Steve's Eulogy
This is the Eulogy that I delivered at Steve's funeral Mass.
Eulogy for Steve
It’s not easy summarizing a person’s life in just a few minutes. Especially, a life as full and complex as Steve’s, but I will try my best.
For those who do not know me, I am Ed Medvid – a friend of Steve and his family. I met Steve at Mount Saint Mary’s College. I can’t remember the exact moment we met. Maybe it was while I was working in the campus computer room. He spent an awful lot of time there for an English major. I do remember the first time I saw the whole family at the start of sophomore year as they moved Steve onto the dorm floor we shared that year. That was my introduction to Rosemary, Bill, and Brian; the three of them carrying Steve’s boxes up the back steps to the hall. Given the number of books he brought, that must have been tough. He became a core member of a small group of people who are mostly still close to this day. He was the best man at my wedding to Brenda and was the Godfather to my daughter Catie and son John. For over 30 years, no matter how long between visits or calls, he has always been my best friend.
In the movie, Serendipity, one character says: “You know the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died: "Did he have passion?".
For Steve, the answer is a resounding yes.
Steve’s first passion was his family. He loved family gatherings where he and his brother Brian were the youngest of the eighteen Redmond cousins. He enjoyed manning the grill at the Redmond Family Reunions and experimenting with marinades and sauces with his father, Bill. He loved taking in the sights and decorations in New York City at Christmas time and spending time with all of his cousins, helping them as much as he could. He even once invited me to help his cousin Amy paint her new home. It was AFTER I got there that I learned we were literally painting almost every room in her house, … in one day. We finished the last rooms, late that night, with some of us holding unshaded table lamps with one hand and paint rollers in the other.
From an early age, the ocean was a passion. Seaside was practically his second home. He loved it there. For many years, he invited his closest college friends to share a week at the annual beach rental house. He delighted in showing us his favorite activities, walking on the boardwalk, crabbing off the dock, eating pizza slices from the Sawmill, visiting the Toms River library, and watching the sun set over the bay. He loved biking around Seaside at dusk, and I remember him telling me how he enjoyed the rides he and Bill would take together. And yes, much later in the evenings, he even occasionally took us skinny dipping on moonless nights.
Anyone who knew Steve knew his passion for literature. He was never without a book. It didn’t matter if it was philosophy or fantasy, psychology or theology, poetry or science fiction. He was an avid reader and read everyone and everything. He also wrote; poetry, short stories, and his ideas. He was never far from a journal or notepad to record his thoughts.
Jeanette remembers:
“We had three copies of Gulliver's Travels because mine had class notes, and he preferred the way his old copy smelled.”
Steve’s cousin Renee shared the following:
“Patrick remembers so fondly the interest Steven took in him when he was growing up. He remembers going to the library with him in Seaside, and Steven pulling books off the shelf and telling Patrick compelling reasons to read each book. Steven was introducing Patrick to books that were important to him including Greek Mythology and the myth of Sisyphus. Patrick remembers feeling so appreciative of Steven’s genuine interest in him, and encouraging Patrick to pursue big and complex ideas. Patrick was flattered that Steven thought him capable of such lofty subjects. He fondly remembers how good it felt to be listened to so thoughtfully by this smart adult cousin. Years later, Patrick ventured to the Philadelphia Museum of Art with Steven and together marveled at the painting of Sisyphus that Steven had introduced him to years earlier in the library.”
Steve had a passion for learning. Whether he was reading about religion or philosophy or taking technology courses, he asked questions and sought answers. One of the best ways to learn is through travel and Steve loved to travel. I remember being surprised and impressed when he traveled alone to Ireland and the Florida Keys. He had no plan or itinerary for either trip. He later said he just stayed or moved on as he felt, often just sitting and watching the people pass by, letting it all soak in. Steve shared a love of photography, music, and the flute with his father. He also enjoyed trying out instruments and taking in the fun at the Renaissance Festival and gaming with friends.
Of all the passions in Steve’s life, his greatest loves were Jeanette & Sophia. To borrow from Renee again:
“We remember a great Christmas gathering in Wilmington when Steven first introduced us to Jeanette. He was clearly head over heels to be sharing his beloved with our extended family. He was beside himself with pride in Jeanette, and so grateful and excited to celebrate his connection with the rest of us. We remember a beautiful and intentional wedding celebration too.”
When Brenda and I were married, he often told us that we were too close. We should let the “wind move between us”. We noted wryly after he was married, he didn’t necessarily take that advice for himself. When talking to Steve, I remember hearing a slight inflection when he referred to “Jenny”, he expressed his love just by saying her name.
I asked Jeannette to share her own thoughts:
“We were passionate about traveling together, even if it was just a long Sunday drive. It gave us a chance to talk about life and to experience the world through one another's eyes. We played games together, read together, and watched PBS Masterpiece together. He was my best friend. We wanted 50 years together.”
