We Have Not Forgotten Steven Cowell

    On Those that Have Passed

    Forgive me for writing as much as I do about those who have passed on, but that is what is in my head. At the end of the day, we will be all together, living and dead, so we are in some ways all united as it is. Some of us breathe air through our living lungs, and others are breathing spiritual airs. I like writing about many things; sometimes I feel stymied, restricted, blocked, less than effective, unproductive. Less than adequate. That's okay. I'll keep plugging away. Sometimes I re-read my writings and I cringe; I see mistakes, and goofiness. But that is the way it is. There are times when I am satisfied.

    I have written a book this last year. That makes me feel good. The last edits are not done. I think I am dragging my feet with it. I want to find or use a publisher to get it out. Sometimes I judge it as not that good, but then I see books that exist in my house, in print, and think about others that I have seen over the years, and I believe mine will stand up all right. Who knows? I need to keep chipping away. Before it is too late, as they say.  The name of the book as I have it now is: The Watchman: A Reflection on Afghanistan and the World We Share. I hope it works. I have faith. Stay tuned.

    I have been blogging a lot lately, which might be a byproduct of me dragging my feet about the book. Ah, ever the procrastinator. But there is hope. Writing scratches itches that I believe that a lot of us suffer from. I also think that writing and piecing things together is a healthy thing, mostly.

  Subjects to Write On

     I write about many things, people, stuff. Ideas, events, whatever. In 2013 I was thinking about a friend who died precociously; I was trying to write something that would simultaneously help me understand his loss and also leave some knowledge out there for others who may care. He had an interesting life, and things that I felt were unique, and then he had a bit of a mysterious death. I used his real name in the tribute ... Well, I actually wrote a tribute about him for his mom way back in 2001, not long after his passing. 

    That original eulogy or mini-memoir about this friend from childhood into adulthood was meant to be as nostalgic and warm as possible. And truthful, of course. The one that I wrote in 2013 had more doubts in it, and I think it was me still trying to be truthful, but perhaps more questioning. Which can be painful. I published the letter of sorts about him, to let others in my high school grades know about him. I later received an email from a church member from my hometown, who was notified by the mother who was upset that the real name was used, and this would potentially be something negative that the surviving son, her grandson would see. She was upset. So, I went back and changed the real name. Sorry, I meant no offense. 

    In my defense, as I stated, I was trying to understand things better, asking questions that perhaps no one living had the answers to regarding his death. I think it showed that I cared. Also, me in the 40s was perhaps more critical of that person and his choices, perhaps defending my own life choices and how I did not wish to be caught in the same circumstances. He was alone, away from his child, and had few friends around. I was planning on moving to Los Angeles and seeing him in a few months. I planned on being his friend again. I respected his mind and soul, and me and my life-long friend from Indiana lamented his loss. This friend, who was family, was also living in California and was better friends to the mutual friend than me.

    My dad, born in 1937, grew up not knowing much about his biological father. I thought that the son, growing and aging, would appreciate any words, even some negative ones about his dad that he would never know. None of us are perfect. But the grandmother was worried that he was not at the right age to accept it, or receive it well, so that was how that was. I also blogged about him, and a former IU basketball player who died young. I should share the link.

    Steve Cowell, Memories

    Anyway, this is supposed to be about Steven, or Stephen Cowell, some of my impressions of him. I am not too concerned about the survivors of Steve as far as them being upset with what I say; I do not mean that in a calloused way. If they ever read this post, I hope that they see that I knew and cared about him. And so did others. He is not forgotten. He had a child at a young age, perhaps a son. I believe the child was living in Green County, Indiana. I am not sure. I do not think that Steve was allowed to be close to his own child, so potentially this could fill some gaps for some to know. I would hope, anyway. If I were his progeny, I would be interested and grateful to know a few things about my biological father.

    Steve was from eastern Greene County, Indiana. This is a rural area west of Bloomington, Indiana, where I hail from. I once drove Steve back to Cincinnati, I believe, where I think he grew up. This is a farm village Cincinnati, not the major metropolis to our east a couple hours away in Ohio. Green County is rural and bucolic.

    Steve wound up living in Bloomington in an assisted living facility, a place that I think of was mostly intended for older people. It was there or nearby where my mother would visit an older lady from church when I was a kid. Her name was Pearl, and she was sweet. Steve was investigating the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.     

