Here’s a little something that comes to mind when I think of Steven:

It was 1997 in the produce department at Whole Foods on North Ave. I see an Asian feller coming towards my way. I stay put by the bundled carrots. To avoid eye contact I pretend to compare which bundle was the better value. Too late. “Hi, I’m Steven, you’re William from Seam right?” Slowly I look up and there it was – that magnificent smile in all its glory; that frickin’, humongous, loving smile. It was really distracting, in a good way, of course. I’ve always been leery around people that constantly smiled but his seemed like the real deal. He had a genuine glad-to-meet-you-and-I-respect-you-as-a-human kind of a smile. Over the years as I got to know him better it became clear that what drove his smile was his endless amount of Love for life, family and friends that he was so willing to share. For me, the essence of Steven was manifested in his smile. (Close your eyes and picture Steven… is he not wearing that warm, accommodating smile?)

One of the many amazing things about Steven which made him such a joy to hang out with was how he was able to make the mundane into something special; the most trivial act into a religious experience – AND YOU BOUGHT INTO IT! You wanted to buy into it! It felt sooo RIGHT buying into it! You felt like you were participating in a “Higher Cause” even if the act consisted of drinking one of his tasty shots!

I had a chance to talk to Steven when he was in LA a few days before he started his treatment. I was so impressed (I’m sure we were all impressed) by his courage and enthusiasm to go on with life. That spoke volumes to me. It was a testament that Steven was always “Steven”: Honest and pure to the core – during the sunny days and the darker days.

Ever since the news of his cancer, I constantly think about Steven when I’m around my children. I can’t help it. During those times, I think about how I am cherishing this moment with my kids, and how his parents must have cherished similar moments with “little” Steven. I think about how he will never be able to experience these moments. I think of how I need to keep my kids out of harm's way (I find myself, out of nowhere, hugging them as though I need to protect them from something). I think of how I must let them go one day just as our parents let us go. I think of how fragile and precious life is. I think of how wonderful life can be. I think of how Your Life has taught me these lessons. I think of how you have made me a better father and person. Steven, you will always be in our hearts.

-William Shin

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