It was two weeks ago when I finished writing my first journal that I wound up giving the title "A Week Without Stephen". Stephen died 22 days ago. I was deployed to Bosnia the last time I went this long without seeing my son. There were a few times during my tour in the Balkans when I felt helpless, lonely, worried or scared...I thought. Looking back now, it truly seems as if nothing bad had ever happened in my life. Watching a friend die, coming under fire in a far off war zone, illness, financial stress, or even learning that a woman I loved no longer felt the same for me...all of those things are suddenly more pleasant memories. Until August 2nd, 2009 at 0830, nothing bad had ever happened to me, my life had been perfect...I just didn't know it.
On October 13th, 2006 Stephen's friend Tyler was killed in a single car accident in Dublin, Texas. The driver of the car was a careless teen who would later go on to lie to the police about her speed and the circumstances leading to the wreck. Even after those lies were uncovered, she was given nothing more than a "slap on the wrist" for killing this young man who used to come to my house to play football with Stephen in the back yard. She was ordered to pay the cost of his funeral and she was given probation...at least she would be mildly inconvenienced from time to time. What an insult to the family that seemed to be, I never understood why she is not in jail. After Tyler's funeral, I only briefly spoke to his parents and only when we happened to be in the same store, on the same isle. I am ashamed of that, but I had no idea how to talk to them. I spent some time trying to imagine what it must be like to lose a child, trying to find something to connect that to so that maybe I could actually look them in the eye when we spoke, but I failed. I simply could not imagine. Three weeks ago, standing by Stephen's coffin, I looked Tyler's mother in the eye and spoke with her for the first time in almost three years. I've noticed a few people having trouble speaking to me since and as it turns out, I am okay with that. I frequently run across people that I have not seen since before August 2nd and although some avoid conversation, others want to comfort me and offer up advice or assistance and although I appreciate it, I don't always truly welcome it. I am working hard to get Stephen's story out and I am trying desperately to make it help someone. At the same time, part of me just doesn't want to discuss it with anyone. I am confused by all of this, but since I am writing it down for the world to read, I suppose that speaks to which side I tend to lean to.
August 10th - I keep thinking about all the things I will miss and all the things I am grateful I was able to enjoy. When Stephen was about 4 he had a very strong Texan accent that was so fun to listen to. He could name all the planets by then and when he said "Maw-erz" it was so incredibly cute. He would tell me "I know what we can do" in a choppy drawl and when I would respond "What's that Stephen?" he would often say "Well, we can go to the paw-ark". When we would go, his favorite things had nothing to do with the swings or slides...he wanted to launch rockets or play with helicopters or airplanes. Now I am glad for the times I took him to the park and regret the times I didn't. I have the same mixed emotions about many things. Paintball, camping, gaming, hiking, travel and so on...the regrets are so hard to deal with, but I have so many good memories of spending time with Stephen that I am able to lean on those to help me cope. I suppose that is what it will be like for a while, just coping with what has happened.
One of the things that keeps happening over and over again is the striking revelation that I have an amazing family. They have been so supportive, comforting and helpful. Even my step-dad who I have always known to be a stern, old fashioned workaholic took time to just talk, listen and even hug. For the rest of my family, hugs are more of an hourly event than a momentous occasion, but for him it was a big deal. My mother has been there for us as always to listen, talk, cry and feed us along the way. She has balanced things so well...she knows that I am not in a position to want to hear about how hard this is on someone else, but I know none the less how very much she loved Stephen and I am grateful that he knew it too. My dad has done what he can do, but his health keeps him home most the time. I appreciate what he has been able to do as well. My parents, some aunts and uncles, cousins, my sister and even nieces and nephews have been amazing and I have not been able to thank them enough. Someday I hope to.
