Stephen Elsaesser, Jr.
My heart is heavy. I am sick to my
stomach. I can barely see through my tears as I write about my friend, Steve
Elsaesser. He would have known that I would feel this way, that I would be so
affected by his death and, if bearing the circumstance of his passing, he would
have understood if I am angry or mentally direct vile and curse words to
the person who caused his death. Steve would have listened and he knew exactly
how to tame my ire with his wise words if it were of another friend’s
passing, but he can't now. My friend is gone. I did not know anybody I have never
met in person who understood my ideas, my art and why I live and love those I
love. He was was brotherfriend.
I met Steve here in the blogs through our
mutual friend, the artist Manon Doyle. His blog features his words of wit and wisdom, poetry, commentaries and writings. Steve appreciated art and artists. His
comments were thoughtful and playful. Sometimes I wondered how anyone could be
so generous in praise and appreciation but knowing Steve, his past, his
experiences, and where he was in his life, I understood why he had an endless
supply of love and admiration for nature, people, and above all, life. Later we moved to Facebook, we emailed and spoke to each other on the phone. Grateful. Steve was grateful.
He was a poet. I read his poems and soon
delighted in the surprises that each brought. Sometimes I heard myself giggling
and other times I go into a mental somersault of disagreements and when it was
time to put my words into comments, I would read his poetry again and changed
my mind. My second reading begged me to reconsider and be not a judge. He made
me change my mind. If I was stubborn he would have understood that too. I could
see him grin and appreciate the fact that I even read the poem for I hate
modern poetry with its maudlin sentimentality, but not Steve’s. There was an
impish quality in his style as his words weaved through my mind poking a range
of emotion and then delightfully ending in hope and make me thankful that I am
alive. I often find myself smiling or giggling.
Steve was a musician. He was a violinist for
the Cincinnati Philharmonic Orchestra in his early years and later in
retirement, he played for friends at weddings, holidays and special events. He
loved the violin. He equated a lot of things with the playing of the violin,
sometimes the violin itself. It was his favorite metaphor. Sometimes in art
appreciation, I would blush at his comparison of my squiggles and doodles to
Mozart’s or Beethoven’s compositions. I shook my head in disbelief and dismissed
them as the words of someone who just loved my work, or perhaps even loved me. How
could someone so much love what I painted or drew, sometimes asking what God was
thinking? But that was Steve. He and I were so alike. He understood why I
shivered when I see patterns of leaves and set to draw them. He understood why
I cried when I draw an acorn and my why my heart filled with emotions begging
to be released as tears in my eyes. He did not see me draw but he would write
that he saw or felt those when he looked at my pen and ink illustrations of
oaks and acorns. We concluded that we "are just nuts”. We loved that he was a Gemini and so am I. It gave us an excuse to be crazy and changed our minds. One thing that did not change with Steve, however, he was a loving and loyal friend.Steve was generous. He was always the first one to offer and give support to my endeavors. He was the first one to give when Bella Sinclair and I did the tsunami fundraising. He spoke happily and gladly of going to AA meetings, of helping others overcome their challenges with alcoholism. He spoke and wrote openly and honestly of his own experiences. He did not polish them. He shared every grit and grime. I think that was what made him credible and interesting because he did not write for the need of approval. People be damned if they judged him, he couldn’t undo the past, but he oozed with positive energy that even those who read his remarks or comments on the sideline were positively affected and saw a genuinely good and kind man.
Steve was married to his beautiful wife Anna who he lovingly talked about. He celebrated life with her not because it was an anniversary but just because. He considered her a gift from God and wrote "Whatever...we're still together, winging our way through this Eternity, to that place where ALL will one day meet again. PEACE and LOVE, Peeps!". My brother and I learned his meaning of the word "Peeps".
Steve loved the mountains. He enjoyed riding his Suzuki Burgman scooter, visiting places and friends. I thought it was what he did when he posted on Facebook, the photograph of the Smokies on September 20th, 2015. On the morning of the day he died, Steve posted this photograph with the captions below. He loved the Smokies and often talked about it. He was always using the word love and live. He was philosophical, metaphorical, humorous but always honest. He had the ability to discuss heavy and serious topics lightheartedly. I will miss him terribly. His words make me shiver now that I knew what happened. I will not tarnish my memory of my beloved friend by even printing the name of that driver responsible for my friend’s death on the same page, but whatever that driver did with that electronic device that momentarily distracted him from the road, I hope it was worth it, for my dearest friend Steve paid dearly with his precious life.
Steve loved my oak and acorn drawings the most. Goodbye Steve, your spirit will cover the whole Smokies. I will draw its leaves and acorns with sweet memories.
"Saw this photo just now
and was overcome with a feeling of "oneness" (we've been talking about that lately!) I just wanted to BE there and (LAUGH IF YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY.) reach out and cover this whole place with myself. Mountain Majesties--the Smokies!"
Steve Elsaesser, September 20, 2015
Goodbye my Humpy Dumpty,
Love Forever,
Live Forever.
Tsup!
