'He was nice.'

It's been a tough week. A week with lots of bright spots, but tough nonetheless.

• Some parenting challenges related to age-appropriate-yet-frustrating behavior.
• A dear friend facing a monumental crisis.
• Onset of fall allergy season.
• A new work schedule that requires a huge adjustment on how I order just about everything at home. 
• A PTA meeting that I've been planning since summer -- a success, I think, but a minefield of details.
• An accident involving my car (it was parked, no one was in it) that has created an additional layer of logistical challenges.
• Cooper taking Created By God, a human sexuality class, which I know he's ready for but I'm not ready for because I can't help but wish Steve were here to be a part of the very important, ongoing discussion. 

This afternoon I was trying to take a short nap, before Cooper and Katie were home from school, before the driving that their activities require, before my copy editing shift (mercifully from home) that begins at 7:30 tonight.

I was asleep for maybe 10 minutes when the phone rang. (It was a call related to the accident.) I was startled by the call, and my first thought was, "I'm really doing this by myself. Steve really isn't here."

Because all those challenges from the week would be less daunting if Steve were here -- not so much to do stuff (though that would certainly be nice) but to talk with.

Tonight I was driving Cooper and two of his buddies to the Created By God workshop. One of his friends saw a photo of Steve.

"I remember your Dad. He was nice."

Such sweet simple words with so much weight.

He was nice. Oh, gracious, he was nice -- an enthusiastic friend to everyone without judgment.

That first sentence is what really gets me, though -- "I remember your Dad."

Steve as a memory. A sweet, sweet memory.