When Jeanette and Steve adopted Sophia, his joy was evident. Cousin Tom shared:
“Steve seemed to absolutely beam in the presence of Sophia. It was wonderful to see Steve in full parental mode with the diaper bag and a huge smile.”
At one point, Steve said to Brenda and I – “nothing would make me happier than to be a stay home dad and spend all of my time with Sophia”.
Jeanette told me:
“I was the love of his life until Sophia came along, and then she wrapped him around her little finger. Being her father allowed him to fully indulge his silliness, whether that meant barrel rolling down the hill with her or making up stories that he then wrote down in their shared journal -- which she now has. He was so proud to be her father and took joy in every new milestone, even one as simple as her learning to pick up goldfish crackers in her fist.”
Jeanette found a letter Steve wrote to Sophia. Rosemary said he hadn’t had a chance to mail it.
“Dear Sophia,
I love you! I was so happy to talk with you on Sunday! I know things are hard right now, but just know I love you Forever! I know you love me!“
A person who engages so passionately with others and the world, and who feels things so deeply and profoundly, can have their share of struggles. Steve tried to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and the worries of those he loved deep within himself. Maybe that’s why he was often called an “old soul”. Maybe, he was too empathic, too passionate, too conflicted. Maybe he connected to Sisyphus too closely, who’s fate was to repeatedly push a boulder up a hill, only to see it roll back down again. Maybe that was the cost for a life of such deep passion.
Even though his life was tragically cut short, it is comforting to know that he embraced his life to the fullest and, indeed, had a life filled with passion where he was trying to be the best father, husband, son, brother, cousin, and friend to those he loved.
I will remember Steve’s passion for Jeanette and Sophia, Rosemary, Bill, and Brian, the McClains, Fasts, Redmonds, and Lindseys, his friends, the written word, music, and the ocean.
I will remember sitting with Steve, listening first to one of his favorite pieces, “Cristofori’s Dream” by David Lanz, and then one of mine, “Canon in D” by Pachelbel, in a darkened room as the dusk deepened outside.
I hope that each of you remembers Steve’s love and passion in your own way.
To end, I’d like to share this poem suggested by Renee:
Beannacht or “Blessing” by John O'Donohue
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green, and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment
of the earth be yours,
may the clarity
of light be yours,
may the fluency
of the ocean be yours,
may the protection
of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
Steve's Eulogy
This is the Eulogy that I delivered at Steve's funeral Mass.
Eulogy for Steve
It’s not easy summarizing a person’s life in just a few minutes. Especially, a life as full and complex as Steve’s, but I will try my best.
For those who do not know me, I am Ed Medvid – a friend of Steve and his family. I met Steve at Mount Saint Mary’s College. I can’t remember the exact moment we met. Maybe it was while I was working in the campus computer room. He spent an awful lot of time there for an English major. I do remember the first time I saw the whole family at the start of sophomore year as they moved Steve onto the dorm floor we shared that year. That was my introduction to Rosemary, Bill, and Brian; the three of them carrying Steve’s boxes up the back steps to the hall. Given the number of books he brought, that must have been tough. He became a core member of a small group of people who are mostly still close to this day. He was the best man at my wedding to Brenda and was the Godfather to my daughter Catie and son John. For over 30 years, no matter how long between visits or calls, he has always been my best friend.
In the movie, Serendipity, one character says: “You know the Greeks didn't write obituaries. They only asked one question after a man died: "Did he have passion?".
For Steve, the answer is a resounding yes.
Steve’s first passion was his family. He loved family gatherings where he and his brother Brian were the youngest of the eighteen Redmond cousins. He enjoyed manning the grill at the Redmond Family Reunions and experimenting with marinades and sauces with his father, Bill. He loved taking in the sights and decorations in New York City at Christmas time and spending time with all of his cousins, helping them as much as he could. He even once invited me to help his cousin Amy paint her new home. It was AFTER I got there that I learned we were literally painting almost every room in her house, … in one day. We finished the last rooms, late that night, with some of us holding unshaded table lamps with one hand and paint rollers in the other.
From an early age, the ocean was a passion. Seaside was practically his second home. He loved it there. For many years, he invited his closest college friends to share a week at the annual beach rental house. He delighted in showing us his favorite activities, walking on the boardwalk, crabbing off the dock, eating pizza slices from the Sawmill, visiting the Toms River library, and watching the sun set over the bay. He loved biking around Seaside at dusk, and I remember him telling me how he enjoyed the rides he and Bill would take together. And yes, much later in the evenings, he even occasionally took us skinny dipping on moonless nights.
Anyone who knew Steve knew his passion for literature. He was never without a book. It didn’t matter if it was philosophy or fantasy, psychology or theology, poetry or science fiction. He was an avid reader and read everyone and everything. He also wrote; poetry, short stories, and his ideas. He was never far from a journal or notepad to record his thoughts.
