It’s hard to find words big enough for a man like my dad. He was one of those rare people who made the world around him warmer, through kindness, empathy, and a love of life that never dimmed.

Dad loved life. Not just the big milestones, but the simple, everyday joys; like laughter around the dinner table, catching up with friends, hearing about what was going on in our lives. You could always hear his laughter at Christmas or any family gathering: that deep, joyful sound that filled every corner of the room. He was a positive spirit. He was light. Wherever he was, people felt it.

But Dad was also strong. When he was young, his family faced real challenges; like moving across the country, going through times of turmoil that could have pulled people apart. But Dad was the glue. He held things together. He was the one who kept people connected, who reminded everyone what family meant. That quiet strength carried him through his whole life.

He also had this incredible curiosity about the world, a genuine love of learning that never faded. He passed that on to me, to Patrick, and to his granddaughter, Nicole. Even later in life, when he could no longer see, that spark of curiosity never went out. He told me that the stories I shared (like from my work, from NASA, and from life in general; and the stories he heard about Nicole’s adventures) were what kept his heart beating. He said those stories inspired him and kept his mind alive.

Dad enjoyed reading and it must have been thousands of books in his lifetime, but even after losing his eyesight, he kept going, listening to audiobooks, memorizing poetry, absorbing stories. He was so well read, so thoughtful, so curious. He carried poetry and history inside him and shared them in ways that made life richer for everyone around him.

Dad had this remarkable gift for connection. It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from, he met you where you were. He listened, really listened, and made you feel understood. That empathy was his quiet superpower.

He was the heart of our family. The one who made everyone feel loved, included, and grounded. He showed us that strength can be gentle, that joy is a choice, and that caring for others is one of life’s greatest callings.

Dad, you gave us so much: your strength, your curiosity, your laughter, your love of learning, and your open heart. We’ll miss you more than words can say, but we’ll live the way you taught us — with kindness, curiosity, and love leading the way.

And I’d like to close with a poem that Dad cherished — lines from Omar Khayyam’s “The Unopened Door.”

     There was a Door to which I found no Key

     There was a Veil through which I could not see

     Some little Talk awhile of Me and Thee

     There seemed — and then no more of Thee and Me.

Dad loved those words — their quiet acceptance, their sense of wonder, and the reminder that love and mystery are woven into the very heart of life.

Thank you, Dad — for your love, your laughter, and your light.

We’ll carry you with us, always.

My grandfather wasn’t just my grandfather—he was truly my best friend. He was the person I was closest to in this world. I told him everything. He was always the first person I called—whether I had good news, bad news, or was just bored and wanted to talk. We talked almost every day, and sometimes multiple times a day.

One of our favorite things was to compare notes on what we were cooking or the delicious meals we had recently enjoyed. And when I visited him, my favorite ritual was pouring a glass of wine together and talking late into the night. We could talk forever, about anything and everything—no topic was off-limits. We laughed, we cried, we reflected, and we always ended by saying how grateful we were to have each other. We both knew how lucky we were to share such a rare and special closeness, and we treasured every moment.

He also had the most fascinating stories from his life, having lived all over the world. We shared a curiosity for learning, and when I was completing my master’s degree, he often became my study buddy. More often than not, though, we’d end up on long tangents sparked by whatever I was learning—and while I didn’t always finish my work, I cherished those conversations. Anyone who knew him knew he was like a walking encyclopedia. He knew a little bit of everything, and when it came to history, he could recall details down to the exact year and day of major events.

And his vocabulary! I always joked that he was like a living SAT prep course—he had the perfect word for every situation and delighted in teaching me new ones. He loved poetry, he loved to read, and he loved to share that passion with me.

Some of my earliest memories with him are of music and food. I’ll never forget him picking me up from my aunt’s house in the city, driving down 101 in his Chrysler with classical music blasting. He would pretend to be the composer, waving his hands as if conducting the orchestra, and could name every instrument as it came in. We went to the symphony and the opera together often, and even after he lost his sight in the last ten years, the music still brought him such joy that it would move him to tears. He also gave me my love for food of all kinds—dim sum, pho, steamed mussels, crab melts—he delighted in every cuisine and passed that joy on to me.

I’m also so grateful that four years ago I moved back to the Bay Area and had the chance to live with him for six months. Looking back, I’m so glad we had that time together. Even after I moved out, I made a point to visit him every 2–3 weeks, and I’m thankful beyond words for all the time we shared.

