“There was this ole boy from Kansas”. That’s how my brother started about every one of his stories, and that was how the eulogy for my brother started. It was written by his friend and boss, Robert Followell, the gentleman that hired my brother almost 13 years ago. My brother died of a heart attack at 55 a week ago. He was a good man.
I’m writing this with the hope that it will be therapeutic and help me understand why this would happen. He is gone too soon. When you grow up with someone, you never really stop to think about how he has impacted your life. You never really stop to think about how he is viewed by others. My brother had four distinct groups of people that he touched; his work friends, his Cowboy Action Shooting friends, his personal friends, and his family. My view of our relationship was very comfortable.
We talked via telephone almost every week, sometimes as much as every day, and sometimes once in two weeks. The conversations were comfortable. There was never any judgment of each other. There was never any disappointment. They were conversations about life, about the kids, about work, and about nothing. When we were together at his home, or mine, we could go for hours without even talking. We didn’t need to, it was comfortable. He was my best friend, my mentor, my brother. He offered advice in a way that you never felt you had to heed it, but it was priceless. He calmed me when I was wired up. He fixed things that were broken. He was an engineer by education and aptitude. He would help anyone in need, whether it was building a deck, or helping understand relationships. Sometimes when people die, we put them on a pedestal and lionize their life at a level they have not earned. While my brother was not perfect, he earned this.
It was really interesting for me to see how he impacted other peoples’ lives. As I stated earlier, he touched several distinct groups. The funeral and viewings were a celebration of his life. I loved the stories of his exploits in his business career. Robert told of the first meeting he had with Steve. My brother dressed in the dark that morning and had on one brown shoe and one black shoe. It didn’t bother him. While it would have driven me nuts and embarrassed me, for my brother, it was just shoes. Robert also told of the time when Steve ordered tamales for lunch and chewed and chewed and chewed. Robert told him he didn’t know how they ate tamales in Kansas, but in Memphis they removed the husks. It didn’t bother my brother. He did admit they weren’t as chewy after that. He was confident without one ounce of arrogance. He could talk with a CEO or with someone on the production floor of a plant and both would feel a kinship with Steve.
Steve leaves behind a true legacy. He could fix anything. He was an old school engineer. He leaves behind a family that will miss him greatly. His oldest daughter is earning her masters in psychology, and is getting married to a wonderful man in May. His youngest daughter is in her second year of Medical School. He has a great wife who was his perfect mate. They loved each other deeply. He leaves behind a brother who hopes that he can become half the man he was. Dan Fogelberg sang a tribute song to his father, “The leader of the band.” The chorus says “I am the living legacy to the leader of the band.” I hope that I can be that for my brother, Steve.
