The Story of Steve

Steve Ybarra was a friend to everyone…he was a kind and gentle soul who loved to hang out, have a beer, and a few good laughs. He loved his family and he loved dogs.

Steve and I met via his brother, Bob Ybarra. The three of us attended Calabasas Elementary School in Watsonville and followed each other all the way through Watsonville High School. We even worked at the same pizza place for a while.

Even though Bob and Steve were always tethered together, Steve and I found time to hang together without big brother. When Steve and I would hang out, we always kept our conversations brutally honest about life, family, siblings, and general nonsense. Then we would laugh at each other for being so serious about ourselves! And in the same moment we would cheer each other, clink our drink glasses, and shoot a shot of whiskey back for good measure!

Steve had always been in my life. I can’t remember a time when he was not. He was in my most inner circle of friends. We traveled a lot of places together…his favorites were Reno, Lake Tahoe, and of course, Las Vegas. We had legendary moments in those cities.

I always gave Steve a hard time for being a Raider fan and I would constantly force my will of the 49ers upon him. Sadly, most years, both teams sucked, so we would banter each other on who would come in last place for the season, so we could get better first round choices for the next season.

Steve enjoyed playing golf. I sucked at it, but he taught me how to play well enough to make it through all 18 holes without too bad of a score. Our favorite place to hangout locally, especially after golf, was Cilantros. It was there we had some of our most outrageous nights that were hard to remember the next day.

I knew this day would come. Selfishly, I just wanted to have more time with him. In his last few months Steve’s health had declined and it was inevitable that I would receive that unwanted phone call.

Steve confided in me…he wanted to choose his own way of dying. He knew he was terminally ill. His liver and pancreas were shot. At first, he struggled with how other people felt. Meaning, he gave it his all to please those close to him to stay as long as he could by being “good” and not exacerbating the illness. But ultimately and finally he chose to think of himself. Die the way he wanted to! He said to me, “I’m going to keep drinking and keep doing everything I want to until I die, because no matter what I do, I’m still going to die sooner than later.” And so, he did. I respect that!

Steve was a brother to me like no other. We had been through a lot in life together. It hurts and I am heartbroken. Even though our time together was a lifetime, it was still too short.

The morning when he died and after I was notified, would be the start of a few days of Steve visiting my home, making his presence known to me in a way I would understand and find humorous.

I hated the cologne he would wear which was Polo. It makes me nauseated and gives me an instant headache. On the second day of his passing, I woke up to the horrible stench of Polo all over me, on my pillow, and on my shirt. It lasted the whole day. He knew I hated Polo. But I knew clearly, it was him visiting me, and at least he waited until mid-morning to bother me, unlike some other spirits who pass through my room at 2am.

Sometime passed before we decided to go and clean up Steve’s room. It was there I could feel his presence strongly. And his Polo was displayed clearly where I could find it, which was near the bathroom sink.

I had a moment where I stood frozen and starred off into nothingness. It was then Steve showed me how he died in his bedroom. His final moments of life before leaving his body. What I saw was Steve getting out of bed to use the toilet sometime around 2 or 3am. He was bleeding internally, in pain, and bled as much as he could out of him while sitting on the toilet.

He was vomiting blood that streaked across the closet door, wall, and rug of his bedroom. He showed me graphic vivid visuals of it. And in his final seconds of life, he showed me he sent a text to his roommate asking if he was awake.

I had to leave the room. It was overwhelming for me. Once I regained my composure, I excused myself from any further cleaning of the room.

Steve lingered until after the funeral. Mainly staying at his parents’ house, watching over his mother and younger brother. Steve was with his dad, who had passed a few months earlier. His mother would pass a couple months after Steve.

After the funeral, Steve stepped back, to allow family to absorb and resolve the loss. All 3 family members passed within 11 months of each other. Steve stayed away, until recently. He decided to visit me a couple of days ago. His Polo present in my room and urging me to write the story of Steve. So here I sit writing…