Steven. That was the subject heading in the email from the administrative assistant in my department at the University of Georgia. When I opened the message, it read (in its’ entirety): “Sad news … Steven’s wife died unexpectedly this weekend. He will be out of the office for an unknown amount of time. For problems call the main OIT number 2-8007 or go to the online help system and fill out a remedy ticket. Thanks”
That’s it?? Steven? You don’t know Steven. I do. Steven Morrison is the computer guru in the building in which I work. If something, no… if ANYTHING related to a computer problem occurs in the Ramsey Center at the University of Georgia, Steven Morrison slips into a phone booth, pulls on his red cape, and is there to rescue the distressed party. Exaggeration you say? Not really. Much of my life revolves around my computers—my teaching, writing, research, communication. Over the last three months I have had more than my fill of computer problems. First my laptop, then my desktop, then both my laboratory computers were taken out by a vicious virus. I mean out! Dead. Kaput. No hope of an afterlife.
In each case, my computer Superhero was there reassuring me that there was not just hope, but a solution. Was each solution he put into place successful? No. More often than not, the insidious virus found its way around Steven’s solution. So back to Steven’s office I’d shuffle, dead computer in hand. Knocking on his door, he’d open it (he knew my knock by now). He’d just look at me and in his eyes I could see he was ready to hear what I had to tell him. No pretense. No bureaucratic protocol. Just, “You’ve got a problem or you wouldn’t be here, so tell me what I need to know to help you.” Never said with his words, just his eyes, just his heart. How often in your life are you privileged to look into someone’s eyes who tell you that?
Every once in awhile, there would be a small voice coming from his office. It belongs to Steven’s son Nathaniel; an inquisitive, energetic, delightful three year old. Nathaniel’s got a smile that can melt the coldest heart. There were times that childcare just didn’t work out, so Steven would bring Nathaniel to work, and I always enjoyed those days just a bit more. Just a week ago Nathaniel was laughing gleefully while banging golf balls around my office with a little golf club I keep there. A bit dangerous, yes; a lot of fun, definitely! Steven also has a shy, beautiful daughter just a few years older than her brother. From time to time Steven brings in a fundraising catalog of some sort to raise money for his daughter’s school or youth organization. It was always an opportunity to show Steven a bit of gratitude and respect for the kind of man and father he is.
In our time together, Steven would often discuss his children and the hopes and dreams he and his lovely wife had for their children. That Steven loves his family there is no doubt. He also loves basketball and often plays at noontime, constantly complaining about how poorly he played and bemoaning the tax that age demands of one’s body. I tease him about quitting; he smiles and simply says “Can’t”.
He’s an ordinary guy with an extraordinarily generous heart. He is a man who gives much and asks little.
When life deals a good man a tragic blow, he deserves more than an email message that says “Sad news….” I am able to write this blog, connect to the internet and post my thoughts this morning because of Steven. Steven has made a difference in my life – in more ways than one. Because you are now reading these words, he is touching your life as well.
With the loss of his loving wife, Steven’s world, and that of his children, has profoundly, tragically and permanently changed. For all of us who know Steven, and even those who do not, our world has also changed with his loss. In his XVII Meditation, John Donne captured it well:
“No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
