June 29, 2000 I received a phone call that would alter my way of thinking forever. My stepfather, who I had never heard cry before, was sobbing into the phone. I couldn’t imagine why he was calling and not my mother, because he hadn’t really spoken to me since I moved out in 1993. My immediate thoughts were that something happened to Mom, and I started screaming questions hysterically into the phone.
He finally managed to control his sobbing enough to get out a broken “Steven,” and suddenly I saw it: a horrible car crash, my sweet 16-yr old brother flying through the air, carnage everywhere. I don’t know why I didn’t get the vision before, though it doesn’t surprise me. I’d really only had a true psychic connection with my mother & sister before. I do suspect the reason I had chosen THAT day to get completely f’d up with the guys from work was because I knew something was going to happen (I had spent the previous three years drinking with the guys, but avoiding the “drunk” state).
I immediately got a ride back to my command, went to my OIC & requested emergency leave. They also arranged flights for myself and my then-4-year-old daughter. Next, I called my best friend, who told me she’d drive up to GA immediately, though I told her to wait a day or two (it was her daughter’s 1st birthday, and they were in the middle of the party). Finally, I called my friend who was caring for my daughter that weekend, and told her to meet me at the airport (and why). I threw some stuff into a bag and headed south to the airport.
When i told my daughter why were were going back to GA so suddenly, she burst into tears and demanded to speak with God. I told her she can talk to God any time, she just has to speak, and he hears. She said, “You bring my Uncle Steven back here! He’s a good boy. I want him back here now!” I couldn’t help but laugh at her innocent demands. My poor girl had suffered her first loss of a relative, and was handling it remarkably well.
I got to GA and my stepfather was there to get me, a neighbor had driven him to the airport so that he would be safe. We grabbed our luggage and headed back to the house, where my mother clung to me and wailed, “He’s gone, Angel! Our little boy is gone! Our son is gone! You were his mother, too. You helped so much with the kids. I’m so sorry, Angel … we should have protected him better.” This proclamation broke my heart all over again – it is the first time either parent acknowledged the fact that I basically raised my two siblings because they were always working.
My daughter, so compassionate in nature, would come to me whenever she saw someone crying and tell me where they were so I could go hug them. She drew pictures to make people smile, and sat in one spot for hours on end so she wouldn’t get in anyone’s way or upset my stepfather (who is a nervous person anyway, and can’t stand for children to move around).
The memorial service was beautiful: and almost completely planned by my then-18-year-old sister. She had to handle just about everything from the moment they realized Steven was missing til the moment we spread his ashes in the Destin Pass on July 4, 2000.
For some reason, I have a hard time talking about my brother’s birthday ON his birthday .. and that is why this isn’t posting until the 27th. So, happy birthday yesterday, Steven. We love you, we miss you, and we hope you’re playing all-stars up in Heaven.
xoxoxox
Note: Steven, along with 3 other boys, died in a car accident. The boy who was driving and the other boy in the front seat were 17; bother Steven and the boy in the back seat with him were 16. They’d just gone around the corner to grab a burger … but met with a horrible accident on their way home. Please, please please make sure the roads that your children drive are safe and properly engineered. These boys would be alive if the road had been designed properly (it has been shown in studies that the boy driving was being safe, the road itself was incorrectly draining water into the center of the road instead of off to the side).
