Eulogy for Steve Terrill
Steve Terrill led a challenging life. He brought ferocious creativity to his work and passion to his relationships while stretching the expectations others had for him. If he had an animal spirit, it could have been a tiger. Like a tiger, he was a wonder to watch, very handsome, incredibly fast, fearless, reveling when he had fulfilled his desires, and dangerous if cornered.
Steve got his name from his grandfather, Dr. Stephen Kelly, a wise humanitarian who served as the weekend veterinarian at the Detroit Zoo. Dr. Kelly was a great storyteller. One story he often told was how magnificent animals kept in confinement would easily hurt themselves. And even though Dr. Kelly knew many treatments that could help them, he always held back at first, knowing how his patients would resist help, tearing off bandages and re-opening wounds treated without their consent. Being a willing patient required a degree of cooperation that went against the wild animal’s nature. That was also true of his grandson. Steve seemed confined by what most of us embrace as the fundamental rules of life. He may have felt like he was in a zoo, a place where people admired him but became frightened as he roamed about.
Steve had a breathtaking intelligence, bringing joy and laughter to many. He was swift, devious, intense, loving, and hilariously funny. Not only Steve’s parents, siblings, lovers, cousins, and children, but also his employers, teachers, and even the President of Rwanda learned to think twice before challenging Steve. He could unleash anger and forcefulness of reasoning that would leave most in shock. Now that he is gone, those who knew him remember the intensity we experienced as he moved through our own more tranquil lives.
Steve pursued skills that most of us would not attempt. He learned a complicated system of working with autistic children and got very good at it. He knew how to manage a diverse crew of immigrant workers rehabilitating buildings. Most of all, Steve mastered performance, both on the theatrical stage and in life. His work alongside professional actors brought praise. At one point, it seemed as if it might lead to a path of growth, but that would have required greater stability than he could sustain. Steve practiced yoga and meditation and learned how they could be applied to heal the effects of trauma. He pursued an outlandish idea to use these skills to help the victims of the Rwandan genocide. Thrust into the unfamiliar culture of Rwanda, Steve adapted and soaked up vast amounts of local information. He became a professional journalist and photographer for the BBC and a French news agency while based in Kigali.
Steve completed a book about his experience in Rwanda. He had difficulty taking advice, but he did accept changes to his manuscript suggested by colleagues. Completing that arduous task, he was not ready for the long slog of convincing a publisher to pick it up, nor the relatively less glamorous route of self-publishing. This pattern dominated his life: a period of extraordinary accomplishments, somewhere between three months to a year, followed by a crash, depression, moving away, using drugs, and going in and out of rehab.
Steve eventually became open and scientific about battling his addictions. He pursued several alternative treatments and sought out clinical trials for medications that might reduce the power they had over him. In the last months of his life, Steve received high-dose transcranial magnetic stimulation that carried some risk of seizures in hopes that it could cure him. As he worked on his physical, mental, and spiritual well-being, he achieved greater stability than ever before. Always taking risks others might avoid, Steve traveled in these dangerous times to remote healing centers. Exhausted after his last trip and burdened with accumulated injuries, he passed away in his sleep.
