It was five years ago today that I lost Steve, one of my best friends, to lung cancer, and my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of him.
I knew Steve when I lived in Arkansas — Little Rock, to be exact. He and his wife Kathy moved in across the hall from a friend of mine, Brady, who lived in an apartment complex close to the one where I lived — easily within walking distance. In fact, I recall a time when we had no choice but to walk to each other's apartments. It was in the last winter I spent in Little Rock, and we got an uncharacteristically heavy snowfall (for Arkansas). We were snowbound for a few days, but the three of us passed the time playing a computer football game at my apartment — and watching TV at Steve's.
In the past, Arkansas snow tended to disappear by midday after an inch or two accumulated during the night. But on this occasion, several inches fell — they still speak of that blizzard in Arkansas — and it was two or three days before enough snow melted for cars to start getting around again.
I have many fond memories of that time. I suppose everyone has periods like that in their lives that they wish would never end, but they always do, of course. When I left Arkansas, it was to enroll in graduate school; at the time I didn't think the move would be permanent. I always figured I would move back to Arkansas after I finished working on my master's. I never did, though, and there are times when I really regret that. It wasn't a conscious decision on my part — it is just the way things turned out.
Steve and a mutual friend of ours, Mike Culpepper (who is also deceased), came to visit me in Texas not long after I moved here. When they arrived and I answered the door, Steve's first words to me were, "You don't live across the parking lot anymore!" That was certainly true. I now lived more than 300 miles away.
I do regret not seeing Steve before he died. I would have liked to have told him how much his friendship had meant to me and how much I was going to miss him. Near the end of his life, I'm not sure Steve would have comprehended what was being said, but still it would have meant a lot to me to express those thoughts to him.
Steve was a typical Arkansas sportsman. I'm not speaking only of the Razorbacks — although Steve was a diehard Hogs fan. He loved to hunt and fish. I went fishing with him a few times, but I never went hunting with him. I've never been a hunter, and I have never owned a gun, but I did join him at deer camp once. The picture at the top of this post was taken that weekend. That was how I did my hunting on that occasion — with a camera.
This picture wasn't as sharp as I would have liked — I've never been more than an amateur photographer — but it is one of my favorites. It captures the vivid sunlight of that day (there is no real indication how chilly it was), and it shows Steve and my dog Pepper (he's that black lump behind Steve).
Steve and Pepper met each other that weekend, and they bonded over a box of fried chicken that Steve had. They would have bonded anyway, I'm sure. Steve was a friendly guy, and Pepper was a friendly dog, especially to anyone who gave him food. Both are gone now, and I miss them very much.
It isn't my way to be melancholy about the past, but sometimes melancholy thoughts take over for awhile, and today is one of those times. If I could go back to any day in my life and re–live it, today I would probably pick that day at deer camp.
Steve would probably understand, but he wouldn't want me to live in the past. Pepper, of course, wouldn't understand much except that I wasn't happy, and it would be his way to try to cheer me up.
In their own ways, they were both forward–looking personalities. I am grateful they were in my life, and I strive to learn from their examples.
I miss you, my friends. Wish you were here.
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