My friend, Steve.

When I entered (Satellite) High School, I was very short. I'm short now, but believe it or not, I was shorter in High School. I think I was 4' 4" and was constantly being called "short stuff" and "midget".

I guess it irritated me. Mostly, I was irritated by things the other kids took for granted. While the other kids vied and envied "top lockers",  I actually got one, that I couldn't reach. I had to suffer the indignity of going back to the office and after our maintenance man looked up the combination and said "Yeah , that's it. It's not opening?"...and I said "No that's the combination." (and he said) "What's the problem?"..I said "I can't reach it." and he broke out in paroxysms of laughter.

Anyway, during my first year in Satellite High, through circumstances I don't exactly remember, I met a giant of a man. His name was (Frank) Steve Scoggins. He was a senior. He was a photographer. He was 6' 3" (or 4) . with black wavy hair and Buddy Holly glasses. He was a friend of a chorus mate named Randy, and I think that's how we met.

 Early in the year there was an "event" where a lot of the clubs had tables and we had an open period to walk through the halls of the school and get acquainted with some of the other activities.  Exchanging books out of my, then, locker, which was near the ROTC room...and here begins my story. I had met Steve prior to this event. He emerged and, I don't really know how long he'd been there, so I don't know if he'd seen me dodging the barrage of feet and shoulders to get in and out of my locker.

He walked up to me and said "Hi, Kim" and gently took my hand. He walked me through the halls of Satellite that day. There was lots of laughing and jeering and snide remarks.  Mostly like "That's never going to work!" and other tasteless remarks.

I was "shrinking" at the remarks and being jeered at, but Steve was intrepid and like a man on a mission.

He was careful with his strides , so I didn't look like a munchkin trying to keep up with him. Everyone who made a remark, Steve spoke to. He didn't return tit for tat. He said "Hi" or "We'll see", nothing really confrontational.

Several things changed that day.  The first was...nearly miraculous for me. After that day, I was not stepped on, ignored or harassed for my size again (by people who didn't know me). The second was, I had a new friend, Steve.

 People did see us together sometimes.  Before school, we would run into one another and I would hear about his photographing adventures. We'd meet at a dance, and he would dance with me.  Every so-often I would get a ride home from school.  I didn't understand, then, that Steve had become used to looking out for people, because of someone in his family.

I remember , he snuck into our principals' office and got a picture of a controversial stereo system that our principal had purchased with school funds . I think the picture never actually made it to the school newspaper , due to some authorative intervention. Knowing Steve's work as a photographer, I'm sure the picture was crisp and slightly angled for that beautiful data look.

Over the years, I wondered how he did and I offer my thanks to Facebook for reconnecting with him.

He had been in the Marines (looks fabulous in his dress blues) . He got married to a sweet and pretty woman, named Rhonda and had a son, Roy.  We actually met with them  for breakfast during one of his trips to Florida to visit family.

I don't think he was very surprised that my husband, who is one of my heros, is actually 6' 8" tall.

 Imprints last a long time.

Over the last three years, Steve's contact and updates were consistent and worrying me. He had cancer. He had liver problems. He had lung cancer. Walt and I prayed for him, alot and sent cards and encouragement.

He was grateful and humble in his expressions of thanks.

I was informed , this week, that Steve passed into that good night.

If there is an eternal reward for someone, surely Steve has it.

I love you, Steve,

I miss you.

you'll always be "my giant"

How did she DO that???

"Yeah, Walt. Go to work while you're half dead already and share the venom virus with all your co-workers" , I remember saying to my spouse after he came home with some form of flu, I was sure, intending on "sharing it with me" as if it were a birthday present.

Then mumbling under my breath "Why do some people think that performing your job despite being an incubis of plague?"

This weekend...I understood that.

Rewind to two (or maybe three) weeks ago, when my husband came home with the virus from Heck.

 He , then , proceeded to tell me that "most of the people at work were sick with one of two sicknesses". The first , a respiratory/flu type illness.  The second an "intestinal thing".

Walt, spent that weekend being fed by me (home-made potato soup) and drinking hot toddy's made by me, with cinnamon whiskey and sleeping.

The last part of that recovery, I am envying like a miner with gold fever...S..L..E..E...P!

(more on that later).

Waking up sick on Saturday--sleeping through the weekend and waking up "Better but still tired" on Monday, I think he must have the immune system of a Norse God.

