I come before you today to honour the life of a friend, a husband, and a father.

You don’t come across a man like Stephen too often in your lifetime. If you were lucky enough to have shared a drink with Stephen, or played a few rounds of golf with him, or watched a basketball game with him you were some of the few to have called him a friend.

He would always make time for you; he would answer your calls at midnight, catch up over coffee, call you up to play golf, send that random text to see how you were doing, be your sounding board, mentor or critic when you needed it. He had the ability to put you at ease with his laid back demeanour, a passion for a good conversation, and just a glint of mischief that would be guaranteed to shake things up a bit.

If you were fortunate enough to have worked with him in any capacity, you know that he was a dreamer and a visionary. There was always something he wanted to achieve, an idea he wanted to try out. I am sure every one who knew him could recall many conversations where he spoke passionately about a new idea he had come across and was trying to implement.

He was a hard worker and stubborn to a fault. When he was diagnosed in 2008 and again in 2015 and again in 2017, leukaemia was not something that was ever going to stop him from going after his dreams. After all, how many people started two new business ventures while battling cancer for the second time?

Stephen often mentioned how blessed he was because of his cancer. Not everyone is forced to re-evaluate their life and be given the opportunity to try and realign it; he was given that chance several times. He never saw it as an ailment, he saw it as an opportunity to improve himself. Stephen’s drive was inspirational. He made you want to push harder, work smarter, and just be better.

The charismatic, often rowdy go getter, is the man that most of you know and remember. But at home, with just me and the kids, he was the silent anchor amidst the mayhem of our young family.

He was the man who slow danced with me in the middle of the living room with no music. He was the man who would buy flowers for his daughter because he wanted to be the first man to do special things for her. He was the man who fought so hard just to be with his boys.

He was our world. Everything was centred around when Daddy would come home and what Daddy wanted to do. We would eagerly wait for him to come home from work or a basketball game or the gym or eventually the hospital. Whenever the door opened and Daddy came home, it meant hugs for everyone and if we were lucky, he would put on some Bruno Mars and start a dance party in our living room.

His most cherished moments were holding our brand new babies. Stephen’s joy was palpable the moment he held each of our children for the first time. He told me that he would have dreams where he would see the kids all grown up but he would be unable to touch them – and that is what he was most sad about. That he wouldn’t be able to watch his kids grow.

The hardest thing I have ever had to tell our kids was to let them know that Daddy was not going to come home. That he was going to prepare a place for them in heaven.

Although there is a numbing ache that comes with this part of our journey, I have great hope that, through you, our kids will continue to learn more about their Daddy as they grow up; that Stephen has made enough memories with all of you that they will continue to hear about the man he was when they encounter him through you. I am eager to see echoes of his spirit as the years unfold. It may be in Lena’s smile, Marcus’ ideas, Noah’s hugs, or Oliver’s laugh. Gentle reminders that he is always with us.

The world is a very different place without you babe. It is much too dim without your smile and much too quiet without your laughter. You radiated life, strength, and hope. I am honoured to have stood beside you as your wife, humbled to have been loved by you, and so blessed to have four beautiful reminders of your love.