My uncle and aunt, Bill and Martha have been prodding me to make sure I get the last few thank you cards sent out. I described what I think about those in my previous text, but considering who is doing the prodding...I am working on it. Bill and Martha have always been there for my family. It was only a couple of years ago that Stephen moved in with them for a while so he could continue going to school in Stephenville while I was temporarily assigned to the Central Texas campus of Tarleton State University (now Texas A&M Central Texas) and living in Fort Hood. During that time Stephen had some of the same issues that I have had in the past with them. There have been times when I went for months without talking to Bill or Martha and it was always for the same reason. They were right, I was wrong and I was far too proud to admit it. The circumstances varied, but the theme was always the same. Stephen seemed to deal with it better than I. He accepted the way things needed to be after a bit of discussion; taking it in stride as usual and moving on. I know I am rambling, I will try to make the rest of this text more readable, but what I am trying to get to here is that although Bill and Martha never had children of their own, they helped raise my sister and I and then Stephen and Tiffany and they are some of the best parents I know. I will always be grateful for the time they spent with Stephen, they helped him turn into the amazing man he'd become.
August 13 - 16 in Grapevine, Texas...QuakeCon. This is the event that kept Stephen in Texas for August when he originally was going to be in Hawaii in July. He was so excited about it, he had arranged it all...he'd got passes for he and I and was just waiting to be in the giant line of gamers streaming into the Gaylord Texan resort to show his skills. I attended QuakeCon in his honor. I wore both lanyards with both gamer tags, and when people asked why I was wearing two, I told them. Every one of them was gracious and kind when I did. I was in a room with thousands of gamers who spoke Stephen's language, kept Stephen's haircut and showed Stephen's dedication to gaming. On the wall, far in the back of the BYOC (Bring Your Own Computer) area was a huge RockBand projection with several guys battling it out...right where Stephen would have been. Where Stephen should have been. I didn't play while I was there, I just watched and wished and broke down from time to time. That wasn't a bad place for it, I suppose...the room was dark and everyone was focused on what they were doing. I plan to go back next year and do the same thing again.
I've begun to think about my distant past and some of the things that happened when I was deployed to Bosnia. There are some very bad thoughts that come along with that. Without going into detail, I will tell you that at one point had I been 6 inches to the right of where I was standing, I would not be here to type this now. It occurs to me that had that happened, Stephen would likely still be here...I wish I could make that trade. I am not suicidal, I have no intention of harming myself or anything like that, but it seems so unfair that I am still here when I have been the one in harm's way and have lived almost half of what I expect my life to be and Stephen will never have the chance to know what his could have become. I've always known that life is not supposed to be fair and that bad things happen to good people all the time, but until now I don't think that I really understood what those expressions mean.
This is August 17th, I returned to work today. A few weeks ago I was working a very long shift, about 25 hours when it was all said and done and I can't help but think about Stephen going to my office to see me and then going to pick up dinner for us. That night was the last time he was in my office. I have realized over the past two weeks that there are going to be many of those moments, large and small, over the coming years. Every time I remember the last time that Stephen did something, every time I do something without him that he and I would always do together, every wedding, every birth, every death...Stephen, like Tiffany, was a part of everything in my life, and I am reminded of that every day. It is so hard to continue conversations when I catch myself referencing "my kids". I never knew how often I say that.
Today is August 23rd. On the front page of the paper there is a story "Father talks about life without son...The Story of Stephen". I have spent the last week talking to the reporter who ran the initial story about Stephen that I got so upset about and from our discussions and my original journal came a very long story in the Stephenville Empire Tribune. The reporter, Sarah, did something that she had never done before...she let me read and edit the story before it ran. Even with that, there is still one small error. Stephen was standing in front of the kitchen stove drinking a glass of water the last time I saw him alive...not a bottle of water. He and I were trying to be more friendly to the environment. I suspect that most the people who read the story probably never noticed the bit about him drinking water at all, but it stands out for me. I did not sleep at all last night, I worked on the tribute slide show and waited up for the newspapers to be delivered to the local convenience stores. A friend tried to wait with me, but she finally gave in and went to sleep after yet another evening of crying, confusion and grief. It was about 0530 when I finally bought a large stack of newspapers. The picture above the fold on the front page is Stephen giving me rabbit ears while I have my arm around his shoulders. The picture below the fold is of Stephen holding Lyea as she hugs him the day she left for her second tour in Iraq. I've been to several stores today and at each one I see Stephen grinning and giving me rabbit ears.
