I shared this story at the burial yesterday and I thought some family may enjoy hearing it. 

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Today, in honor of my dad and the person he was, I want to share a story not yet told in all of this.

Unlike my siblings, I don’t remember a time when my dad was fully able-bodied.

I grew up as the baby in the family, with a father who physically struggled to make his body perform basic functions — functions that, inevitably, he would lose entirely.

I’m the child mentioned in the eulogies —the one doctors said he wouldn’t live to see turn two.

But he did.

And my experience of him was shaped by things deeper than strength —by his tenacity, courage, ingenuity, love, and stubbornness.

The story that came to mind when I thought about what I wanted to share today might seem sad to some —but to me, it perfectly exemplifies who my father was.

It shows his love for his children, his fierce protection of me, and his ability to find joy and grace even in the hardest moments.

I don’t know exactly how old I was — maybe five or six — but I believe it was before he left for Reno to seek treatment.

One day, my dad was walking out the front door of our house in Wisconsin when he lost his balance and fell.

I remember seeing his body lying in the grass to the left of the door.

I laid down beside him and asked what was wrong. He held my hand and said he just wanted to look at the clouds. He told me how much he loved them, and asked me to help him find shapes in the sky.

So we laid there, making stories out of the clouds together, until someone eventually came to help him up. It wasn’t until then that I realized what had really happened.

But that was my dad — even up to the very end.

That was his strength.

He took what would’ve broken many men and turned it into a memory, a lesson, a moment of connection.

Even in the hardest times, he found joy. Even lying low, he looked upward.

He taught us the value of making lemonade out of the lemons life gave us.

That we have to laugh to keep from crying, to carry on when life gets heavy, and to trust that God’s grace is always enough —that it will meet us right where we are.

Every day, he reminded us: This is the day the Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it.

I miss him already — far more than I ever imagined I would.

But I rejoice for him, because he is no longer the one on the ground looking up at the sky.

He is there now — among the clouds.

I rejoice that he heard the words he longed to hear: Well done, my good and faithful servant.

And today, even as we mourn, we rejoice, because my dad wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Steve hasn't died, for Soul never dies... He has simply "shuffled off this mortal coil".  How fitting that he did so on the 4th of July. 

It was for him...Truly...Independence Day.

See you on the other side my friend!

Steve’s legacy will always be one of undaunting triumph over adversity.

He remains an inspiration to everyone that had the privilege of being in his life.

His accomplishments are to numerous to count. At the end of the day, he did it all for an Audience  of One. And in doing so, he’s inscribed in the Lamb’s Book  of life, where suffering has been replaced with rejoicing. May His life be illuminated for generations to come.