Jeanette remembers:
“We had three copies of Gulliver's Travels because mine had class notes, and he preferred the way his old copy smelled.”
Steve’s cousin Renee shared the following:
“Patrick remembers so fondly the interest Steven took in him when he was growing up. He remembers going to the library with him in Seaside, and Steven pulling books off the shelf and telling Patrick compelling reasons to read each book. Steven was introducing Patrick to books that were important to him including Greek Mythology and the myth of Sisyphus. Patrick remembers feeling so appreciative of Steven’s genuine interest in him, and encouraging Patrick to pursue big and complex ideas. Patrick was flattered that Steven thought him capable of such lofty subjects. He fondly remembers how good it felt to be listened to so thoughtfully by this smart adult cousin. Years later, Patrick ventured to the Philadelphia Museum of Art with Steven and together marveled at the painting of Sisyphus that Steven had introduced him to years earlier in the library.”
Steve had a passion for learning. Whether he was reading about religion or philosophy or taking technology courses, he asked questions and sought answers. One of the best ways to learn is through travel and Steve loved to travel. I remember being surprised and impressed when he traveled alone to Ireland and the Florida Keys. He had no plan or itinerary for either trip. He later said he just stayed or moved on as he felt, often just sitting and watching the people pass by, letting it all soak in. Steve shared a love of photography, music, and the flute with his father. He also enjoyed trying out instruments and taking in the fun at the Renaissance Festival and gaming with friends.
Of all the passions in Steve’s life, his greatest loves were Jeanette & Sophia. To borrow from Renee again:
“We remember a great Christmas gathering in Wilmington when Steven first introduced us to Jeanette. He was clearly head over heels to be sharing his beloved with our extended family. He was beside himself with pride in Jeanette, and so grateful and excited to celebrate his connection with the rest of us. We remember a beautiful and intentional wedding celebration too.”
When Brenda and I were married, he often told us that we were too close. We should let the “wind move between us”. We noted wryly after he was married, he didn’t necessarily take that advice for himself. When talking to Steve, I remember hearing a slight inflection when he referred to “Jenny”, he expressed his love just by saying her name.
I asked Jeannette to share her own thoughts:
“We were passionate about traveling together, even if it was just a long Sunday drive. It gave us a chance to talk about life and to experience the world through one another's eyes. We played games together, read together, and watched PBS Masterpiece together. He was my best friend. We wanted 50 years together.”
When Jeanette and Steve adopted Sophia, his joy was evident. Cousin Tom shared:
“Steve seemed to absolutely beam in the presence of Sophia. It was wonderful to see Steve in full parental mode with the diaper bag and a huge smile.”
At one point, Steve said to Brenda and I – “nothing would make me happier than to be a stay home dad and spend all of my time with Sophia”.
Jeanette told me:
“I was the love of his life until Sophia came along, and then she wrapped him around her little finger. Being her father allowed him to fully indulge his silliness, whether that meant barrel rolling down the hill with her or making up stories that he then wrote down in their shared journal -- which she now has. He was so proud to be her father and took joy in every new milestone, even one as simple as her learning to pick up goldfish crackers in her fist.”
Jeanette found a letter Steve wrote to Sophia. Rosemary said he hadn’t had a chance to mail it.
“Dear Sophia,
I love you! I was so happy to talk with you on Sunday! I know things are hard right now, but just know I love you Forever! I know you love me!“
A person who engages so passionately with others and the world, and who feels things so deeply and profoundly, can have their share of struggles. Steve tried to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders and the worries of those he loved deep within himself. Maybe that’s why he was often called an “old soul”. Maybe, he was too empathic, too passionate, too conflicted. Maybe he connected to Sisyphus too closely, who’s fate was to repeatedly push a boulder up a hill, only to see it roll back down again. Maybe that was the cost for a life of such deep passion.
Even though his life was tragically cut short, it is comforting to know that he embraced his life to the fullest and, indeed, had a life filled with passion where he was trying to be the best father, husband, son, brother, cousin, and friend to those he loved.
I will remember Steve’s passion for Jeanette and Sophia, Rosemary, Bill, and Brian, the McClains, Fasts, Redmonds, and Lindseys, his friends, the written word, music, and the ocean.
I will remember sitting with Steve, listening first to one of his favorite pieces, “Cristofori’s Dream” by David Lanz, and then one of mine, “Canon in D” by Pachelbel, in a darkened room as the dusk deepened outside.
I hope that each of you remembers Steve’s love and passion in your own way.
To end, I’d like to share this poem suggested by Renee:
Beannacht or “Blessing” by John O'Donohue
On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.
And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets into you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green, and azure blue,
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.
When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.
May the nourishment
of the earth be yours,
may the clarity
of light be yours,
may the fluency
of the ocean be yours,
may the protection
of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.
