The first poem that was spoken:

THE DASH
by Linda Ellis

I read of a reverend who stood to speak
at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the date
on his tombstone
from the beginning... to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth
and spoke of the date with tears
but he said what matter most of all
was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
that he spent alive on earth and
now on those who loved Steve know
what that little line is worth.

For it matters not how much we own;
the cars, the house, the cash.
What matters most is how we lived and loved
and how we spent our dash.

So think about this long and hard,
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
You could be at "dash mid-range".

If we could just slow down enough
to consider what's true and real,
and always try to understand
the way other people feel, and
be less quick to anger,
show appreciation more
and love the people in our life like
we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
more often wear a smile
remembering that this special dash
might only last a while.

So when your eulogy is being read
with your life's actions to rehash...
would you be pleased with the things they say
about how you spent YOUR DASH? 

The eulogy read thereafter:

I am honored to say these words by and on behalf of many people in this room and elsewhere.

"When Things Fall Apart" titled a semester of my college experience. In those months we studied the Book of Job in an effort to learn how to handle life when all its meaning, love and possessions are stripped away.

At university we debated how 'Man is inherently evil' and other negative views of 'human nature'. But I know my friend Stephen Keller was none of that; but rather, a great person who did not deserve his final fate. As Ed Mee put it in a recent email, "There's not a bad bone in that man's body." I've many more memories that paint the portrait of a normal fella with an abnormal appreciation for the grace granted us through life. Steve made my time around him a pleasure, and thus, we crossed our paths as often as our daily lives would allow...

Unconditional Faith was proposed be fellow students as the only way to cope in bad times. But I am frustrated and sad with God for not answering the multitude of prayers said in many languages on my friend's behalf. I had Faith that he would get through this thing. That he'd beat it in the way he did the Leukemia that attacked him prior to our relationship. It's not enough for me to accept that God knows best and that Steve is in a better place.

As several have said, life does not teach us how to cope with this type of grief. Anger, frustration, agony, sorrow, despair... do not touch the depth. After all, how can one fathom the loss of such a fine son, brother, husband, father and friend. I just want him back...

===============================================================

So to me, my dear friend Steve's untimely taking has very specifically brought to home life's randomness. My way of dealing with the void of his absence will be to honor his presence. I hope we all share similar stories at the celebration and in the days and years hereafter.

I was privileged to spend one of the best years of my life with Steve on a Davidson Junior Year Abroad program in Wuerzburg, Germany. The experiences of those nearly twelve months cemented friendships that have only strengthened over the decade since. Steve Keller does and will stand as a pillar in those relationships. Our group bonded in the cellar bar of our student apartment, The Laterne. We met the English, the Italians, the Spanish, and yes, even a German or two. And if I remember correctly, in the second semester there was this cute little Greek lady that caught Steve's eye - one Elena Chatziliadou.

We celebrated 'being' in our times at The Laterne. We were young, brash, without responsibility, in love and in friendship - all at a foreign place away from home. Our elation bubbled over. We'd cook meals and sing and drink and dance in our common kitchens ... much to the chagrin of our German hallmates. He laughed at their sleepy-eyed entreaties in a German language which our tipsy minds could not quite grasp.

We popped pour corks in the music room, little more than a hovel across the street from Haus Berlin. But to us, wrapped up in the magic of the year, it provided a grand stage to play guitar into the wee morning hours. We belted out "American Pie", "Boxer", "Only the Lonely", "Country Road" and "Heart of Gold" in repeated ribald refrain.

But revelry did not rule the entirety of our lives. Yes, there was sport. Though Steve and I were not so good, where talent did not suffice, we simply out-sweated and subsequently out-beveraged the lot. Soccer, hacky-sac (Steve perfected the outside-the-circle, back-over-the-head into-the-group side-foot-flick), Chester, walking (usually to a bar, but it's still sport); all these activities interspersed our time together.

