When a pizza is so much more than just a pizza
After I paid for the two large pizzas and a half gallon of house salad I told a couple of the employees that I wanted to share something with them. There were three young ladies gathered and I told them that these were not to be just ordinary pizzas, as they were the request of my dear friend Steve, one of the best guys I have ever known, who when asked to think about the one thing he wanted more than anything else… chose pepperoni and sausage pizza. The ultimate comfort food. The three young ladies smiled and offered words of gratitude, and went back to their work.
I had suggested a lobster tail or an exotic sushi roll, or literally anything he could imagine feasting on, but after thinking on it for a day or so he ultimately said he wanted a sausage and pepperoni pizza from Haus of Pizza. I’m certain other long time Costa Mesa residents will understand this decision.
And so it was, Steve Hunters’ glorious pizza and a second veggie one for whatever family members might be gathered.
Steve’s sister Amy greeted Johnny and I at the door of her house, and without saying much kind of kept us hanging out in the front dining room area. We put the food down and she grabbed some paper plates, etc. Finally, she said somewhat jokingly, “Steve is in a compromised position.” I looked into the living room at the couch where Steve spends most of his time, and there were a couple of men I did not know helping Steve to sit up… I think they were also helping him change his clothes and as well, his catheter. I heard Steve wince a couple of times from the pain of trying to move.
After a couple more minutes of slowly maneuvering Steve and doing whatever they were charged with doing, the two guys backed away slowly and seemed to signal that all was done and the visit could begin. Steve made it clear that he was ready for the fun to begin by saying in a typical Steve manner, “where’s my pizza!?” I know I am not the only one who is comforted to know that he has not lost his sense of humor. Something tells me that Steve, in his own humble way, is doing all he can to bring comfort to those who are now surrounding him. That is the kind of man he is, more concerned about the people around him. A man with his focus turned outward.
Steve’s cancer may ultimately win the battle, but certainly not because Steve gave up the fight easily. He has endured aggressive treatments, hospital stays at Hoag and UCI Medical Center, and has fought the good fight bravely. He is now at home and on hospice care … with home in this case being his sister Amy’s house where he is surrounded by his large and loving family. Amy and Peggy, Mark, Hunter, Abbey, Emma, Tara and Grandma. The three dogs - large, medium and small - and the cat that apparently stays outside. And then there’s his friends who drop by with pizza and who love and admire him for his unwavering wit, positivity and charm. His friends who wish with everything they’ve got, that things could be different.
I sat across from Steve, next to Johnny on the cushy red couch. I was determined to watch him take his first bite of “his pizza”… not just any pizza, but the pizza he chose over all edible options. Amy gave him a single piece. He raised the plate very slowly to his face, and smelled it first. I could see a hint of a smile start to form. Then he pulled a piece of pepperoni off and gently put it in his mouth. His smile grew, and he closed his eyes. In that moment, all was well with the world. For a brief few seconds, pepperoni made everything right.
Over the next ten minutes, I continued to watch Steve as he ate as much of that piece of pizza as he possibly could, which amounted to about 5 bites. He had a bit of the antipasto salad he requested as well, specifically without tomatoes. Something tells me this was one of his largest meals of late. I recall at one point I closed my own eyes, my mouth full of goodness, and actually thanked God for pizza, as it certainly held more meaning than it ever had before. And I consider pizza to be one of the most perfect of foods.
Over the next couple of hours, we talked about random things, ate some chocolate treats, and drank a beer or maybe two. All the while Steve did his best to stay awake, but it had been a big day for him. A good day. He had a few visitors and it is clear to everyone that having his wonderful family around almost all of the time, and being visited randomly by friends, is at this point his juice. It is what brings him around to being Steve - the funny, kind and humble guy we have all grown to love. No one asks him to do anything that is hard for him, and that includes staying awake. He is in and out of consciousness at this point and he is doing his very best. It occurs to me he is simply worn out and everyone grants him that.
I visited Steve two days ago for the first time, and we talked for maybe twenty minutes, all the while he struggled to keep his eyes open. I told Amy to go take a badly needed nap, and she jumped on the chance. Within a few short minutes the two of them were both deep in slumber, so I just sat there quietly, just me and my old friend. I recalled the many good times we had back in high school, and over the years that have followed. I had the chance to study his thinning gray hair and to listen to him snore peacefully. The neighborhood was strangely quiet, save for the sound of the young kids playing outside.
As I sat in relative silence, I thought about just how much I admire Steve for his incredibly positive demeanor, and was unable to remember a single moment he was anything other than his gregarious and humble self. I literally came up empty in my mental search for a time when he may have said something negative about someone. I am not saying he never did, but suffice to say it was a very rare occurrence. Steve has always truly been one of the really good guys, if “good” is measured by virtues like kindness and humility. And if a sense of humor and a contagious laugh are among the measures then Steve is as good as they come.
When I left I told him I would see him today. That was two days ago. When we left tonight I told him I will see him in two more days. I jokingly added that I knew he had no interest in seeing me every day. We both laughed and he nodded in agreement.
What I didn’t say out loud on either occasion but whispered to myself was “God willing.”
Steve’s family – his sisters and nieces and brother-in-law and mother-in-law are all asking why… why Steve? I am asking the same thing, as are all of his other friends. No part of Steve leaving the earth any time soon makes any sense. No part of it feels even a little bit right or fair.
Steve on the other hand, in his gracious and humble way, keeps saying the same thing… “It is what it is.” There’s no visible anger. No self-pity. What Steve is showing the rest of us is acceptance and grace. There is only Steve.
I am still wrestling in my mind and heart with the mystery that was shared again tonight by Steve’s most loyal pal Gregger… it’s the eternal question “why do bad things happen to good people?” I know all I or any of us can do with that one is put it in the category of mysteries never to be solved.
What is not a mystery at this point in time, but rather the ultimate and poignant truth of life, happens also to be the title of one of Neil Young’s classic songs… “Only love can break your heart.”
The things we value, the things we hold dear or ponder for their meaning or message are as varied as the many people we know and love. So much will forever remain beyond my own limited understanding, at least while I remain here on earth. But I am fairly certain that pizza will never be the same for me going forward. It will hold a far more special place than it ever has. I am quite certain that I will never stare down a first piece of pepperoni and sausage pizza, without first smelling its wondrous scent, and pulling off a piece of pepperoni and placing it on my tongue, eyes closed so as to fully marvel in its deliciousness. And in that moment some time down the line, I’m guessing God will tap me on the shoulder, and I will glance upward. And in that quiet moment of blissful reflection, I will think fondly of my buddy Steve, one of the best pizza loving men I have ever known.
