StephMemorial: "Happy girl!"

Stephanie and I spoke our own silly language, like annoying couples sometimes do. There were a dozen phrases we'd say to each other that might have mystified anyone else, and one was simply, “Happy girl!” or “Happy boy!” Either of us might shout it out whenever we were having a good time, and the other would reply in kind.

We said it almost anywhere, perhaps several times during the same day if we were having a fun field trip somewhere. Sure, it was a recurring moment of nuttiness, but announcing “Happy girl!” and “Happy boy!” made us an even happier girl and boy.

I vividly remember some places and moments when Steph was an especially "Happy girl!" —

• after driving across the country, finally paying the toll and crossing the Bay Bridge to San Francisco, where we'd begin our marriage...

• the night we moved into the apartment she'd found for us there...

• and when we left San Francisco, chased away by rents that never stopped rising, and it felt like we were escaping to affordable freedom...

• when she checked out of a hospital in Kansas City after gall bladder surgery, tuckered out but knowing she'd be better...

• as we drove back to Kansas City, after a marvelous day in Lawrence, Kansas, of all places...

• when we left Kansas City, where we'd never quite felt at home...

• "Welcome to Madison," said the sign, and we were in a moving van, entering Steph's former home town that would be our home together, for the rest of her life...

• after any afternoon spent with her parents, the Mom and Dad she loved so dearly...

• during any of our picnics at Golden Gate Park or Ocean Beach in San Francisco, or Loose Park in Kansas City, or Tenney Park here in Madison...

• perhaps surprisingly, the first time she rode in a wheelchair — she felt liberated, because she could finally get herself from one side of a room to the other without wincing in pain, as she had more and more when she'd walked...

• and myriad moments when we were happy for no particular reason except that we were together...

Stephanie has been gone for three years and a month and a few days now, and for me there are smiles occasionally, sure. Life isn't hellish, but I am no longer a happy boy like I was with Stephanie, and I never will be.

On my drive home from breakfast at the diner on Friday, though, I was in good spirits, waiting at a stop light, and I heard myself say it. "Happy boy!" I had to pull the car to the shoulder for several minutes, to cry.

For the first time in years, just for a moment, I was a happy boy. It was a very, very strange experience, and I was kinda angry at myself — what the hell am I doing, being happy? But I had to laugh, too. Stephanie would want me to be happy now and again, and she'd be so damned proud of me. I could almost hear her shouting back, "Happy girl!"

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.