Steve passed on Friday morning. After that everything was just a blur. People brought food that I did not eat, cards that I neglected to read, and flowers that I forgot to water.
The family was just sitting around staring into space, in disbelief, horror and deep sorrow. We had all lost a man who meant so much to us in so many different ways.
I had opened my home unconditionally to his adult children. Steve’s son and his wife who had traveled the furthest to be here; stayed in my home for an additional few days. The need to be near family was very strong for them, and it brought me comfort to know that they were there.
I knew that my true grieving would come once the house was empty-but we had a funeral to get through.
Though I am not LDS, I live in a community that is heavily populated with the Mormon people. I have networked with them since we moved here. I love Mormons, I love how they live, and how they take care of each other. They refer to me as a “Dry Mormon”. The community also has a high regard for Steve as well, and offered their church building as a place for the funeral. They had their families make the food for the meal afterwards, and they were very generous. There was so much.
I don’t remember much of the funeral itself, the Bishop resided. Friends and family spoke. Music was played that meant so much to everyone. But the thing that I remember most were all the people that showed up on a Monday, with such short notice.
His work mates from Boeing not only came to the funeral, but also came to visit me several times afterwards at my home. I had no idea what an important man Steve was at his job!
Once the funeral was over and the kids all went home to their families. I went home to my empty house.