He was also the very first person I introduced Scott to. And truly, if it weren’t for his support and non-judgment, I don’t know if Scott and I would be together today. That was just one of countless times where Aba was my strength, my guide, and my cheerleader. He never judged me—I can count on one hand the times he was ever mad at me, and never for anything significant. When I was down on myself or disappointed, he lifted me up. No matter what, he always made me feel loved and supported.

What amazed me most was how he always seemed to know exactly what I was trying to say, even when I couldn’t quite put it into words. When I was frustrated, he had a way of making me laugh. When I felt lost, he knew how to gently guide me back. He understood me in a way no one else ever has.

I will miss our conversations more than I can say, but I will carry his stories, his wisdom, his voice, his laughter, and his love with me always.

This is from Maria Paula Sanchez.

Stephen 

When I was a child, seeing Stephen meant love, kindness, laughter, and endless surprises.

Stephen chose to be my grandfather, and with a generous heart, he loved me and shared his joy with me.

Though we spoke different languages and lived in different countries, he was always by my side.

He showed me the world through the pages of an atlas and kept me company each night in the shape of a bear.

His laughter filled every space, and he always made me feel special—because, for no reason at all, he simply chose to love me.

May they welcome you up there with roaring laughter and endless embraces.

Thank you for sharing your love with us

Many years ago, I met Stephen — a human being with a great heart and endless love for his family. He was a wonderful father and grandfather, a truly special person to all of us, full of kindness and warmth, always joyful.

We shared so many moments together, some sad and many happy ones. At the farm, we spent unforgettable times during Christmas celebrations, gathering to enjoy the Negronis he loved so much. Those memories will always stay with us.

All I can say now is that we will miss you deeply. Thank you for being such a special person to everyone. We will carry those shared moments in our hearts, always.

With all my love,

Miryam

I met Stephen during one of my visits to Colombia, through my sister Amanda. From the moment we met, the three of us formed a wonderful friendship — one filled with adventure, laughter, and unforgettable memories.

At that time, my marriage was ending, and I was unsure of myself. I didn’t think I had the strength to take that step toward change. Stephen helped me see my own courage and reminded me of my strength to stand up for myself. He was the kind of friend who held up a mirror and showed you your possibilities — who helped you find the person you had lost along the way.

He became my biggest cheerleader. Whenever I doubted myself, he would say, “Stepping stones, that’s how you’ll make it.” Those words stayed with me. Stephen encouraged me to take my life back into my own hands, and from then on, I learned that no one could take better care of my life than me. For that, I will always be grateful.

When I learned about his illness, it didn’t feel real. Everything happened so fast that my mind couldn’t grasp the reality that this was the end. Even when my sister told me that hospice care was being arranged, I still couldn’t comprehend it.

I was fortunate to see him while he was still conscious. He recognized me, smiled, and we shared a hug. The second and last time I saw him, he recognized me once more. When he took his final breath, he was surrounded by love — including his beloved son, John — with a beautiful view before him. I feel grateful that I was there to witness his peaceful departure and to support his son in that moment.

I had never witnessed anyone’s passing before, and I still don’t know if it was to my benefit or my heartbreak to see his last breath. But I do know this: I was honored to be there.

Thank you, Stephen, for the strength you helped me find— for helping me find myself and stand up again. You will always be remembered with love and gratitude.

This is from  Catalina Carrillo Sanchez

STEPHEN

We met Stephen in Colombia. A lovely person, always so thoughtful with all of us. At certain times, he would go to Lomitas, our farm. He would sit outside, smoke, and was fascinated by the lush green of our mountains. A beautiful human being, full of love for my children María and Danny. His thoughtfulness filled us with love. During my difficult moments, he was there for me and always had words of strength and affection. I hope that wherever he goes, he finds much peace and that his soul keeps smiling and spreading the love he always gave us.

Kathy and Fer

From dad’s long time friend Daryl Lura:

“I’ve known Steve Orme for a long time. Talking almost weekly for the last six years or so. He was a very good guy who had his ups and downs like most of up Having a serious vision problem and having his life messed up by a wayward cow didn’t fill him with self pity He grew up with some crazy friends. In San Francisco and ha jobs that took him to different parts of our world

Steve was curious and had a really good knowledge of history and geography. He kept up with current events and didn’t let a bozo like Trump get him down

I think Steve would have made a good college professor or thoughtful politician

I remember Steve at the usual Mancini party talking to every guest in the room always with a smile. And a cheerful word

I will really miss him

Daryl Lura 

In Loving Memory of Stephen,

It is with a heart full of memories that we remember a truly remarkable soul. For over 35 years,  Stephen was not only a father-in-law but a cherished part of our family. His kindness, open-mindedness, and willingness to listen made a lasting impact on everyone who knew him.

