StephMemorial: It never felt like taking care of her.

Sometimes people say that I took care of Stephanie during her last years, and I guess I did so I don't argue. Sure, I drove her to doctor appointments and to picnics and the movies, pushed her wheelchair, and helped her with little things when she needed help. Big things too, sometimes.

It never felt like taking care of her, though. Never felt like a chore or anything. I helped her when I could because I could, so of course I helped.

As always since she left, Steph is in my dreams a lot, and usually she's not dead. She's just "been gone" — on an extended trip or a vacation or something — but in the dream she's back, and it's always a joy to see her again. Then I wake up sad, realizing again that she's not coming back.

Since moving to Seattle, I wake up sad in a strange new place. I'm taking care of myself here, and not good at it. Many things are annoying and/or difficult, and I wish I had a teammate again, someone at my side and on my side. Not just anyone, though. It's gotta be Stephanie. I'd much rather be alone than spent much time with anyone who's not her.

Something I've noticed over the past few dozen dreams of Stephanie is that in the dreams, she's basically taking care of me. She comes back, and it's great seeing her, and then she starts making things better, solving problems, taking charge. That's what she always did, and always she did it well.

In last night's dream the lease was up, and she had some things she wanted to negotiate with the landlord before signing us up for another year. In real life, there is no lease, just an informal month-to-month deal, and nothing was ever up for negotiation. So last night she solved a problem I don't even have, because hey, it's a dream and dreams are usually nonsense.

The part where she's solving problems, though — that was real. That was Stephanie. Even in her wheelchair years, maybe I pushed the chair, but she was always taking care of me. It was never me taking care of her.

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.