There's one more member of Stephanie's family,
someone I haven't mentioned. She has a brother named Mike, two years younger
than she is or was. He lives in New Mexico, and he's an artist and art teacher.
I've seen some of his artwork on the wall at his parent's home, and I'll
confess I don't understand it, but that's not an insult; there's plenty of art
I don't understand, often displayed in museums and at galleries. Mike has never
been married or had children; Stephanie and I always knew we didn't want
children, so I can empathize. Beyond that, all I know for sure is that he and
Stephanie weren't close.
She told me that from the time he learned to
speak, virtually his only words for Steph were taunts and insults. Maybe that
sounds like the normal behavior you'd expect from a baby brother, but as
described by Steph, it was relentless and never eased up, even as the siblings
reached adulthood. "Everything he said and did was either explicitly mean
or had an undertone of meanness," Steph told me. "It was never 'Good
morning', it was always 'Good morning, Fatso.' Mike has never said a kind word
to me in his life," she told me. "Never. Not once."
Was that true, or was that an exaggeration?
Steph wasn't usually prone to hyperbole, but she was sensitive — perhaps overly
sensitive — to criticism. Playing Devil's advocate, it's possible that after
too many mean remarks from 8- or 10-year-old Mike, 10- or 12-year-old Steph
might remember the worst moments the clearest. When we
were treated rudely by store or restaurant staff, or by doctors or nurses, or
when she was not taken seriously at her job, she could certainly turn
prickly and defensive. But I'd add, I never saw her turn prickly and defensive
without provocation.
So I wasn't sure what to expect, the first time
I met Mike. Steph and I had flown in from San Francisco, among dozens who'd
been invited to the 80th birthday celebration for Steph and Mike's
grandmother. It was basically a family reunion, and the family is big enough
that they rented convention space at a hotel in Iowa.
When Mike arrived and saw Stephanie and I, he
approached without a smile and simply said, "Stephanie" — monotone,
though this was the first time they'd seen each other in at least a year.
Stephanie introduced me, and Mike shook my hand, sort of smirked but didn't say anything, and promptly excused
himself and walked away. Steph translated the smirk as, "Yup, she married
a fat guy." At the time, I weighed 350+ pounds, more than twice Stephanie's
weight, so if that's what he meant, well, he wasn't wrong.
Later that evening, the birthday party became
dinner, with Grandma's family and friends spread across several shared tables
in a restaurant. Mike sat two or three chairs from Steph and I, and we each
tried talking with him. He gave brief responses, but mostly nods or the hand
palms-up, universal symbol for "Not now," while he spoke with others.
And OK, it's a big family, there were lots of people
Mike hadn't seen for a long while. But — his sister was one of those people,
right? At that birthday shindig, Steph and I had full-fledged conversations
with her parents, with her grandmother (the birthday girl), with her uncle, her
aunt, and with a few cousins, but we didn't have a real conversation with her
brother. Afterwards, on our way home to San Francisco, Stephanie was glum and
wondered, basically, what the hell?
A few years later we spent several days
together, the five of us — Stephanie and I, Mike, and their parents. It was
Christmas in Arizona, where the Webbs had extended family, and Stephanie
and I flew in from Frisco. Phoenix was 85° and sweaty in December, but
that's why they call it the Valley of the Sun. We saw the sights, and I
remember visiting a rocky place out in the wilderness (probably a state or
national park) where I had a long and pleasant conversation with my in-laws.
The five of us spent days in close proximity,
bumping elbows and eating meals together, and even for an introvert like me,
with that much time together there should have been at least a few
conversations with Mike. I certainly spoke with him, and Stephanie spoke with
him, too — words and sentences, but his replies were quick and curt and there
weren't really any conversations. Steph and her brother had a few minor
disagreements, about where we'd eat dinner or what excursions to take around
Phoenix. At one point he lost his temper about something, but I don't remember
what, and it wasn't aimed at Stephanie.
So I didn't see the meanness she had told
me about, from their childhood. But I didn't see any sign of affection, either.
He just seemed … uninterested. Uninterested in his sister, uninterested in her
husband, and perhaps uninterested in Christmas with the family far from home.
Thinking about it all these years later, it seems fair to say that Mike's
behavior in Phoenix was what you'd expect from a sulky teenaged boy — but he
was 28 years old.
On the way home to San Francisco, Stephanie was
glum again, and wondered again about her brother. "He was so distant, even
though he was right there." Maybe he had some personal issues on his mind?
Maybe Christmas makes him cranky — I'm not a big fan of Christmas myself, so
that's certainly something I could understand. We tried to guess what was going
on in his head — maybe this, maybe that — but we had no real theories.
Home again in San Francisco, Stephanie wrote a
short but heartfelt letter to Mike, asking why he had always been so cold to
her, and asking if he loved her in any way. A few months later, their mother
told us that Mike had mentioned receiving a weird letter from Stephanie, but
Steph never received a reply. After that, she stopped sending him Christmas or
birthday cards, never called or heard from him, and mostly stopped inquiring
about him with her parents. It was painful, so she closed the curtains. Direct
quote from Stephanie: "As far as I'm concerned, I'm an only child."
I don't know Mike. Only met him twice. But I think
the world, the sun and stars, the universe of Stephanie. She's my
favorite human, ever, by quite a margin, so it's beyond my comprehension how
anyone could know her, yet be so disinterested. And it hurt her. So when
I wrote Stephanie's obituary for the local newspaper, I remembered what she'd
said, and honored it. The obituary didn't mention her brother among her
survivors. As you wish, my love.
Now, though, things have become more
complicated. Today, Stephanie's parents mentioned that her brother's health has
been failing over the past several months. Next week he'll check in at a
hospital in Denver, hundreds of miles from his home, to see a specialist and
begin six weeks of treatment. His prognosis is cross-your-fingers; he could
make a full recovery, but it's not guaranteed.
Stephanie was a much better person than I've
ever been, and she's with me always, so I still look to her for advice. She'd
gone completely no-contact with Mike since Arizona — eighteen years ago — but
now that her brother is seriously ill, what would Stephanie do?
I know what she would do. I bought a Hallmark
card on the way home, and her brother will have it before he checks in to the
hospital. Steph would've picked a better card and written better words than
mine, but we would've agreed about sending it. If her health permitted it, I'm
sure she would have gone to Denver to visit him in the hospital, because there's
a time for grudges and a time for forgiveness.
Mike,
We don't know each other well, but I'm Stephanie's widow. She told
me that you two weren't close, but she loved you. If she was still with us
she'd be on your side, 100%. We both want you to get better and be healthy.
— Stephanie & Doug