Stephen George Porter
September 16, 1957 - May 27, 2026
It is with broken hearts, full memories, and probably a little bit of a noise complaint that we announce the passing of Stephen George Porter, who left this earth on May 27, 2026, at 9:23 p.m. at the age of 68.
Steve was born on September 16, 1957, and from that day forward, the world got a whole lot louder.
He was the beloved husband of Susan Porter, née Lousley, whom he married on July 19, 1977. Together they shared nearly 49 years of marriage — a strong, beautiful life built on love, loyalty, family, laughter, and likely more than a few “Steve, what are you doing now?” moments.
Steve was the proud father of Matthew, Jonathan, Amanda, and Lacey, father-in-law to David, Jason, and Vicky, and grandfather to Carmen, Taylor, Isabella, Adeline, Lincoln, Dylan, and Noah. He is also survived by his siblings Beverley, Shelley and Michael. His family was his greatest joy, even if he occasionally kept them on their toes — medically, emotionally, and with whatever new project he had decided needed “just a little more chrome.”
Steve was predeceased by his mother, Reta; his father, Roland; his sister, Sharon; and his brother, Patrick.
Steve loved Harleys, cars, music, clean vehicles, and anything that could be souped up, polished, modified, or made louder. In his opinion, most things in life could be improved with more horsepower, more shine, more chrome, or a better story. His vehicles were always spotless, and it is entirely possible that he personally kept the local car wash industry alive.
He had an infectious, booming laugh — the kind of laugh you did not just hear, you experienced. If you were down the street and heard that laugh, you knew Steve had people over. There were friends, there were stories, there was probably music, and there was definitely volume. He had the kind of presence that filled a room before he even finished walking into it.
Steve could sell ice to an Eskimo and make them feel like they got the deal of a lifetime. He was persuasive, charismatic, mischievous, and a rascal in the very best way. He collected stories the way some people collect antiques — except his were louder, funnier, and probably involved someone saying, “Don’t tell Susan.”
He loved people, and people loved him. He had friends everywhere and seemed to connect with every generation. He was the life of the party, the spark in the room, the one who made things fun, and the one who could turn an ordinary gathering into a memory. He loved having people over, bringing out the guitars, and, when necessary, playing the Congo drums to keep the rest of us on the same beat. There was music, singing, laughter, and the kind of noise that meant life was being lived properly.
Over the past 20 years, Steve faced many health challenges, and in true Steve fashion, he kept everyone guessing, worrying, laughing, praying, and occasionally shaking their heads. He went through more than anyone should have to, but his humour, strength, faith, and larger-than-life personality remained.
On his last day here, Steve was quiet — which, for anyone who knew him, was unusual enough to be worth mentioning. But his hospital room was not quiet. It was full all day long with family, friends, stories, laughter, music, singing, Scripture, and love. Even then, he let us know he was still with us through raised eyebrows, little smiles, and squeezes of the hand.
And yes, there were noise complaints.
Of course there were.
But honestly, that just meant we were doing it right.
Steve knew he was going to be with Jesus, and that gives his family deep peace. Scripture was read over him, including the promise that there will be no more tears, no more pain, and no more suffering. We are grateful beyond words that he is now healed, whole, free from pain, and in the presence of Jesus.
And yes — he has his feet.
No prosthetics. No pain. No limitations. Just Steve, fully restored, probably walking around Heaven looking for someone to visit with, something to polish, and a way to make the place just a little bit louder.
Everything is much quieter now without him here.
He will be deeply missed, loudly remembered, and forever loved.
A formal service to honour Steve’s life will be held, with arrangements entrusted to Doyle’s Funeral Home in Carman, Manitoba. Following the formal ceremony, everyone who wants to join in a true Porter Party is welcome at the reception at Lacey and David’s yard. Bring a chair, a drink, and a guitar for an evening of music, stories, laughter, and fellowship — just the way Steve would have wanted.
“He never had any grass growing under his feet.”
