The Taskmaster - Steven H. Leroy

 

Two years ago, in Brenna's honor, I began a journey across country for anoxic brain injury awareness. As you know, behind in Idaho, was a gentleman who monitored my every day, resolving problems as they arose. I dubbed him "The Taskmaster", a name that secretly thrilled him. Until now, I have kept his identity private.
 

Idaho lost a special person on October 1, 2014. The Taskmaster, Steven Harry Leroy, passed away of a heart attack at a Las Vegas hospital. Steven had suffered from congestive heart failure for many years. In 2013, he spent 10 days in the hospital here in Boise. It was touch and go for a few days.  The hospital stay had frightened him. When he was released from the hospital, I knew he could not live alone ever again. His health was just too fragile. I invited him to live in my home. A decision I have never regretted. His daily routine included morning and afternoon naps and early to bed at night. For relaxation, Steven frequently was sitting in my back yard by the lake, watching the geese.
 

Tippy and Gibbs fell in love with Unca Steven, quickly realizing that Steven was a great source of treats. And, Gibbs never barked at Steven as he does everyone else that enters the house. Unca Steven was special.
 

The first time I met Steven was at the inaugural reception for former OK. Governor, David Boren. Steven was one of the young Democrats from DC that day. He recognized that in that fish bowl of politicians, I was out of place. With his usual intensity, he questioned me about myself, but revealing little about himself. I didn't know it then, but that is the way Steven was.

Steven and I next met in 1992 when he taught a media relation's class when I was on city council in Twin Falls. Something struck me about the way he worked. I had never forgotten him and believed after Brenna's death that he would be the one to help me plan and implement the journey I wanted to take. The entire world is familiar with TBI, but few know what anoxia is...a loss of oxygen to the brain.  Steven didn't know at first either, but he learned. From the first moment that he opened up an email from me on July 5, 2012 that landed in his spam box, Steven was hooked.
 

We spent hours brainstorming on my porch for ways to open the doors to legislation for anoxic brain injury awareness. When the weather was bad, we sat across from each other in my living room, emailing our ideas, until he felt it was good enough to send or print. He insisted that I practice a speech until he felt comfortable that I had all the points right. He prepared practice questions for me. When he felt I answered them "too professional", he sent them back to me and asked, "Where did my mother go? You are a mom on a mission, not a pro."
 

When it came time to set up a web site, the team hired to design the site sent a list of available names. I wasn't crazy about any of them and asked Steven to review them. The next morning, I got an early wake up call,  "Open your email. You have a new web site." He refused to tell me and insisted that I had to read it. When I saw the name, I couldn't help but chuckle...he had named it luvurbrain...because I constantly told him how much I loved his brain.
 

Steven knew from his research that there was little information available on hypoxic-anoxic injuries to the brain. No research was being done on rehabilitation of an anoxic brain. He knew that none of the therapists and nurses who had cared for Brenna were brain injury certified. He wanted to change that with a scholarship program through Brenna's Hope.
 

Steven was the driving force behind Idaho's first TBI Summit in May 2013. Watching him prepare everyone was a real education. Steven came alive, doing what he did best. It was a joy to see. He also tackled his work for Brenna's Hope with gusto. One day I asked him why he didn't put BHF on his resume. He said, "I don't want the attention. I do it because I believe in the cause." I told him then that the only way he could keep me from telling anyone about his involvement was to outlive me because if he dared to die first, I would make sure people knew what a compassionate heart he had.
 

Over the last 27 months, Steven became my best friend, a man I valued and loved deeply. I learned from him. He brought me into the world of politics and taught me that getting a new law passed would need to be taken with baby steps. He introduced me to Senator Crapo's staff and when I got to DC in Nov 2012, he met me to guide me through the jungle of subways. When I would get frustrated, wanting change NOW, an emotion Steven felt was wasted, he would remind me to "take a deep breath and rest". And he didn't believe in anger, another wasted emotion. And in so many ways, we were alike.
 

More recently, before his untimely death, Steven was visiting his brother in FL. Steven wasn't feeling well, but he really wanted to go. Nothing could have kept him from making that trip.  From FL, he constantly sent messages of what I needed to be getting done for BHF before he got home. Get the brochures done. Get the PayPal set up. So many little things and he kept them all in order in his brain, keeping me organized.
 

Then he made his last phone call. It wasn't about business. He didn't want to hear about any of my friends. He didn't want to hear about my neighborhood. He only wanted to hear about me. See how I was doing. Remind me to see the doctor for myself. To tell me again, "Pamela, take a deep breath. Rest." He was my health guardian.
 

One of his main focuses over the past two months was whether or not I had a motorhome ready to roll. The old Bounder was long gone, having worn her out. I did find a good deal on a Winnebago from a one owner and prepared it for a long trip. Steven had more work to do and he felt he could do it from an RV as well as he could at home. He promised me that our RVing wasn't over.  Before Brenna got sick, she had found a corporate retreat for sale. It would make an ideal brain injury recovery center. Steven's job, he thought, was to get the price greatly reduced. My idea was that with his gift of gab, he could talk the long retired owner into donating it to a good cause.
 

It is difficult to believe that I will never hear the timber of his deep baritone voice again. Never have him surprise me with crab again. Never have him planning an outing again. Never saying, "Pamela, you need 8 hours sleep." "Pamela, these people don't need to be calling you so late at night."
 

Steven will always be The Taskmaster, the man of my older years, who came into my life and made my days bright again.
 

In his honor, Brenna's Hope Foundation has established Steven's Hope Brain Injury Education Fund at Wells Fargo Bank, to provide scholarships for therapists and nurses to become brain injury certified.
 

Rest in Peace, Sweet Steven. Until we meet again on Heaven's shore.