This Won’t Buff

I planned on penning these blog entries regularly. Then everything changed. On November 10, 2023, our oldest son died. Steve was 38, married to Allie, father of Landon, Duke, and Brody. Steve loved his family more than life itself. An Army aviator deployed overseas, he and four crew members, perished in a helicopter crash over the Mediterranean Sea. Our world will never be the same.

When we learned about Steve’s death, we felt like we stood in the ocean, shoulder deep in the waves. High tide. Frigid water. Broken, jagged shells and sharp rocks beneath our bare feet. We sank deeper and deeper. The waves tumbled over us, one after another, and forced us under water. We gulped air when we could, before another wave knocked us under again. A tsunami of grief.

Within hours, family and friends swam in, buoyed us, ensured we stayed afloat. They threw us flotation devices, and we hung on, letting go only when the waves were too strong, when we didn’t have the strength. 

It's been two months now, and we continue to stand shoulder deep in the water. The tide remains high. The waves keep coming. They will never recede. For the rest of our lives, we’ll be swept by waves of grief, anguish that forces us under. We tumble under often, but we’re getting used to the cold water washing over us. Sometimes it feels like we’re above water more. We gulp more air. We know we’re not alone. Our family and friends haven’t left our side and continue to toss us life jackets. Without their love and support, I don’t know where we’d be.

  I know Steve would feel bad about all this. I can hear him apologize. “Sorry, Mom.” But then I see him shake his head, his face etched with disappointment in my attitude. “Come on, Mom. You’ll figure it out. Ya gotta swim through it.” He’d shrug, then smile. “It’ll buff. Go lift.”

Steve was a force of upbeat energy who lit up a room with his presence. He didn’t give up. Ever. Flaws could be buffed out; muscles could be made stronger; hardship could be overcome with positivism and effort. He found the good. And so, let me tell you about some of the good that we’ve seen since November 10, 2023. Let me tell you about all these people who keep us afloat.

Our families. Steve’s brothers and sister, Allie’s parents and brother, our extended family. Our friends. They showed up within days, to be with us. They hugged us and cried with us. They played with the boys; they brought me mochas. They’re creating a foundation to ensure that Steve’s legacy will live on.  Friends who haven’t seen our son since pre-school, friends who were in his boy scout troop in middle school, friends who coached him in first grade basketball. Friends who went to grammar school, high school, and college with Steve and Allie. Friends who have known him for decades; friends who have known him for months. They all showed up.

Steve and Allie live in a neighborhood that every child should be raised in. Their neighbors stepped in with everything from food trains to babysitting and funeral dress shopping. They lined the streets with American flags! Less than two months after Steve died, Landon turned eight. Our oldest grandson is a sweet, kind, and empathetic boy; he idolized his dad and misses him terribly. When he walked to the bus stop on the morning of his birthday, all the kids were in a neighbor’s house. They’d surprised him with posters and sang Happy Birthday to him. After school, Allie had planned an arcade adventure to celebrate his birthday, not realizing it was closed that day. A neighbor knew the owner, made a call, and they opened the arcade just for Landon and his friends. Such support, such friendship, such love — makes the unbearable a bit more bearable.

Charitable organizations have done and continue to do so much. Tunnels to Towers has paid off Allie’s mortgage. Legacies Alive has created a fund specifically for Steve; the Nightstalker Foundation has covered expenses; Brotallion has donated part of its profits to the families of the crew lost on November 10; Mission BBQ has provided food. Their church has embraced Allie and the boys. The soldiers with whom Steve served donated Christmas gifts, built outside forts for the boys, and have been ready to assist however they can.

So many people swim with us in these icy waters. They toss us a lifeline with every kindness they extend. They keep us afloat. In time, we’ll be above water more than under; we’ll float on our backs and soak up the sun’s rays.

We know the waves will keep coming. The hole in our heart will never be buffed out. We’ll never stop missing Steve. But, with the love and support we receive from others, we’ll survive the ocean’s fury. We’ll grow in strength. We’ll figure it out.