Nathan Everett Fleming

Nathan was one of a kind. A great soul, wise beyond his years. Loving and kind, funny, smart, interesting, easy-going, a little bit goofy and always positive. The kid who gently and patiently helped care for younger children. The student who loved his physical therapy class and wanted to start a career in medicine. The sharp-shooter, Tolkien fan, accomplished gamer, tenacious soccer defender and flag-football champion. The cancer patient who bore so much, never wanted his disease to define him, shunned pity and made all the doctors and nurses laugh. The loving son and brother. And so he will remain. Nathan was loved more than words can say by his father, Mike, mother Michele, step-mother Salma and especially his big brother Spencer, who withdrew from college to help care for him. His grandmother, Lala, spent the last six weeks with him, trying each day to help him live. His dogs Milo, Buck, Stoney, Parker and Major Tom adored him. His grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins knew what an exceptional person he was, and all shuddered to imagine a world without him. He was loved immensely and offered a heart full of love himself. All will miss him dearly. Perhaps most of all, Nathan was incredibly brave and resilient. In middle school, when his best friend tripped on the steps and a porcelain cereal bowl broke, bizarrely severing his friend's artery, Nathan calmly applied pressure and called 911. His friend almost bled out, but survived by a whisker. EMTs came to the door a few days later and reported that if Nathan had panicked, even for a minute, his friend certainly would have died. They said he was a life saver, a hero. All in a day's work. He approached his illness the same way. He endured – with more grace than any would have thought possible – a year of grueling treatment, complications and aggressive, relentless cancer. He should have been selecting a college and enjoying his last year of high school, but instead had to complete his academic requirements at home, earning his diploma on time in June of 2019. He remained positive and a joy to be around throughout his struggle. As just one example, when his mom complained bitterly that his cancer was evil, he disagreed: “Look, it made me lose 50 pounds of fat!” Humor in the face of adversity. Classic Nathan. The only good thing that can be said about cancer is that it doesn't kill you instantly. It allows some time – at least for the courageous – to laugh, love, and speak those words that too often go unsaid. Nathan was granted time, and he made the best of it. He chose to live and to keep loving. He chose to laugh rather than to cry. He chose to grit his teeth and endure. His life was cut cruelly short, but he accomplished much. None who knew him well will ever forget him. We also know that Nathan will live on. He'll be with us forever, manifest in a thousand different ways. In our memories, in our hearts, in our attempts to match his courage against our own adversity. In the sparkle of a star and the beauty of a sunset, Nathan will abide. No day will pass devoid of memory or sign of his existence. As in a hushed forest after the crash of a great tree, we'll know unmistakably that he existed, that he enriched our lives, and that he endures.