Lowell George Steffens

As his only grand daughter, I cherished my unique relationship with my grandfather.

I remember being whisked away to "ranch camp" during the dog days of summer with Marino to spend a week tucked in the protective embrace of the northern Michigan forest with him all to ourselves. It was during these treasured weeks that some of my best memories with him were forged. From a haphazardly ride in a handcrafted boat in which we surrendered ourselves to the mercy of the ebb and flow of the Au Gres River that snaked through the property, to learning how to drive stick in my parents´ Jeep in which he surrendered himself to an anxious 14 year old who had never sat behind the wheel.

While his passing is undoubtedly tragic, I find solace that he has found his way back to my beloved grandmother, Sandra Kay. Although I never had the chance to witness them together, I bore witness to an unspoken connection that remained paralleled even after all these years apart. Through my independent relationships with each of them, they imparted lessons and memories that one would start and the other would finish, unbeknownst to them. It was through these fragmented memories that I was able to stitch together what life could have been like had they remained together. It brings me peace they finally have the opportunity to go back to their roots.