My Letter to Steve

Delivering a Message from the Grave

Letters can be written for a variety of reasons. They can be many things: hurtful, informative, healing, and even life-changing. They can be handwritten on floral stationery or typed on computer paper. Here is part one of my letter to Steve last July.

A year ago today, my sis, Mari, died. We were only 4 years apart, but we were worlds apart in our beliefs. To continue our relationship, we agreed to disagree and move on. She and I were in constant contact through email and phone calls. However, I hadn't seen her in person since I visited in 2015 when I was concerned about her living situation. Mari didn't believe in doctors, so we argued a lot about her not seeing one. She was using herbal potions for what she thought were kidney stones. It was cancer, but she never would have it checked out. That was one of the many disagreements we had. Even though I was the younger sister, I was the one she asked for advice, which she rarely took. Many of her emails ended with “Lyn, thanks for always being there for me.” (Pictures: Mari and I in 1954?; Me and Mari in 2015)

Mari’s first husband, Steve, was one of those got-your-back type partners. During their marriage, he assisted her with some of the large projects she took on in her cake-decorating business. He built the frames for a life-size cake of Richard Petty's racing car and a 15 ft x 5 ft replica of Graves Hall for Jacksonville State University's centennial celebration, to name a couple. He was also special to me. He was family and my “favorite” brother-in-law. (picture: Steve in 1970s)

In 1982, their marriage of 16 years ended. Mari married several more times, but Steve remained in her thoughts. Over the years, she told me about his life journey: marriage, children, work, and retirement. When speaking of him, my sister would tell me how much she regretted how she treated him. Mari wrote in a 2015 email: "I just wish I have the chance before I die to tell Steve that I am really sorry; but he probably doesn't care. I constantly pray that Steve will find the love of his life and get all the love that he deserves (which may be happening right now with his new wife, Sharon. I don't know). If he is happy, then that is all I could ever want for him."

While Mari shared her stories about Steve, I began researching. I discovered he and his current wife, Sharon, on Facebook. From then on, I made it a habit to periodically visit their profiles for updates. I found myself particularly captivated by Sharon. Not only did she possess striking beauty, but she also exuded a gentle aura. We remarkably shared numerous common interests. Witnessing their connection, I couldn't help but feel pleased that Steve had found someone who brought him joy – precisely the outcome Mari had wished for him.

Since time is slipping away, I've felt compelled to contact significant people. So many of them have gone home before I could tell them about their importance. I was determined that Steve wouldn't become another individual to whom I'd regret not expressing appreciation for the brief but meaningful time we shared.

I also wanted him to know that Mari had never forgiven herself for all the pain she caused him. However, I couldn't tell him as long as she was alive. Any contact, even to congratulate him on his new marriage or to say hello, would betray her.

But then she died. Sorting through her belongings in her home, memories of her life with him flooded back. Among the items, her walls showcased a trio of frames, each containing a snapshot of different chapters in her life. Two frames captured moments from her third and fourth marriages, while the third held pictures of Steve, our parents, and her siblings. When I visited her, she pointed out that frame. It was prominent in her home – on the wall inside her front door.

In March, just before it was evident that she was dying, she talked again about Steve coming back. I told her on the phone that he was not returning, and she agreed. However, a couple months later, when she was starting to slip away, she told her visitors that when Steve came to the church to make sure he knew where she lived. They just listened and nodded, not really knowing who Steve was. 

After returning home from the funeral, it was time for me to deliver Mari’s message. It wasn't difficult for me to write that two-page letter since I knew it would be my duty someday. Mari understood how I felt about him, and I believe she wanted me to relay the message. I was hoping he'd still be alive when the time came. All I wanted from that letter was for him to know that she never got over the pain she caused him and that she was so sorry. He was a good man. My primary concern was how his wife would react to the letter.  Would she be upset about me bringing up old wounds? Then would he be upset because of me upsetting his wife? Knowing she was a retired psychologist, I hoped she'd understand. When it came down to it, I didn't have a choice. The letter had to be written and sent. I didn't include my phone number or email because I didn't want him to feel he needed to respond.

What happened next was a complete surprise.