Anyway, happy that he's recovering. I continued my happily ignorant status of near health, when "BAM!" I wake up the following morning hacking up something that I hope  is not bits of my lungs, and my throat hot and painful.  You know the kind of "painful" I'm talking about. The kind of painful where swallowing a "low dose aspirin" feels like a razor blade sliding down your throat.

Whatever it is, I got it. Walt--sympathetic wonderful man that he is, comes home and tells me how long it took our friend from work to recover. Man.

 But it was Monday. I have a Dr's appointment on Wednesday (routine) in case  I'm not on the mend. I've got three readings on Thursday, one on friday. I'll be ok enough to perform.

Wednesday---You know you when you FIRST get a virus...and you're afraid you're doing to die and THEN ...two days later you're afraid you're praying "God please take me"? ...that's where I am. I go to my PCP. Oddly, I really have some faith in this man's diagnostic capabilities. He helped me through a year of two kinds of pneumonia (well him...and a pulmonologist...and visiting nurses and doctors...my husband and three cats, my church friends praying for me...visits to the ocean and raw honey..hey...you grasp for everything when you're dying).  He gives me mega antibiotics, listens to my lungs and I , thankfully do not have pneumonia. He says this with a half-smile...you know, like "I know something you don't know".  He continues with "My waiting room has been full of this virus...you have to pretty much wait this out".

Later-I will believe that this man knows how vorateous this virus actually is, and he wants to allow me the luxury of dying in my own bed.

THURSDAY- I have no voice...so no readings Thursday or Friday. My "not sleeping" for 3 days running has changed to  15 minute episodes of unconsciousness, with 20 pillows behind me and three in front of me, and me sleeping (essentially) on my face.  I'm hallucinating about a debate with "Hurley" from Lost about the huge amounts of fluids that I'm drinking, that the "liquid co-efficient" will make all of die in the next plane crash we all sustain in the time loop.  OY!

FRIDAY- Walt calls the dr's office back. When they call, the house and I answer, I am mistaken for Walt, initially. I'm told to continue my treatment and they hope I feel better. After that exchange of bewilderment, I nearly pass-out in the kitchen, whilst making toast ...not kidding...the floating dots and everything.  But I do actually spend most of the day out of bed, sitting on the couch watching old movies. When Walt comes home, I take a bath and while doing that he tells me something about another friend of mine.

A Flashback and the ACTUAL purpose of my writing this:

Walt messaged a friend of mine early the previous day. Anita sings (amazingly well) in a band . When she heard I was sick her response was "Oh great--we're BOTH sick..again." We BOTH have actually had the same illness at the same time..a number of times. We even share migraines.

She accomplishes more in a day (oft times) than I do in an entire week. She has another job in a business owned by her husband.  She's a caregiver for her poor mother. She takes care of her kids--yes they are adults..but you know , once you have them they're yours for life. She cares for her sister as well.

On this Friday, she was supposed to sing with her band. She was told by the venue manager (when she called and told her she was sick) "don't worry about it" and then later , told their band couldn't be replaced.

She went...she prayed...she drank (Hot toddies) and she sang.

How did she DO that?

I'm sitting here asking myself that over and over again.

Wow. I'm thinking I don't have enough wind in my lungs to walk from the bed to the bathroom and she got dressed and performed.

While telling husband Walt how impressed and amazed I was at this, he met me with his usual reflective gaze. At the writing of this, we've been forced to give away our tickets to see Arlo Gutherie, Sunday night..(.I love Arlo and have never seen him in concert.) 

 As Walt continued to assure me there would be another "again" for Arlo (or something just as good..like THAT'S going to happen), he also proffered some other insight about myself and my friend Anita. Apparently we also share this work ethic and this sense of responsibility (which Walt, kindly reminded me of several instances, when I've "performed"  while dancing on the edge of disaster.) I've attended psychic fairs after mononucleosis, while I had migraines and continued duties at church while in the wake of a divorce tidal wave.

I want to tell my friend Anita, I know what it took to pull up enough energy to "do what you said you would" in face of viral plague. I know you pull that out of a place that most people never even visit in their lifetime.  Afterward, you collapse with dewy, feverish face and say "I did it" as you mumble into unconsciousness "until the next time."   

We're praying for you , too, girl.

Until next time,

Live a life worth loving

and use your antibacterial gel!

-Kim