Austin Meffert

Austin Lyons Meffert, age 27, passed away on Friday, April 15, 2016 in San Antonio. He was born on April 5, 1989 in Anchorage, Alaska but soon moved to San Antonio where he graduated from Keystone School in 2007.

Austin was passionate about welding but his son Leon was the true love of his life.

Austin is survived by his son, Leon Meffert and Leon's mother, Tabitha Coker; parents, Jeffrey Meffert and Paula Lyons; younger brother Ian Meffert and adopted younger brother Zachary Coker; Grammy, Marcella Meffert and Nana, Beatrice Lyons; and many loving aunts, uncles and cousins.

The family will receive friends from 1:00 P.M. to 2:00 P.M., Sunday, April 24, 2016, at Porter Loring Mortuary North.

ROSARY

SUNDAY, APRIL 24, 2016

2:00 PM

SERVICE

SUNDAY, APRIL 24, 2016

2:30 PM

PORTER LORING NORTH CHAPEL

In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to the Animal Defense League (http://adltexas.org/help-us/donate/). Austin loved all things furry and four-footed.

A Eulogy for Austin Lyons Meffert

From His Godfather, Tom McRae

When I was 16, my brother died of Reye's syndrome - an uncommon complication of taking aspirin during a viral illness. He was 13. When I was 17, my father committed suicide. He was 1 month shy of his 41st birthday. A few months after his death, I went off to college and spent most of my freshman year trying to understand and to accept what had happened.

What I finally came to learn were 2 things. First, death is a part of life. If you are born, some day you will die. Of course, we all hope that will be after a long, full life, but for many, many people it is not. Whether due to war or acts of terror, famine or natural disaster, accident or disease, lives end before they should, and there is no justification – it just is.

And what makes it so hard for those of us who survive is the loss that we feel. Whether it is the very tangible loss of what a father can provide for his children or the less tangible loss of a child's smile and the pleasure we take in watching him or her grow, the loss hurts. Understanding that, led me to the second thing that I learned. To begin to heal, you have to let it hurt to the fullest extent possible, because only then can you begin to let go of the pain and to recognize that the loss is not absolute, that there are many ways in which our loved ones live on – whether it is in memories or genetics or tangible creations like photographs or letters or actual things they have made.

As I said, I learned these things when I was very young, and now, more than 40 years later, I have had to apply them many times. It doesn't really get any easier – I guess that's what it means to be human. And so it has been this week since I learned of Austin's death. Austin was my first godson. As a gay man, not planning to have my own children, I was thrilled and honored when Paula and Jeff asked me to be his godfather. I still remember holding him, along with Marcie, in that little hill country church during his baptism.

Before I left yesterday, I came across a photograph of him and me sitting in a pile of toys and smiling for the camera. He couldn't have been more than 2, and he was beaming.

And one set of memories that I think is particularly important to share is from a trip with his family to visit us in New York that says so much about who he was and why we will miss him so much. I don't remember how old he was, maybe 12 or 13, but there are 2 things I will never forget. The first is that when asked what the one thing he really wanted to do in New York was, it was not "Go to the Statue of Liberty" or "Climb the Empire State Building," it was "I want to be a salmon." Of course none of us knew what he meant, and we had to ask. What he meant was, he wanted to be that person going against the sea of humanity like he had seen in the movies – whether it was trying to get into a subway car at rush hour or going up an escalator when everyone else was coming down. It was a tribute to his creativity, his desire to be unique, and I was impressed. The other stand-out memory from that visit was when we were having lunch in Chinatown, another item on his bucket list. During lunch, Ian poured soy sauce onto whatever he was eating, and a dead cockroach fell out along with the sauce. Instead of turning it into a horror show, Austin saved the day by saying "Oh cool! You got the lucky cockroach!" With his brother's interpretation and clear approval, Ian and the rest of us were able to finish lunch. And Austin showed us many things – again his creativity, but also his kindness and his caring for his brother.

So those are some of the things that I will hold onto from this wonderful young man, who inexplicably contracted this terrible disease, as so many have done of late in this country. And now, so sadly, it has taken him, and we will never know why – other than that it was his time – and we can only cope by focusing on what he gave us – his son, Leon, and the photographs and cards and thank-you notes, and all of the positive memories that we can muster.