A Mother's Thoughts

As I look at this picture of Sam and I, I see what isn't there. His stoical expression because he was ready to go and didn't want to have his photo taken...one or two pictures, okay and we had stepped over the line asking for more. He was my handsome, compassionate, yet taciturn son. He knew his own mind and seldom strayed from what he believed. Naive in some ways, worldly wise in others...he was simply our Sam and we love him.

For so long I haven't been able to write about him for possibly many reasons. First and foremost, because it makes it so real, seeing words on a page. In Black and White. Carved in stone, engraved on a marker. Strange, I should feel that, when I have always derived such comfort from words.

Missing Sam is part of me, like taking a breath. There is a hole, jagged edges, painful and aching that does not fade or dissipate with time. I am certain everyone thinks I should be over this by now, but I am not...and that is just what is.

So I mourn for Sam: his potential, his presence, his personality. Sam saw the world in black and white, but he was beginning to discover the shades of grey that make everything more vibrant. His was a romantic soul. There was a hero for every vanquished villain, good always triumphed, and there was always "the right thing to do."

So I imagine how he felt when he tried to wrap his brain around the news. The encompassing word, cancer, enormonity of the word "rare," and the even scarier words, "No treatment, No Cure," as well as the finality of the unspoken word, "dying." I have to imagine, because Sam didn't discuss it, wouldn't discuss it...and you couldn't make Sam do what he adamantly would not do.

His stubborness was almost legendary. We always considered it an asset and told him so. He didn't try to be even more unyielding, instead he would redouble his efforts to persuade you that his way was right. He would argue, consider what you said, think about it (okay, brood is a better word and often would revise his assessment and change.) It was this ability which became even more evident as he grew up that garnered our respect. So we respected his wishes, the subject was closed. We played it out Sam's way.

Maybe that is why I can't seem to say goodbye. It is so final.

I am stubborn too, and I prefer the wave and the words I uttered as I dropped him off at school:

Later Sam...Love you!

Some Words From Kenny

This morning I revisited Memory of Sam and discovered that Sam's best friend Kenny had left a comment on the website. When I went to his site, I found that Kenny had written a small entry in remembrance of Sam. I hope he'll indulge me, I'd like to link directly to it here -

In Remembrance of a Friend

A special thanks to Kenny for putting his words out there.

Joe and Ryan's Memorial Speeches

Joe and Ryan emailed me short speeches before Sam's Memorial Service and asked if I would read them on their behalf. I felt at that time that my friend Colt should be extended the same courtesy, and he at once acquiesced, and then declined, and then agreed once again. Had I known that Colt would be so overcome with emotion when he took the podium, I never would have insisted that he stand in front of everyone, but that's just the level of dedication Sam tends to bring out in people, whether they realize it or not.

Joe's Words:

I first met Sam after we started hanging out at your house, and at that time, he seemed like a shy, stand-offish type kid. Of course, I'm the same way around people that I've never met before, so I knew that we were pretty similar. After time went by, Sam starting hanging out with us more – or at least he would try to. I recall on multiple occasions Lee would have to ask "Sam, can you go play in your room please?!", and of course he would always obey. It really didn't take that long before Sam was hanging out with the group on a more constant basis. We would always be playing videogames, watching movies, having nerf wars, or playing alone in the dark. It didn't take long for Sam to be part of the group because we all had so much in common. As time passed, I feel that we grew to be more like brothers than friends, and I would not have that any other way.

As college rolled around, I really only got to see Sam around summer break, or on the rare occasion when he would come to visit. I recall one time when he came up, and we decided to go to The Tap, a local College Station bar. Sam never liked to drink, but he was always happy to just come out with us and hang out. I always respected him for that - he didn't give in to the drinking peer pressure quite as easily as the rest of us inevitably did. He also didn't mind helping out whenever he could because he was just that kind of guy. He would clean up, or he would organize things for trips, or he would help us move. He was always available.

The most recent time where we got to hang out a lot was at the Frio, and those times were quite awesome. Unfortunately I wasn't able to make it the first time all of you went, but I genuinely wish I could have. The first time I joined y'all, the water was so low that your butt cheeks got a close shave on the rocks below pretty much every time. That sure as hell didn't stop us from having a blast though. I remember trying to sleep in a hundred degree tent, being woken up to Tejano music at 6:00 AM, and getting charred in the sun as we all tried to create a rock dam to try to get just a fraction more force out of the river. I don't know if it helped much, but it didn't matter because everyone had a good time out there. The water was better the next summer, but quite honestly it didn't matter what the water was like because we all got to hang out and have fun. It never mattered where we were, or what the conditions were like, because it was fun just to hang out with my brothers.

