StephMemorial: Rest her soul?

Writing a sentence about Stephanie that hasn't yet been published here, I caught myself typing a cliché — something about "my wife, rest her soul."

Stopped short and looked at those words, knew they were wrong and immediately backspaced that phrase to oblivion. Then I had to ponder why "rest her soul" seemed so inappropriate.

Steph slept, of course, and she liked to relax in the evenings, but her idea of a good time was chasing adventure, doing something new, learning something interesting, visiting someplace different. Rest? Steph only rested when she'd been beaten down by her kidney problems, and her hassles with doctors, nurses, and the dialysis clinic. Even when she needed to rest, it was only to recharge her batteries so she could have a new adventure or win the next day's kidney battles. Steph might take a day or two off, but there's no way she would allow her soul to rest for all eternity.

We never believed in the great hereafter, but if we were mistaken and somehow Stephanie's essence never died, her soul would go to Paris, and then to Istanbul. Her soul would return to Russia and London, places she'd visited long before I knew her, and then she would be off to Australia, Morocco, Greece, Vietnam, India, Chile, China, New Zealand, Myanmar, Italy, Brazil, Iceland, Antarctica, and Mars. No time for rest, not even resting in peace. Steph's afterlife itinerary would be a whirlwind.

And after seeing everything that time and space can offer, Stephanie's soul would settle into one of the easy chairs in our apartment, and hang out with me and our new cat.

Welcome to StephMemorial

Stephanie Webb was my wife, my closest friend, my angel. We were together from 1997 until 2018, and for all that time we were head-over-heels in love. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, or ever will.

Who was Stephanie? She was complicated, and sometimes difficult. She was brilliant but insecure, eloquent but introverted, strong-willed but soft-spoken, tough as titanium but always vulnerable, a dreamer but utterly down-to-earth. Sometimes she was deeper than the Marianas Trench, and other times so silly you'd be giggling for hours.

She wasn't famous, and she was never arrested or made headlines. She worked ordinary office jobs, but after hours and on the weekend she was adventurous — oh, the places we've been (though always on a budget). She developed major medical problems toward the end, but other than a few dark days she generally kept an optimistic outlook. She was 26 when we met, and 48 when she died.

This domain was created to post her obituary on-line, so old friends who'd been out of touch could Google her name and know that she'd passed away. After writing the obituary, though, there was more to be said. And then, more still.

I don't want to forget any of the moments we spent together, the things we did, or the promises we made, kept, and broke — but I'm old and sometimes forgetful, and it's not likely that my memory will improve with age. So I'm writing it. Almost all of it. I reckon that's going to take the rest of my life.

I can't tell you everything about Stephanie, of course. As well as I knew her, there must be many stories she never told me, and many stories she told me that I've forgotten. There are also, of course, some stories that I'm not going to share.

She didn't often speak about her childhood, her adolescence, her first years of adulthood, and her answers when I asked were usually brief. She got the recipe for Stephanie exactly right, that's for sure — but I wasn't there while she was creating herself, day by day and bit by bit, so my focus will be on the time we had together.

It was delightful and never dull spending those years with her, and it's my hope to convey some small smidgen of the joy of Stephanie. Of course, her spirit can't be captured and posted on-line, and there's no doubt that I'm going to fail. But I am going to try.

I am under no illusion that this site will be popular. That's not the point. When I write about Stephanie it's like spending more time with her, or re-spending old times with her, and that's the best thing left in my life.

My name is Doug, and I'm (still and always) Stephanie's husband. If you knew her, or have something to say about the website, or if you've spotted a typo, you can reach me via the form below.