The first time I was going to meet Steve and Patty in person, I was so nervous. I'd never dated someone as close to their parents as Nathan. We were first year graduate students and had just been dating a few months, but I knew he was "the one" so... would that all end if they didn't like me?
I remember shopping for just the right outfit, a white linen skirt and sunflower shirt that was just the right '90's level of nice but not formal. Friends Pam and Cheryl could actually cook, something I had little experience in. They came over and spent hours with me cleaning my little house, setting a nice table, pounding, dipping, breading and rolling chicken, to make a chicken parmesan which Nathan said they'd like. Well. All this preparation led to heart-warming memories, but none of it was necessary....
At Steve's memorial last week, family and colleagues laughed about his slow and deliberate decision-making process. That was the way he approached much of life, but not all. The minute Steve and Patty had walked in my door for that dinner, they made me feel that they had decided to love me, and to do so unconditionally. Because they saw that's how I love their son.
What a gift.
Steve loved to laugh and loved to tease. He was brilliant and principled. He loved deep, slow, thoughtful conversation and big hugs. But maybe what has made the biggest impact on me was the way Steve encouraged. It's such a small example, but I remember leaping on Nathan's back in a grocery store parking lot while being silly, and Steve saying "Wow! I bet a coach would have loved to work with your athletic ability". I don't think anyone had said anything like that to me! It defied my self-concept and changed it. And it meant a lot. And over the years when my impatient energy level interacted with the Boyce pace of things, instead of calling me bossy or being irritated, Steve and Patty would say, "thank goodness Heidi is here to get us moving".
Steve would later bring that unconditional, consistent, patient, encouraging love to our three children. When I told him of my family grandparent naming tradition, he embraced being called "PapaSteve". Even has hearing loss and gradual illness slowly pulled PapaSteve away from us, he was attending as many school plays, sporting events, and performances as travel schedules allowed, whether these events happened on a stage, field, in our backyard or living room. When travel wasn't allowed, he would listen for hours to the stories. His unconditional love and encouragement were so strongly felt just through his presence.
I miss my PapaSteve. I'm endlessly grateful for our nearly 30 years of time together, and for the new family that's formed over these decades. We are so blessed.