Stevie Nix (I only call him that in my thoughts because his real name is Steve) was old and plagued with osteoporosis and arthritis and diabetes and a number of other ailments, judging from the number of pills he had to take each day. I could see that he was suffering last Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011. He lived way out Parson's Creek Road near Marcola, Oregon.
I had already paid my Home Teaching visit to him earlier in the month but I felt the spirit direct me to visit him again. To the usual question he responded with a small smile, I'm okay. We talked for a while about not much other than the fact that I had arranged to have the High Priest Quorum come on Saturday to pick up the pine tree branches that lay all over his yard from the huge wind storm the week before. I shook his hand and said good bye, chatted with his wife at the door for a moment and was gone.
Two days later he was killed in an auto accident. You never know which good-bye is the last good-bye. You never know which hug will be the last hug. You never know which kiss will be the last kiss. There was no warning . . . just he was here one day and gone the next. It was a lesson to me to make each goodbye, each hug and each kiss count for something.
His wife asked Ramona to sing and me to speak at the funeral. Another story line for "The Beauty and the Beast". We gladly agreed. She scheduled the funeral for April 1st at 11:00am. This was not the best of news because I had previously scheduled to take my Series 65 Securities Exam for 8:00am on that very same day. Series 65 exam makes you an Investment Advisor representative. It is a three hour exam and very difficult. I have been studying since last October and my window to take the test runs out on April 1.
I figured I could just take the test really fast and make it to the funeral. I have been studying very hard for weeks, staying at the office until 11:00pm or midnight studying. I jotted down some notes of things I wanted to say at the funeral on my office computer. I was going to finish the test and then go to the office and organize my thoughts and head off to the funeral.
When I arrived at the testing center at 8:00am the winds of fortune shifted and I was informed that they were having difficulty getting the computers started so I would be delayed getting started. Finally they called my name, had me remove everything from my pockets, remove my watch and coat and pen and got signed in. Time was already running out before I even sat down to begin. I started the test and stumbled on some of the questions as they got harder and harder. I marked the troublesome questions for review later. I figured I would just answer them as best as I could and go on to easier questions so I could get as many right as possible. It was really hot in the little room with all the other test takers and their computers humming away, generating heat. Maybe my hands were sweating because I was nervous but I think it was a combination of that and the heat. By the time I got to the end, I had just 10 minutes to get to the funeral so I said, the heck with it and clicked on exit without reviewing any of the questions. The little hour glass on the computer screen just sat there for what seems like an hour when finally "PASSED" popped up. I didn't even look at the score; I just grabbed my stuff and picked up my pass sheet from the front desk and dashed out the door. No time to lose. My friend and brother's funeral was starting and I wasn't there. Making record time, watching for cops and flying like the wind I screeched into a parking place and ran into the church, down the hall grabbing a program from the funeral guys and into the chapel. His daughter was speaking so I calmly walked up to the front and sat down on the stand.
Now a cold sweat came upon me as I realized I had no notes. It was comforting when I realized that they didn't want more than about 10 minutes. Since it takes about that long just to clear my throat, I figured I would be okay. My time came. . . I arose and opened my mouth, cleared my throat and sat down. Ramona said it was perfect, so now you know I can perfectly clear my throat.
As the pall bearers carried Steve out of the chapel a very small little boy in tears, reaching out, cried out Papa, Papa! Tears were shed. They will miss their Papa. I will miss Stevie . . . and have a little widow to look after . . . for him. Good-bye, my old friend.