    In the late 1990s I was attending the Young Single Adult Branch by the IU campus, where we normally had two sets of full-time missionaries looking for people interested in our faith. My calling was Branch Mission Leader, which meant coordinating the efforts of the missionaries with us local members, conduct baptisms and other activities, and help teach he newly converted members a series of lessons for their better understanding and integration as a new member. My duties lead me to Steve's apartment. We got to know each other better, as Steve became a part of our committed church community.

    We might have shared four to six lessons with Steve in his apartment; perhaps sometimes we let others do the teaching and sharing. Later I became his home teacher, which usually meant making a monthly visit and checking on his well-being. I think he probably was baptized in 1998. We had quite a few people join the branch in that time period. I do not remember if I attended or conducted his baptism service. Perhaps I have kept some record of it. As mission leader in the Bloomington YSA Branch I feel like around 12 people joined. I had the calling about 18-21 months, I think.

    I was in Indiana doing a teaching degree back with my parents, hanging out between houses, eating with them both, living really well. Eating too well. I stayed close to a lot of my church mates; some I would play basketball with, others do fun activities or watch films. I would sing in the choir, and that was usually a good or great experience. We had dances and other fun things to do.

    Steve did not have a car; I am not sure if he could drive. He would depend on a few of us for rides. Dave lived closest to him, so he would be one of the first called on to pick him up. Paul, Andy, and I tended to help the other times. Sometimes he needed a favor to get somewhere, like the time that I took him to eastern Greene County. I cannot think of where Paul lived, but it could be a trip across town to get him, as well as Andy. Steve tried to live as best as he could, I recall. I did a trip to California over the winter break, and when I came back, I drove west of Bloomington into Ellettsville, where I guess he was staying with friends at a trailer.

    Over the Christmas break Steve had slipped as far as his faith commitments; he had smoked marijuana and I am pretty sure that he regretted it. I cannot recall all the details or our conversations about that or other things. The year of 1999 moved along; I moved away in the month of August to California.

    I would come back from the West Coast as a teacher or grad student and attend my home ward, changing from Bloomington First to University Ward, and sometimes I would see Steve in the pews. That might have been when my mom and step-father were preparing for their second mission, when they went to Indonesia. Surabaya on the island of Java.

    I don't remember if we spoke or not. I cannot remember exactly when he died. Maybe I found out from my step-dad Terry. My mom passed in 2014. I recall trying to let Dave, the one living close to him over twenty years ago, know that Steve had died. That seems like it was the summer of pandemic 2020.

    There is a lot more that I do not remember about Steve than I can recall. Suffice it to say, he was nice to me, he meant well, and years after his baptism I could tell he was trying to do the right thing. At least, that is how I interpreted that.

    There are small things that I remember, but things are still hazy, now well over twenty years ago, most of it last century. I remember distinct smells in his apartment in cold months at night, his curly hair, his humble appreciation for learning the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and the standards and doctrines of the Church. I have been committed to this faith all my life, and I enjoy seeing others have desires to learn and grow in it too.

    I am thankful that I was able to get to know Steve and serve him. I learned that he had a child when he was quite young, maybe 16. He was prohibited from seeing the son/daughter, as I understood it. This must have been hard. I cannot remember how I learned about, if he told me, how much he related to me.

    But I am confident that his next of kin will be all right, no matter how much or how little they knew of him.

    Last note: I looked up his obituary, and I will share it.

Steven D. Cowell Obituary - Bloomington, IN | The Funeral Chapel

    We never know who we might rub shoulders with, who we might influence or whom we will be influenced by. He died at age 44, in November of 2019. 

    The memory is a tricky thing.

    His obituary makes no mention of his belonging to or participating with the Church in Bloomington.

    Rest in Peace, Steve. See you in the Great Beyond, or somewhere.

    With Jesus and God all things are possible.

    Here is what I posted in his Funeral Chapel page, via Facebook.

Steve and I were friends in the late 1990s and we spent a good deal of time studying the holy scriptures and worshipping Jesus. We were involved in a lot of activities and worship at church. Steve would get rides with Dave A., who lived close by on Walnut, me, Andy A., and Paul S. I saw him at the chapel on Second Street after I moved away from Indiana to California. He seemed happy. God bless Steve for his kind spirit and love for God. Till we meet again, brother.