It ripped my heart out when I heard of the news. I don't like to remember how he left us, but how he lived. I know he would have wanted it that way. Sam didn't just have one brother, but he had many, and we will all miss him dearly.

Love you guys,

Joe Smith


Ryan's Speech:

I was truly in awe when I got to see Sam at your parent's home that Easter weekend. The courage and strength of spirit he displayed was astounding. I am now just reading the journal entries your mom wrote and the spirit your brother displayed brings tears to my eyes. Sam was a brother that did not have enough time with us, but in the time he did have, he showed character that exceeded anything I have ever witnessed. I cannot imagine the scale of this loss on your and your family, and how incomplete your heart must now be. I am sorry I don't have one of Sam's witty jokes on memory but as you know I'm horrible at remembering jokes. I just remember that with one comment Sam could turn a whole situation around for the better and leave us rolling on the floor laughing. I feel Sam will be a part of us forever, and our memory of him will not fade.

--Ryan Bay

Linda Kersh's Thoughts

Paraphrased by Linda Kersh at Sam's memorial service, 07/27/2008:

There are three things that stood out to me as I witnessed the last months of Sam’s life. They are:

Love, Respect, and Courage.

Courage doesn’t always look like what we expect…

A mother or father summoning the courage to tell their son he was dying – that’s courage. Penny and Floyd did that and then courageously did for Sam what Sam asked them to do. They brought him home to die. They allowed him to have dignity and privacy and the freedom to die his own way. These days that almost never happens because it is impossibly hard to do. Hard physically, hard emotionally, hard spiritually – I cannot imagine anything harder in this world. But Penny and Floyd did it. That’s courage.

Courage doesn’t always look like what we imagine...

An older brother standing by his younger brother, being for him exactly what is needed at exactly the moment it is needed. Lee did that for his brother. Lee had always, his whole life, gone ahead, shown the way for Sam to follow. And Sam did follow Lee’s footsteps - so much so that one of the concerns in the family was that Sammy wasn’t being his own person. In the end though, Sam was definitely his own person. In the end, Sammy was the one who went ahead. In those first days, weeks after the prognosis, Sam would panic if Lee took a few steps away from his bedside. “Lee!!” Sam would yell. And Lee, steadfast and patient, would always be right there. Later, Sam began to push Lee away. Now I’m not a psychologist, but it doesn’t take a Ph.D. to see that maybe the only way that Sammy could do what he had to do was to push Lee away first. Lee, as usual, provided for Sammy exactly what he needed at exactly the moment he needed it. Lee was a catalyst for Sam – hard as it was, Lee courageously played out his big brother role for Sam and gave him the courage to do what he had to do, to endure what he had to endure and the courage to leave when he needed to leave. It took real courage for Lee, courage beyond his years, to be there like he was for Sam.

Courage doesn’t always look like what we think…

What 23 year old man, could face his own death with the grace and courage that Sam showed. To say that Sam was not verbose is possibly the understatement of the year, but Sam spoke volumes in his actions the last days of his life. Those last days, Sam spent showing those he loved how much he loved them. He watched his mother’s favorite movie – a clear message to her that he loved her deeply and was going to go out courageously if not upside down in an airplane in a barn like in the movie “Secondhand Lions”. He asked to go to his father’s favorite place – Tyler State Park – because he knew how much it meant to his father to go there with him one last time and wanted to do that for him. He spoke volumes of love for his family in what he didn’t share because he wanted to protect them. In the last months of his life, he was still Sammy as his mother would say but grew in courage and grace and love until he could be the one who went ahead, showing the way for the others.

The love and respect each of the family members have for each other is abundantly apparent. Sammy loved his family, he loved them dearly and they loved him just as dearly. There's a saying - it's the space within a vase that allows flowers to be placed there.A teacher once held a silver dollar in his hand and asked his student to take it from his tightened fist. Of course the student could not. He then he opened his fist and asked the student to try again. This is one way to look at the life and at death of Samuel Starnes – Allowing, Trusting, Accepting. We can only let go and become more. I know Sammy would want us to. Spiritual healer Joseph Goldsmith called our lifetime a "parenthesis in eternity" and once the heart is broken, the parenthesis opens to eternity during this very moment. Would any one of us trade the love we felt that left us seemingly "broken" for this moment erased? Maybe, but I don’t think so. It's that very heartbreak that creates the space that allows us to continue in love and with a faith that reaches into Eternity itself.

With much love,
Linda Kersh