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Stepan D Hurlburt 1978 - 2005

Stepan D Hurlburt of Milford, New Haven County, CT was born on October 6, 1978, and died at age 26 years old on August 15, 2005.

Stepan D Hurlburt

Step, Tex

Milford, New Haven County, CT 06460

October 6, 1978

August 15, 2005

Male

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Stepan D Hurlburt Stepan Hurlburt (1978 - 2005)

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Stepan D Hurlburt's History: 1978 - 2005

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10/6

1978

Birthday

October 6, 1978

Birthdate

Unknown

Birthplace

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Early Life & Education

Pope John XXIII Sparta Highschool
Personal Life & Family

my son Stepan was a wonderful, warm, lovey, sensitive, earthy young man, who loved cosmic thinking and spiritual loftiness. he followed every earth-saving pursuit we have going. he loved animals and people and the trees and deep, rich conversations. he cherished the social network of friends he had in highschool, and strained to get back together with them, tho the years and the burdens of adulthood pulled them further and further away from him. Stepan was a brilliant student in school and a varsity athlete in football, until a mental illness began to emerge when he was around 16. He knew something was happenning to him. He tried to tell us he felt something going wrong in his brain, but we didn't understand what he was trying to tell us. By the time he was 18, he was diagnosed as full blown schizopenic with a side order of bipolar. He remained a generous, warm, loving, cosmic boy even with the disorder. He loved driving, loved all kinds of music, all kinds of reading materials and random, eclectic things he would find along his way thru the world. He liked the meds his doctors tried him on. He loved that they made him have deep, rich sleep and vivid dreams. If he went off his meds it took him about 8 weeks to deteriorate to the oint where the whole world could agree and see that he needed to be caught and hospitalized, and he took those hospitalizations with equanimity and acceptance. Always came home wanting to do better, to be better, and would look back and see how foolish his behavior had been in 20 20 hindsight. It took him a while, but he'd eventually see what he had done and apologize for it sincerely. He wanted to work. He was intent on getting off his disability checks by going into a noble effort like converting cars to run on water, or air, or hydrogen--anything but polluting fuels. He enrolled in auto school, twice, to learn how to do the conversions. He tried massage school, but panicked and pulled out at the thought of clients suing him for possible sexual harrassment false charges. He owed the massage school 800 dollars for dropping out. He bought a 2002 GMC truck and then gradually realized what the payments were going to require of him, but he was game to try. He was doing all right. He dreamed of marrying one of the girls he'd loved in high school, and sent them presents of things he'd find in his wanderings. He kept in touch with the guys he treasured most from their time in high school together--Eric Sapp, the deep intellectual who went to Yale Law School and became an environmental lawyer and married a woman from Iran. James Shortway, the buddy who joined the Army and became a sniper hunting for Bin Ladin in afghanistan. His buddy Ali, the saudi arabian son whose family owned a business in New York City and an apartment where Stepan always went to visit when he was in the City. He treasured these fellows like jewels he'd found and kept. Stepan had come to stay with me out here in 97, newly diagnosed and hard for the whole family to handle. I found us a big old victorian house in venice beach with a lot of yard around it, and took on the task of roping him in and showing him how to live with a mental illness. I myself have dealt with having clinical depression for decades, and knew the terrain all too well. It was a wild ride at first, but he tamed down and learned to spot his symptoms and recognize how they came out. He took his meds, he saw his doctor regularly, he completed all the arrays of paperwork that came with wanting to do anything while on disability--going to school, getting a job, buying a car, moving cross country. He handled going to jail for a week, he handled being the target of identity theft and straightened that out.he was a high functioning patient. He had gone to live on the atlantic coast to spend time with his father, something he had yearned for since he was 3. His father had married and bought a big house by the seaside on the coast of connecticut and finally could have a place for his son to come and stay with him. Stepan got stepsisters in the bargain--- college age, who welcomed him into their activities. It seemed there was finally a family: his Dad, a stepmom, sisters and a brother, a dog, a new truck, going back into school, a big house, his old friends within visiting reach.... but friday night, his dad and stepmom went out to visit dad's sister and spent the weekend. all seemed normal. Stepan was home by himself with everything to call on. everyone was within easy reach. his father and stepmom came home sunday night in a pitch black thunderstorm and went straight up to bed on the second floor. they didn't look in on him and even if they had, and found his room empty, they wouldn't have thought anything of it; he might have gone out with his stepsister's crowd to some event. when the sun came up today, monday, they looked out their upstairs bedroom window and thought they saw him sleeping, out in the yard in the hammock. last night's thunderstorm made that seem very strange, but stepan did odd things sometimes. they went down to see what was up. they were going to take a picture to show him later. later is never going to come. from all appearances, Stepan got himself a flare gun from somewhere. Might have bought it, might have found it. While he was home alone with no one else there, he laid in the hammock and tried two shots into the air-- and then put the flare gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. he's gone. his father called me this morning to tell me the news. the state of connecticut is taking over, looking into seeing whether the kid had taken drugs, looking to see if there are any markers in his bloodstream, and doing an autopsy. i asked for them to shave his head and save me all his hair in a ziploc bag, to remember him by. the talk is about cremating him. stepan was too cosmic and loving for this tired old world to understand. i know he was a gift from God, he was the unexpected answer to a prayer i sent up, and i can understand why he might have gone back. the world didn't know what to make of him.
08/15

2005

Death

August 15, 2005

Death date

Suicide

Cause of death

Unknown
Death location

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Did you know?

Stepan D Hurlburt lived 48 years shorter than the average family member when died at the age of 26.

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