My Social Media-less Life

Today I went to the memorial service for Steve (pictured above). He had’t been sick for very long, so it was surprising that it happened so fast.

He passed away on Monday and I knew immediately that I was going to be at his memorial service once the time was announced. There are other people in my church family that have passed for one reason or another, but this guy was someone I had already predetermined that when he left this earth, I would attend that service.

It wasn’t until I sat down to write this that I realized this was the first full funeral I’ve attended since my dad died over 8 years ago. I’ve been to maybe a visitation or I’ve helped run video on a few funerals, but I didn’t emotionally connect with the service in any of those cases.

This was the first funeral I attended since my dad died… and it wasn’t a traumatic experience. Not that I expected it to be, of course. Like I know with my dad, I also know that Steve is up in Heaven worshiping Jesus, just like he did his entire life on earth. The only difference is where his spirit is located.

The room where the service was held was packed. I pulled in late and had to park at the very end of the lot. As I was walking up to the building, one of the workers said, “Wow, he must’ve been some guy to have all these people show up!” I replied, “He was someone very special to a lot of people.”

And he was. Steve was Santa at a local Bass Pro Shop for a lot of years and he had no issue with being Santa or being called “Santa.” Until I was finally able to remember his name a few years after first coming to the church, I only addressed him as Santa.

Funny story about that…
One time before a church service I was talking with a friend and all of a sudden, Steve tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around to see him and a little girl he was talking to with a slightly confused look on her face. I think it was her and her family’s first time at the church.
“Who am I?” Steve asked, almost irritably. In that moment, I happened to remember his actual name, but I saw the slightest twinkle in his eye and knew what the answer was.
“Santa?” I replied, as if it was completely obvious to everyone in a 500 mile radius. The little girl’s eyes became like saucers as he turned back to the little girl.
“See! I told you I really am Santa!”

I don’t even know if that girl or her family ever came back to the church, but I will always remember how adamant Steve was about his role, not only as Santa, but as a person that was passionate about loving people as much as Jesus.

From where I was standing today, I could see my brother and his family sitting straight ahead of me and I watched his body language. Was he thinking some of the same things as me? Was he wondering what it would have been like to have known our father for 47-50 years like Steve’s children did? Was he experiencing some extra emotions like I was?

Full disclosure: there was one time the back of his neck and head got a little more red than its usual hue and another time he laughed a little extra loud at something that wasn’t quite that funny. Was he just being himself? Maybe. Would he ever admit he was having emotions? I don’t know… guys are weird and I feel as though my brother is the weirdest.

Because of the fact that Steve died from a sickness, that gave him time to put his affairs in order, and his children had time to say all the things they wanted to say to him before he passed.

There were times during “The Depression” my dad experienced that I thought I should say something. Maybe it would change the trajectory he was on. Maybe I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell my brother and maybe he could have helped my dad.

I know playing the “what if” and “should have” games aren’t healthy, but I allowed my mind to think on it for a few moments during some of the periods of the memorial service today.

Then I remembered who we were celebrating and thought with a smile that “Santa” would have told me, in his own way, that there’s nothing I can do about the past. All I can do is think about the good times and pray that the foundation my dad built for me (and my brother and his family) would propel me/us forward in a new and deeper way in God.

Steve was always pointing people to Jesus like that.

I didn’t want this post to be all that long, but since my social media-less life has included a LOT about grief, I figured it would be best to get it all out.

And you know, going to the funeral for someone who went out of his way to speak into my life during some of my rougher times was a healing experience. To see (and actually remember) how many people came to the service and really cared about him and his wife was encouraging.

While I was driving to the funeral home, I was almost dreading the whole experience.

(Although Steve had been sick for a short time, he hadn’t been at church much this past year because of that sickness. Before this year, I would have expected another 20 years out of him at least. This memorial service put the final period on a life that— although well-lived— was far too short.)

When I got to the funeral home however, and I heard a worship song by Misty Edwards playing, I knew this was going to be the thing I needed. It was the healing I needed and also the space to really think about my own life and my dad’s legacy.

After having a really long week and a really long weekend before that, Steve’s memorial service was in and of itself, healing.

And honestly, I think Steve would be glad to hear that.