The Story About The Returned Mail

I pulled my mail out of the box today and started to go through it.  Hidden amidst the beautiful sympathy cards and birthday cards, was a small envelope.  My heart skipped a beat when I saw that the handwriting looked like Steve's, and then I noticed that the return address was ours. 

For a moment, I let myself hope that Steve had mailed a note to say goodbye.  Maybe I had received one last communication...one last message.  Something telling me that he was confident I could do this. 

But it was not.

Back in January, trying to occupy some time, Steve would write to different punk rock record labels to see if they might send him stickers.  Many punk rock bands give away stickers...and Steve would place them on his guitars or other items.  Occasionally, he would forget to write down a zip code or the address would be out-of-date, and the request would come back to him. 

Several of the record labels sent him back order forms for merchandise instead of providing him the desired free stickers.  As I watched him put forth this effort, I found myself wishing that just a couple of record labels could comply with his easy inquiry. 

One of his requests is what came back in the mail today.  Just like the record that got delivered from the U.K. on the day that he died, it was so bittersweet. 

These remnants of a life still appearing one by one.  The tiny reminders that he still had hope and was trying to continue on in his normal fashion...taking enjoyment in the little things.  And this sticker request that meant so much to him didn't even make it to the destination. 

The note that I found inside was sweet...simple...and Steve...

I am so, so sorry about our series of bad luck.  I wish there was something...anything...I could have done.