I received a note on Facebook today from a woman who'd read "A Week Without Stephen" and thought that it was wonderful and said it made her think about things differently. That is the goal and I was very happy to see it. However, at the end of the email she said something that was, I think, meant to be hopeful rather than heartless but it came across as the latter. She told me to pay attention to my waking terrors because those are Stephen communicating with me. My love for Stephen is matched only by my love for my daughter, and even considering that he would want to torment me as a form of communication is ludicrous at best. I suppose the point of telling you this is to encourage you to choose your words wisely when dealing with delicate situations. I don't believe in Heaven in the traditional sense, I don't believe the dead can look down upon us because if that were true, Heaven could not exist as a place of peace and joy because the occupants could see the devastation they left behind. I would never want Stephen to know what this has been like and I take a great deal of comfort from believing that he is asleep until the end times. I won't go further down that road in this text. I believe in God, I believe in Jesus, but I do not believe that we are whisked into their presence immediately upon our deaths. My father believes that you go to heaven and all the bad in your life is stripped away and you are left only with the acceptable thoughts and feelings associated with Heaven. To me that sounds a lot like the Borg. We are what our experiences make us, and I would not want to be just a spiritual container for the good thoughts I've had during my life. I am glad that my grandmother Ables spent as much time as she did teaching me her view on such things, it's been one of the few things I could lean on since August 2nd.
I have not gone a day without breaking down yet. I cry often, but the break downs are more than that. Two days ago I ran across pictures of Stephen on my computer at work...I had forgotten about those. I just kept flipping through those 5 pictures over and over. I eventually had to close my office door and for over 2 hours I sat there choking back the gasps that are a part of every break down I've had. I didn't want my coworkers on the other side of the door to hear me but I could not walk out past them so I sat there fighting against myself for the afternoon until I was able to stop long enough to put on my sun glasses and walk out. On Wednesday the 19th I was returning from Texas A&M Central Texas late at night and had to pull the car over for the same reason. I am glad I was alone. I couldn't see for a time, but it passed and I was able to get back on the road after 45 minutes or so. The last time I'd traveled North on that road, I did not yet know that my son had died. Now, though, I will always know that as my son was dying in a bathtub he'd been stuffed into by a group of careless party goers...I was talking to my friends about he and his sister 109 miles away. He was 19 and I was giving him space. In just over 3 years, I will have a 19 year old again. What do I do then?
That night, on my way back from Killeen, I think I forgave the kid that Stephen followed to the party. The Sheriff's office had earlier shared a bit of information with me...that kid was the one that had been the most helpful and forthcoming in the investigation. Forgiving him felt like the right thing to do. Lyea disagrees with me. To be honest, I would not want the two of them to ever meet. Lyea is a soldier and a body builder, it would not go well for the kid.
I just got back from the cemetery again. I always straighten out the flowers that are in a vase that's just stuck in the dirt until we get a tombstone and then I talk to Stephen. I don't know what it is that compels us to talk to our dead loved ones at a cemetery, but I am among the countless who do just that. I know how Stephen would respond most of the time. I am thankful that I know him so well. However, I know him as a 19 year old and I can't help but wonder what our conversations would have been like in ten years, in twenty... I so wish I could have known. I will spend the rest of my life wondering what Stephen would think about situations, events, people and so on. One of the problems with that is that I have to figure out how to balance those feelings with everything else. As a father I have tried to be level headed with my daughter, but I keep catching myself locking her down more than I used to. As a photographer I'd begun to establish a bit of a clientele and even make a little money, but now everything I shoot just looks depressing. As a network engineer I once was proud of the work I did for Tarleton, but now I can't seem to get much of anything done. I have no idea how to live now. I am just making it up as I go and that is making for some very long days and some very restless nights.
