Stephen

My little brother, Stephen, died on the day after Christmas. It was a tragic accident during an otherwise amazing day when he had gathered with a group of friends at a nearby farm for a barbeque. Hearing the news felt like a punch in the gut. It has already been an overwhelming year of grief, each event piling one on top of another. To hear of one more death in my immediate family seems like too much. 

About a month before her stroke last year, my mother charged me with praying for Stephen every day. Mom must have known that her time on earth was winding down, and she wanted to make sure that Stephen was covered in prayer. When praying for someone on a consistant basis, one's own love for that person deepens, and, consequently, especially the last six months of his life, my love for Stephen, which was already abundant, grew by leaps and bounds. 

Stephen lived full time in a remote area of Costa Rica for the last ten years, in Malpais on the Nicoya Peninsula, so all of our interactions were phone calls or more recently, face time. It was so nice to see him in person and hug his neck, first at our Mom's funeral, and then Dad's. 

One of Stephen's daily rituals was going to a particular beach just down the hill from where he lived to watch the sunset. Every. Day. Before and after his memorial service at sunset on that same beach, I met as many of his gathered friends as possible. In English and Spanish, as the occasion warranted, I introduced myself as Stephen's sister and thanked them for being my brother's friend. In their own words, dozens of people, in Spanish and English, spoke of Stephen's acts of service to themselves and others, his fierce loyalty, and how he did not suffer fools gladly, himself included. One man said that Stephen believed he was 100% right all of the time, and about 85% of the time, it was true -- he was right. It was unexpected to hear his friends say that Stephen talked about me a lot. It was also fun to surprise so many people by how much we looked alike. All four of us Mills siblings look alike.

While working on this portrait, I listened to several podcasts on grief -- one in particular on the grief of losing a sibling. Listening to other people talk about the loss of a loved one has been really helpful for me as I process "all the feels." This portrait is from a photo of Stephen from approximately 10 years ago. It's 9" x 12", oil on linen.

Stephen leaves behind two beautiful and talented sons, James and Chaz, from two amazing women, Sylvia and Svetlana. He would have turned 55 on January 25th. He is greatly missed.