September 16, 1957 - May 27, 2026
It is with broken hearts, full memories, and probably a little bit of a noise complaint that we announce the passing of Stephen George Porter, who left this earth on May 27, 2026, at 9:23 p.m. at the age of 68.
Steve was born on September 16, 1957, and from that day forward, the world got a whole lot louder.
He was the beloved husband of Susan Porter, née Lousley, whom he married on July 19, 1977. Together they shared nearly 49 years of marriage — a strong, beautiful life built on love, loyalty, family, laughter, and likely more than a few “Steve, what are you doing now?” moments.
Steve was the proud father of Matthew, Jonathan, Amanda, and Lacey, father-in-law to David, Jason, and Vicky, and grandfather to Carmen, Taylor, Isabella, Adeline, Lincoln, Dylan, and Noah. He is also survived by his siblings Beverley, Shelley and Michael. His family was his greatest joy, even if he occasionally kept them on their toes — medically, emotionally, and with whatever new project he had decided needed “just a little more chrome.”
Steve was predeceased by his mother, Reta; his father, Roland; his sister, Sharon; and his brother, Patrick.
Steve loved Harleys, cars, music, clean vehicles, and anything that could be souped up, polished, modified, or made louder. In his opinion, most things in life could be improved with more horsepower, more shine, more chrome, or a better story. His vehicles were always spotless, and it is entirely possible that he personally kept the local car wash industry alive.
He had an infectious, booming laugh — the kind of laugh you did not just hear, you experienced. If you were down the street and heard that laugh, you knew Steve had people over. There were friends, there were stories, there was probably music, and there was definitely volume. He had the kind of presence that filled a room before he even finished walking into it.
Steve could sell ice to an Eskimo and make them feel like they got the deal of a lifetime. He was persuasive, charismatic, mischievous, and a rascal in the very best way. He collected stories the way some people collect antiques — except his were louder, funnier, and probably involved someone saying, “Don’t tell Susan.”
He loved people, and people loved him. He had friends everywhere and seemed to connect with every generation. He was the life of the party, the spark in the room, the one who made things fun, and the one who could turn an ordinary gathering into a memory. He loved having people over, bringing out the guitars, and, when necessary, playing the Congo drums to keep the rest of us on the same beat. There was music, singing, laughter, and the kind of noise that meant life was being lived properly.
Over the past 20 years, Steve faced many health challenges, and in true Steve fashion, he kept everyone guessing, worrying, laughing, praying, and occasionally shaking their heads. He went through more than anyone should have to, but his humour, strength, faith, and larger-than-life personality remained.
On his last day here, Steve was quiet — which, for anyone who knew him, was unusual enough to be worth mentioning. But his hospital room was not quiet. It was full all day long with family, friends, stories, laughter, music, singing, Scripture, and love. Even then, he let us know he was still with us through raised eyebrows, little smiles, and squeezes of the hand.
And yes, there were noise complaints.
Of course there were.
But honestly, that just meant we were doing it right.
Steve knew he was going to be with Jesus, and that gives his family deep peace. Scripture was read over him, including the promise that there will be no more tears, no more pain, and no more suffering. We are grateful beyond words that he is now healed, whole, free from pain, and in the presence of Jesus.
And yes — he has his feet.
No prosthetics. No pain. No limitations. Just Steve, fully restored, probably walking around Heaven looking for someone to visit with, something to polish, and a way to make the place just a little bit louder.
Everything is much quieter now without him here.
He will be deeply missed, loudly remembered, and forever loved.
A formal service to honour Steve’s life will be held, with arrangements entrusted to Doyle’s Funeral Home in Carman, Manitoba. Following the formal ceremony, everyone who wants to join in a true Porter Party is welcome at the reception at Lacey and David’s yard. Bring a chair, a drink, and a guitar for an evening of music, stories, laughter, and fellowship — just the way Steve would have wanted.
“He never had any grass growing under his feet.”