By: Marlene Oxender
One of the last tasks my mother completed before leaving this earth was the baking of a chocolate cake for Stevie’s 50th birthday. The cake was baked but not frosted. Dishes were in the sink waiting to be washed.
And Mom became ill. I still smile when I think about her abrupt departure from earth back in 2019. She’d left a messy kitchen for someone else to clean up.
She also left us with our little brother Steven to take care of. It ended up being a five-year venture. He passed away on the evening of March 1, 2024. My family and I miss him like crazy.
When a baby with Down syndrome is handed to you – what do you do? From a sibling’s point of view, you decide to have fun. Decide that you don’t have to take life so seriously. Decide to share your brother with the rest of the world.
I remember a summer’s day years ago when I had stopped at mom and dads. Stevie was a young adult who wanted to make decisions for himself. He had told Mom he was riding his bike to a ball game.
Mom tried to convince him that he could get hurt. She wanted Stevie to stay at home where he would be safe and protected. But Stevie knew better. He let her know what he wanted to do and how he wanted to live.
And the people of the community stepped up and helped make life happen for him. Mom came to the understanding that he was safe, and she didn’t need to worry.
There were occasions when Mom didn’t know who brought Stevie home from a ball game. She could see the vehicle in the driveway and watch someone unloading Stevie’s bike and waving to her.
When Stevie wanted to go to an away game, mom made phone calls to those who’d made it known they were available. She kept track of Stevie’s schedule and helped him be ready to head out the door at the expected time.
We didn’t even know we were sharing Stevie with the rest of the world. It just kind of happened. After Stevie passed away, the messages and calls made us feel loved. His Facebook page exploded with the sharing of thoughts and stories about him.
My siblings and I were making note of those we’d like to remember to thank in a formal way. I chuckled at the thought of thanking others who were simply living life with Stevie.
There would be no need to thank those who’d played ball with him. Those who let him hold their baby. Those who visited with him at the convenience store where he liked to “hang out.” Those who joined in his happiness.
A formal thank you is definitely in order for the way people looked out for us during the week of the funeral. For the food that was delivered at what seemed to be the perfect time. The cards. The hugs. The love and concern were genuine, and we’re still feeling it.
My phone camera is full of videos I’d like to share on Stevie’s Facebook page. Videos of the times he couldn’t quit laughing. Videos of his basketball three-pointers at the Cage Classic. Videos of teasing him about downplaying his birthday party this year.
When Stevie was a baby, there were tears regarding his diagnosis. I was only six years old when he was born, so I was protected from any worries.
The older siblings remember the concerns. I was told that Mom cried a lot. Dad was once seen in the back yard sobbing. But I didn’t know any of that.
After Stevie showed the world why he was placed on this earth, and when life with Stevie was more than we could imagine, the “Why us?” question became a true plot twist.
Why were we so lucky to have a little brother such as Stevie in our life? It’s as if we hit the jackpot when it came to little brothers.
When I think of him and feel sadness coming on, I tell myself that Stevie now knows the beauty of what’s next. And I imagine him giving me a high five.
Before I entered the gymnasium where his visitation was held, I really did wish for thousands of flowers to be there.
For many plants to take home. For wind chimes and blankets. For the good feeling that only a hug can provide. For time to share a few words with our friends.
We thank you for all the flowers, cards, and hugs. We thank you for sharing your Stevie story with us. For letting us know you had a good cry or two. That you went through a few tissues. It helped us know we were not alone.
To those who had mascara running down their face – it was good to see you didn’t look so great either. I’ve often thought of the difficulties Stevie was faced with, yet he went ahead with life.
In the mornings, he stood on his front porch steps and perfected his singing voice. He often invited himself into homes where there was a baby who needed to be rocked.
According to him, the parents needed time to get something done while he held their baby. After all, the family was going to have company, and he could keep the baby content while they did their work.
Most of us judge our day by how much we’ve accomplished, but Stevie’s to-do list was different from ours. He had no choice but to live in the moment.
Several years back, Stevie managed to make three trips through the Bean Days Parade in Montpelier. First on a fire truck, then on a church float, and finally in a wagon being pulled by Clydesdale horses that was headed back to the Fairgrounds.
On the day of Stevie’s funeral, there was one last parade through town. His friends lined the streets. The lampposts had been decorated with maroon and gold ribbons.
The police, fire, and EMS vehicles in the processional was impressive. Those who were in the caravan knew that they, too, had been loved by Stevie.
The funeral procession was aired on Facebook Live and can still be viewed on Stevie Kimpel and Robert Day’s Facebook pages. At the time of this printing, there was over nine thousand views of Stevie’s homecoming parade.
Perhaps Stevie’s time on earth is a reflection of the most beautiful things in life: The people. The laughter. The babies. The fire trucks. The bike rides. The ball games. The birthday parties. The cake and ice cream. The moon and stars. The love that can be seen in a smile and felt in a hug.
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Marlene Oxender is a writer, speaker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memorabilia in her parents’ estate, and her younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down syndrome. Her two recently published books, Picket Fences and Stevie, are available on Amazon.
