Finding Steve

I have learned that when someone close to you dies, you are forever on an incremental path of discovery of that person, whether you like it or not.  I have found that people are willing to share details of that persons life that otherwise would have been more or less...unspoken.  I find that both disturbing and exhilarating.  Just because that person is dead, does it make it ok to "gossip"?   There are a couple of adages that come to mind "if you've got nothing good to say, say nothing at all" and "never speak ill of the dead".  Both are wise, but who ever adheres to them? And what do you do, when what you've learned turns out to be a crucial piece of the puzzle that you didn't even know you were without?

You listen.  What else can you do?

I knew this Greek House meant something extremely important to my father.  I've been told he had this mania to complete it to the point where he slept on the concrete overnight and waited for the workers in the morn.  Heck, maybe I should have done that....perhaps I could have avoided the present leaky window debacle. But I digress. 

At first glance you wouldn't think it too odd that dad would hover over the workers and watch as every brick and mortar was laid.  But it became compulsive and wildly out of control.  Why would he choose to sleep there? He had places to sleep, safe places, lux places.  Wasn't ANYONE looking out for him?  Couldn't the redheaded monster, Voldemort, tell that Steve wasn't well?  Couldn't his cousin, the past mihanikos, stop for a moment from ripping him off and consider that perhaps Steve wasn't altogether?

I also recently learned that he suffered greatly.  And my heart, my heart...my heart hurts. My mind plays these events over and over and I picture him like a wounded, lonely animal labouring for no good reason in the dead heat of the Greek summer sun. 

He had 7 mini strokes.

I listened.  I listened as this random old acquaintance of dad's just "talked" about a part of my dad's life that I wasn't privy to.  As he continues, without any encouragement from me, I think, "What else does he know?" And do I pretend like I know these details or do I actually show the shock and dismay that I'm experiencing inside?

I continued to nod as if I've heard all of this before. I smiled at this old friend of dad's, trying not to show the discomfort that he is causing me.  He meant no harm, so I sat still and I listened.  He spoke so enthusiastically and with such  quirky detail about my dad and this Greek House, that I began to laugh.  He genuinely admired my father and I could sense that this man...missed him. 

"Losing family obliges us to find our family", the opening line to an essay read by Sean Connery in the movie Finding Forrester.   And as the 6th year of losing my father Steve approaches,  I feel like I'm just finding him! 

And even though I feel like I've let him down by putting the final completion of the Greek House on a temporary hold, I know that this house is the ultimate gift from him.  Because while my journey of   Finding Steve continues,  he has lead me to find that "it's not always the family that is our blood, but the family that can become our blood" that carries us through life.  Old friendships reborn and new friendships that you never knew you could live without emerge and your spirit is renewed.  Finding comfort in knowing that when the universe takes, it also gives back. 



It's true that you'll never know anyone truly and completely, especially a parent.  But you may stumble upon a handwritten note, tucked away in a drawer that was likely never meant to be found, proclaiming undying love for someone you know or perhaps don't know! Or bump into and old friend willing to share personal memories with someone that you didn't think had any real friends.   Even this Greek House, left abandoned, patiently waiting to tell it's story, chooses me to reveal it's secrets. And then suddenly insight about that parent just starts to pour in.  You welcome it,  you fear it, you crave it and you need it.

I will always listen.