Steve Gaston

Today I am going to attend the memorial service for my brother Steve. He died last week one day after his 55th birthday, finally felled by the cruel effects of the Parkinson’s disease he fought so long with an inspiring level of grace and dignity. I have three older brothers and it seems so strange now to think that there are only three “Gaston Boys” around instead of four. My brother Dave and I going to deliver parts of the eulogy and my brother Mike, who is a pastor, will officiate at the service. Steve was the quietest among us and today it’s our turn to turn the spotlight on him.

It’s an impossible task to adequately summarize the life of anyone in a few short words, but I feel compelled to give you a glimpse of my brother, despite the futile task of reducing his life to a brief posting in a seldom read blog.

His life was marked by a series of obstacles. He almost died at birth and had to grapple with a number of neurological and physical ailments his entire life. He did so with his usual manner – quietly and patiently chipping away at the problem until he had it solved. To give you a sense of how he approached these series of obstacles, let me tell you of a conversation we had when I first learned of his Parkinson’s diagnosis. I asked him how he was doing and he said, “Other than learning I have an incurable brain disease, I’m doing OK”. Only Steve could have said that without a trace of irony or sarcasm. He had a new problem to solve and he set about it without a complaint.

Steve was the most helpful person I have ever known and he was always the first person to volunteer and the last person to leave. He derived great joy from helping others and had no desire to receive recognition for this work. The only complaint I heard him make about his disease was how it kept him from helping people – he was the one who now needed assistance and it tore him up inside. If you could have seen his rapidly deteriorating physical condition the last few years, you would have been amazed that this was his primary concern.

I suppose some might say that he didn’t ultimately overcome this last obstacle of his life, but I would disagree. Parkinson’s may have gradually chipped away at his body, but it never robbed him of his dignity or reduced him to self-pity. He may have lost the battle, but he won the war. Because of his faith I believe he is truly in a better place today - standing tall and straight again after years of being trapped in an increasingly constrained shell of a body. He joins my Mom in heaven and I’m sure he immediately set about seeing if there was anyone that needed a helping hand.