We fondly remember the joyous times we shared in Bogotá, Colombia, and the warmth he brought to our family gatherings, especially during the Christmas seasons. He was always welcomed with open arms and loved deeply by all of us.

With love and remembrance 

Amanda

John and Nicky,

I have been wanting to talk to you both but I realize that you two must be running around all over the place, so I thought it would be better to write this message.

I wanted to let you know that I unfortunately will not be attending Stephen’s service this Friday. I am deeply saddened by this but wanted to let you know that his memory lives with me and our family in Colombia as he touched all of our hearts, hugging us with his smile, strengthening our bond with his curiosity and warmth.

Although I met Stephen as a kid, having him during my young adult life was a blessing. I always liked seeing you together, a father and son relationship I never had, loving and supportive, warm, playful and most of all present in each other’s life…thank you for showing me that it is possible to have a role model of a man, that can be your friend, cheerleader and sounding board and that it is something I can give to my children. Both your charisma, his laughter and love will forever live in my mind and spirit.

I will be celebrating his life here in NYC, a moment to cherish the many discussions about family, my dad, where I was from and where I was heading to in my life. I will be remembering the many times we laughed and drove to Lancaster, drank many Keoki coffees and laughed all over San Francisco, Alameda and Tiburon, wanting nothing in return but the respect and warmth he gave me.

He may be gone from this earth, but the memory of his smile, the projection of his laughter lives with us, in our Memory Museum- for ever and ever!

With love and my deepest sympathy-

Alejandro

Today I thank God for letting me meet such a wonderful and special person — someone with a sweet and unforgettable laugh, and with so much love, pride, and joy for his granddaughter, children, daughter-in-law, brothers, friends, and his best friend John.

Thank you, Stephen, for being such a special person in my life. You’ll always be in my heart with affection and gratitude.

Adela  Gongora  

So sorry that Steve had to suffer so long before passing my memories about Steve were how smart he was he knew so much about life and how he loved life and his ability to laugh I still remember his laugh he is going to missed by so many 

I still remember the day we walked through Muir Woods. The air was cool and fragrant with tones of earth and moss, soft afternoon sunlight filtering the canopy. We walked for a while forgetting about time, as we talked about life, work, and family - the things that ground us and the dreams that carry us forward. We laughed a lot and cried (just a little). Stephen, you were so insightful that day, like many others, so kind and deeply human, listening with genuine care and attention. Sharing thoughts that linger with me still.

We followed the trail until the forest opened to the beach, where the ocean stretched endlessly before us. The salty air that afternoon carried a strange duality - harsh yet soft all at once. It bit gently at our faces, as expected, after all it was December; and its brine was sharp enough to sting the senses, but was softened by the ocean’s mist, wrapping everything in a damp, silvery calm. The boys, Ali and Sebastian, gathered firewood to build a small bonfire and we watched the sun dip into the horizon. I felt an incredible peace, as if, for that brief moment, the universe had stopped so we could contemplate the beauty of this single moment. I am sad that you are no longer here, Stephen, but know that evening lives on in my memory, a perfect convergence of friendship, nature, and meaning.  I will miss you.

Steve and my dad, Michael Flaherty, were friends from their time in high school together at Lowell until my dad passed in 2018. Which means the "Orme" (as my dad always called him) was a presence in my life from as early as I can remember. I remember hearing stories of their "tomfoolery" my whole life. From attending 49ers games in white tuxedo jackets they never (ever) washed, to supporting each other whenever life was hard. Orme was always one of my dad's favorite people. They even had regular, long phone calls, which given how much my dad *hated* the phone, was strong testament to their strong relationship and love for one another. I've never really seen a friendship as strong, durable, and beautiful as theirs. 

After my dad passed quite suddenly, Steve reached out to me in ways I will never forget. He was able to tell me about conversations about dying and what comes next that he'd had with my dad, that I'd never had time to have, and I was so grateful to him for that. 

I send you so much Flaherty love. Steve was a wonderfully special person. And I will miss him tremendously. 

I'll also post a few pictures I have of Steve and my dad from so many years ago.