Steve Nagy, Jr. — 3-3-27 to 11-5-20

My father, Steve Nagy, Jr., passed away yesterday. Thursday, November 5, 2020. He was 93 years old, born on March 3, 1927.

He was a good man. One I wanted to make proud.

A story I wrote back in 2008 — Mother of Exiles — found its start in his recollections of World War II. Since he was born in 1927, he turned 18 toward the end of the war. That meant he didn’t see much action. However, he told me he did end up as a guard at Nuremberg.

Prior to his passing from COVID-19 complications, he suffered from dementia. Both he and my mother were moved to a care facility in Ohio, as they were unable to care for themselves any longer. Their conditions had gotten that bad. When I wrote this story twelve years ago, they were both capable and sharp for their age. Dad would have been 81, mom a little younger at about 76.

I don’t know what is worse, that they lost the sense of themselves or that he succumbed to COVID because someone who worked at the facility or visited the facility didn’t believe this pandemic is real. My mother has the disease as well, and I can only hope she makes it through. But she’s lost her husband again, lost her decades-long companion, and whether she will understand that and internalize it is something I can’t know because of her mental condition. The last time I saw them was in 2019, just before I moved down here to Alabama. Dad slept through most of the visit, but he was comfortable, and I didn’t want to interrupt his rest. Mom was awake, but didn’t know who I was, though she smiled when I showed her the picture I had on my phone of her newest great grandchild, Ethan, who was one of the reasons we were moving. Dad saw the picture as well, but the change that had taken them both away at that point had already put too much distance between us.

I’m left with wishes that will go unfulfilled. There is no hope for his cure, for her cure; he will not be brought back from the darkness, and we may lose her as well if this new destroyer has its way and takes her life.

I can only hope. Hope she makes it through, hope she regains herself, hope she understands my dad has gone to a well-deserved rest, and that he was loved. I can only hope you knows that last more than any other thing, that he was loved.

I have posted the story here on my website. Take a moment to read, and know that my dad was a good man.