And travel. That was the key to our Junior Year Abroad. During the first semester break, Steve and crew rambled in his VW Bus in a southwesterly direction toward Gibraltar, until he landed on a ferry and hit the brakes in Morocco. I've heard many a tall and harrowing tale of that journey to and fro.

Yet perhaps the most Steve-esque story emerges from a trip through Eastern Europe. Steve, ever the honest lad, had one penchant for lawlessness. He did not like to actually pay for the tickets on public transportation. He cheated the subway in the Czech Republic, was immediately apprehended, and had to pay a 10 mark fine to an un-uniformed 'government official'. To drown his sorrow, on the way out of nearby Poland, he purchased a large bottle of Coca-Cola. As we were late for the train, he quickly paid and hurried off. Shortly after we pulled away, he realized that he'd given the vendor 1,000,000 Polish whatevers for a 40,000 whatever bottle of Coke. In all the hurry, and not used to so many zeros on his currency, Steve had bouyed the Polish economy to the tune of about $45 for a $2.50 bottle of soda. You could see his temperature rising as he looked to his watch to check the time. Steam blew out his ears as he ripped off his watch, said his famous "Damn!" and threw the broken timepiece out of the window. Exhausted by his ordeal, he propped up those long legs on the seat in front of him and dozed off. Minutes later, he was awakened at the Polish-German border by guards armed with sub-machine guns. They asked for all of our passports as was typical at the time. Yet they did not give Steve's back and asked him quite rudely to "come with them". Quite unsurprsingly, our flustered friend had been charged again. You see, propping of feet on the plush, Polish train seat results in a $20 fine. Again, he paid a gentleman in civilian clothes this bribe, er...fine.

Perhaps we were too involved in our travels, singing and revelry. Perhaps we did not use this year to the full extent possible to broaden our academic horizons. Balderdash and Hogwash! say I. Steve attended lectures, seminars, translation classes and more. His German guided us on many a trip through Europe. But alas, the goal of this year revolved around extending our minds around much more than textbooks. Rather, we reached toward an appreciation and respect for new lands, gained understanding of that wide world away from out homes and built life-long friendships.

The year spun itself as a golden web of pure magic. Right down to the indelible image of Ed Mee teared up and giving our bus the one finger wave as we departed for Frankfurt airport.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

There are so many stories to tell. The following year at Davidson a large group traveled in another van to eat Maryland Blue Crabs and watch Steve's beloved Baltimore Orioles play at Camden Yard. In 1995 Dave, Ed and I visited Elena and Steve in Greece. We witnessed the idyllic life our beloved friend led in seaside Xanthi. We saw Mr. Steve as his students call him with his future wife, new friend, surogate family. He was in one word, happy.

That happiness bore itself out in one of the best weeks of my life. Spent amongst many of you, the occasion celebrated before God, family and friends the marriage of Elena and Steve. We all did it together over many frappes, late nite tiropota and spanakopita, Heinekens, Buzios... A beautiful service (though somewhat hot) and a party - the joy and happiness of which has rarely been seen - punctuated the week. Nobody dreamt we'd meet again so soon at a service like this.

Steve and Elena made a point to sprinkle our visits to them with their own flights back home. They always came to see us. We never missed a beat.

The fact that Steve's chapter in the book of my life has prematurely ended rips me. Yet somehow and somewhere thankfulness has emerged. For as Mr. Keller told me, he twice went to see Leukemia take his son, yet Steve survived to enrich each of our lives. So I am grateful that God granted us the grace to know Steve Keller. I am stricken that God took Steve back to him so soon.

Yet Steve was and shall remain a teacher. So what is the lesson he would teach us in his death? Perhaps he'd say that we need to embrace the slow, cultured pace of Greek life. That we must take time for our friends and families in the midst of our daily tasks. Love our spouses. Hug our children. Appreciate life for each experience that it, makes as it happens. Thank God for the grace of life, as it is a gift. Steve was given to each of us for more than a decade. In that time he has reminded us of the value of being a son, brother, husband, father, friend and citizen and thereby made us better at each. He spent his time well. And I love him and honor his memory.