On Monday, August 24th, someone in Flagstaff Arizona spent 38 minutes and 7 seconds on www.lexbas.com. This is noteworthy because it is where my uncle and aunt live. Not just any uncle and aunt, mind you...this is the couple who, when asked if they would attend Stephen's funeral, responded "No, we didn't really even know him". I should have been shocked and upset by such a dismissal by family, I suppose, but it was actually one of the few times I've managed to really laugh recently. The running theory in the family is that they were afraid someone would ask them for money if they came here (Flagstaff is quite affluent, after all). I pointed out that I am asking everyone who visits Lexbas to donate one dollar, but I swore that I would not have asked them for that dollar should they have attended. I don't know why it was so funny, but it was very much needed. There was one other incident involving an aunt of mine that came at a perfect time. On August 4th, family, friends and co-workers converged on my house to show their support and among them was my aunt Sharon. Sharon had been in Texas the day before Stephen died, then I had called her on the morning of the second trying to get word to my mom and although she had just arrived in Alabama a few hours earlier, she got back in her car and returned. (Sharon did not know Stephen that well either, but c'est la vie.) At one point that day several of my co-workers came by, all dressed in their work clothes including Khaki pants and nice shirts. I told Sharon they were co-workers and began to introduce them. She said "Oh, good, co-workers...I thought the Mormon's had come to the door and you had let them in". When I pointed out that one of them was a Mormon, the look on every face was priceless. That would have been the point where Stephen would have had to find a chair because he would have been laughing too hard to stand. I often refer to Sharon as my "Screamin' Liberal Aunt" because of our political differences, but I love talking to her and spending time debating those differences. That, coupled with what we now refer to as the "Mormon Incident", made it a great moment.
August 24th, as it turns out, is another day I will never forget. I had lunch today with my long time friend and co-worker Kate. A few minutes into the meal, she started saying "We can go, Michael, we can leave" over and over. I was shaking, I was having trouble breathing, I was struggling against a flood of emotions that I could not describe because I don't understand them. The kid that Stephen followed to the party had walked into the restaurant. I have felt all the emotions I experienced then before, but never all at the same time. I recovered somewhat and made the decision to walk over to his table. I extended my hand, I shook his and I said "Thank you for working with the Sheriff's department." He said something, but I don't know what it was. The look on his face was remorse. I went back to my table restraining so many things and trying to focus my thoughts on anything but him. I can't know how many more things will do that to me, but I hope it is a very small number.
This is August 25th, Stephen died 23 days ago. Two days ago I was contacted by a young lady that was not able to make it to Stephen's funeral and wanted to pay her respects. Stephen had been trying to figure out a way to ask her out but was having trouble with the timing so it became very important to me that I do everything I could to ensure she was able to go. I told her that I would show her the way to the cemetery anytime she wanted and today she took me up on that. It began to rain as she followed me out and when I got out of my car to open the gate I got soaked, but the rain did not bother me until it was not there anymore. In the couple of hundred yards between the gate and the grave site, it stopped. I have experienced that many times, I remember even as a kid being terribly impressed when I once noticed that it was raining in our front yard but not in the back, but as with everything else in my life right now, there seemed to be some secret meaning to it that I simply could not grasp. I straightened the flowers, I thought about the tombstone that I hope to get for him soon, I told Stephen he had a visitor. As she was walking up I took her hand and thanked her for being there, I made sure she could find her way back and I left. I was watching my rear view mirror more than the dirt road out of the cemetery as I left and I noticed, just before she was out of sight, that she was kneeling beside Stephen's grave. I thanked God for Stephen's hopes, his dreams, his true friends now and for the ones that were yet to come. It's hard to comprehend the feeling of being thankful, almost happy and devastated at the same time, but that is what I was feeling. It meant so very much to me that she was there, and I know it would mean a lot to Stephen. When I left the cemetery I drove to a friend's house to tell him this story and his reaction was so vile and perverse that I will not repeat it here. I will tell you that I had to look up the definition of what he'd said on the Internet because although I had heard him say it before, I honestly didn't know what it meant. I confronted him about it, he apologized, but I honestly can't imagine ever forgiving him. I can forgive a stupid teenager for being a stupid teenager and leading my son to a party he should not have been at, I was a stupid teenager myself 20 years ago, but I can't forgive an adult who was supposed to be my friend for tarnishing what should have always been a beautiful memory with a crude, obnoxious sexual reference to my dead son. He is going through a divorce and I was trying to be there to support him, but there is no excusing what he did, there is no getting over that.
