill that hole and the year that has passed has also brought healing.  About a month ago, however, I walked into my uncle's old house, believing I'd be there for the foreseeable future, and his presence was in everything.  For the first few days I cried every time another memory of him was uncovered, whether by a shirt or a cap or a note in a book.  I started feeling like he was there in a way, and I'd find myself talking to him; just telling him how much I missed him and what I'd give to have him back again.  The pain was present each day, but the hope covered that sorrow at night. 

Steve was the funniest person I've ever known.  He annoyed me at times, he infuriated me on occasion, but never did he lose the ability to make me laugh.  Even in death, he is survived by his stories and the memories we Congdons all hold of his more outrageous moments that will continue bring us laughter.  He was unmarried and a bachelor to the core (his house is evidence of that).  To his nieces and nephews he was Uncle Steve and Knuckle Rodney.  When last counted he had 9 celebrity girlfriends and he loved house chores ("save the dishes for me"... right.) I know that each of us will have one thing that reminds us of him the most; I know that for me, nothing will ever constrict my heart and bring his face to my mind and his voice to my ears than the song, Vincent.  Written by Don McClean, this brilliant song celebrates the life and works of Vincent van Gogh, in particular his most famous painting, Starry Night.

 How does this make me think of Steve? When I was in my young teens (amazing that that was ten years ago! It feels like it just passed) I had an infatuation (that is slightly better than obsession, right?) with Josh Groban.  He covered this song quite flawlessly and it was one of my favorites back in the day.  I used to close my eyes and hear his mellifluous voice swim out of the stereo and dance around me as my mind envisioned that work of art being created before me.  It was so tragic and romantic, which I thought was perfect.  I still love that song, but it has been many years since I have thought of it with such adolescent fluff; in fact now, it simply makes me laugh. Sometime during this time of infatuation, Steve came to visit us.  All who knew Steve would attest to the fact that he NEVER missed an opportunity to poke fun at someone; especially someone he could get a reaction from.  Well, drama queen Bekah was a perfect candidate.  When he heard this song playing (for the fifth or sixth time... that day) he let out, in a rolling voice, drowning out Mr. Groban's, "STARRY, STARRY NIIIIGGGGHHHHHTTTTTT...." And I heard that, and nothing much else for the rest of his visit.  I am convinced that he didn't know another single word of that song, but he had heard those three words enough and had confidence in his mock Groban-esque voice to belt that phrase out anytime I might walk through the room.  He couldn't miss me either because I was so angry with him, I'm sure my face was fire red each time I saw him.  "STARRY, STARRY NIIIIGGGGHHHHTTTTT!!!!!" I could hear it even when he wasn't saying it.  Thankfully, years later, I was over it and it remained a steady joke between the two of us (after I forgave him) and though 14-year-old me was unimpressed, I am happy to hold this memory. When I see him again-- because I know I will-- I expect that will be the first thing he says to me.  I wouldn't want it to be anything else.

Love you, Steve. Miss you. Be good and we'll see you soon.