I have a standard that I will continue to meet...whatever I write down, I leave. My aunt Sharon says to edit twice and publish once, but if I edit too much then I am not telling you everything that's important during this time and that seems wrong. That previous paragraph was written yesterday and was very angry. I slept on it, I read it again this morning and I'm okay with it. I know that some of my sadness has been replaced by anger at this point and it does worry me. I have already ended a couple of relationships and changed others as a result. I spoke to the funeral director, Vance, about it and the news was not great. In his experience, it is going to get worse before it gets better. He gave me information on a counseling center and I will call them soon to try to get Tiffany and I started. There are only a few people I am comfortable talking to about Stephen now, and I don't want to push them away.
August 27th - I spoke with the counselor that will do the intake interview for Tiffany and I. I spoke at length with her about Stephen because I couldn't stop. I think that is likely a sign that counseling will be a good thing. We can't get in until late October, it's troubling that they are booked so far in advance. It's a grief counseling center focused on the teen siblings of the fallen and they are so busy that their first available appointment is over 7 weeks from now. How many more parents are going through this right now?
August is almost over. This has been so horrible, there will always be so very much pain associated with this month, but it hurts so much to see it go. It's another of those meaningless meaningful things...at least I saw my son alive this month.
My home has become a shrine dedicated to Stephen. His pictures are everywhere, the plants sent by friends and family are scattered about, the poster my friend Kelly made for his funeral is next to the TV in the living room and from the easel it sits on hangs his lanyard and t-shirt he should have been wearing a Quake-Con and his honorary black belt awarded to him at his funeral. Now, I have to start moving some of these things to his room. If it were just me here I would leave it all where it is, but I have to consider Tiffany and I have to make sure she knows that I have not just dedicated my life solely to Stephen's memory, this is her house too and I love her as much as I love Stephen. It will be hard, and it might not happen overnight, but I will slowly balance these things to the best of my ability.
Jupiter has been prominent in the night sky having reached opposition in mid August; that has been the celestial body I have focused on the most. I just feel like I need something to look to when I tell Stephen, every night, that I love him and will always miss him. Considering our shared interest in casual backyard astronomy, I believe he would approve. I don't think that I could look to Mars and still speak those words. I would just see that grin on little Stephen's face after he'd turned Mars into a two syllable word and the wave of sheer anguish I am feeling as I am trying to type this would prevent me from speaking.
August is gone. Today, September 2nd, it has been one month. In 9 days the world will divide into groups of people. Some who will mourn, some who will celebrate and some who will just not notice what the date is, but it will have a different meaning to me than it has the previous seven years. I will likely spend the day thinking about the parents who were left behind. So many people out there have faced what I am facing now, but I can't make myself come to terms with it. It just feels like no other loss could be as great as mine and I suspect that many, if not all, parents of fallen children feel the same. In this world built on military might and sustained by the flow of information and commerce where we are said to be desensitized, demoralized and dehumanized, where we are more likely to send a text or an email than to stop by someone's house for a visit, the love we have for our children is still a greater force and it makes all those other things trivial. There is no force on earth I would not face, no man I would cower from, nothing I would not do to protect my kids. With the full knowledge and conviction of that behind me...I still failed Stephen. The transition from conviction to coping is not something I would wish on anyone, and I hope that something I write will help someone out there avoid it.