THE WEDDING:

We were married on Saturday, September 21, 1980 in Perth Amboy, New Jersey.

Steve and I met at Beth Israel Hospital in Denver, CO. But according to Donna, a classmate of mine, I had my eyes on Steve long before we actually met.

Apparently, Steve walked by us one day while we were hanging out in the quad on the University of Colorado Boulder Campus. I told Donna that I planned to date him.

Steve was dressed in a shirt and tie, while I was in jeans and a tee shirt with curly hair in an afro.

Donna thought, no way. Two years later, to her surprise Steve and I were living together.

Then one day, while Steve was driving on the Boulder Turnpike to Denver, he said, without looking at me, “Maybe we should get married.” I wasn’t sure if that was a proposal or a proposition.

Apparently, it was a proposal. We announced our engagement to family members who happened to be in Denver for my pharmacy school graduation celebration. Four months later, we were married in First Presbyterian Church by Pastor Justin Mattot, a former Catholic — which made my father happy, since the he couldn’t find a Catholic church that would marry us without requiring us to sign over our firstborn.

Bottomline: he was the love of my life. Did we argue? Hell yeah. But Steve was also my best friend and the person who always had my back. He knew me–all of me–and somehow loved me anyway. Most people don’t understand what I had with Steve. I know I was lucky. But truthfully, I still want more.

That’s probably the hardest part of an anniversary after loss. The calendar keeps moving, but the love doesn’t.

THE LAST ANNIVERSARY:

Our last anniversary together was in 2020.

We celebrated with lunch at Ulele Restaurant on Tampa’s Riverwalk with Erica, our only child. Ulele is a beautiful restaurant with a connection to Florida’s history, named for Princess Ulele of the Tocobaga Tribe.

I remember that lunch because I didn’t know it would be our last anniversary together. I didn’t know that a few months later, Steve would contract COVID at the hospital where he was being treated.

Princess Ulele saved Juan Ortiz, a Spanish sailor, from being killed by her tribe. Unfortunately, I could not save Steve from COVID. That sentence still hurts to write.

Steve used to tell me, over and over, that I had saved his life from colorectal cancer. I had advocated relentlessly with his healthcare providers. I questioned everything. I pushed when I was told no. I refused to accept answers that didn’t make sense.

Once, I asked Steve a simple question: “did you have a good life with me?” He answered immediately, “Yes, I love you, and you saved my life more than once.” I have never forgotten those words.

The saddest part is that the man who told me I had saved his life more than once died from something I could not save him from.

I couldn’t save Steve from COVID.

And there is something particularly cruel about knowing you spent so many years fighting beside someone–supporting, protecting, loving, arguing, laughing, planning–and then suddenly there was something you couldn’t fight your way through.

46 YEARS:

September 21, 2026 would have been our 46th wedding anniversary. I wish I were still planning what restaurant we would go to. I wish I could hear Steve recite a ridiculous metaphor, argue with him about something stupid, have him tell me I need to “calm down,” and then pull me in for a hug.

I wish I had one more day.

One more argument.

One more laugh.

One more anniversary.

Instead, I have photos, memories, stories, and the stones I made from his ashes. They sit in my home as a reminder that someone I loved existed and that 46 years of love does not disappear because someone’s life ended.

Steve was my husband, my best friend, and the love of my life.

So, forty-six years just wasn’t enough!

I still want more!

Our former NJ Governor Tom Kean was pulled from political retirement shortly after September 11, 2001 to
lead the official bipartisan 9/11 Commission that resulted in a 576-page report. It demonstrated “massive government failure” of multiple government agencies. Many needed recommendations were made to better protect our citizens from future terrorist attacks. There was no national bipartisan commission to investigate America’s COVID response even though the evidence shows that so many fatal mistakes were made. The number one responsibility of government is to protect its citizens. Our present Congress has been unwilling to form a bipartisan Covid commission as they did with 9/11. This is so frightening, irresponsible and dangerous. A future Pandemic in the next 5 to 10 years is not only predictable, it is predicted.

There are two days in the thirty-three years I shared with my partner, Jody Settle, that filled me with fear: September 11, 2001, and the day, in April 2020, as I watched him taken away in an ambulance struggling with COVID-19. Both times, I worried that I would never see Jody again.

This week the eyes and hearts of residents of New York City and the world turn their thoughts to the commemoration of the terrorist attacks that destroyed the World Trade Center twenty-five years ago.

I had left NYC early that beautiful morning headed to Massachusetts for a family funeral. As I walked into my mother’s house, the image of the second plane crashing into the South Tower splashed across the television screen. I froze, worried about Jody’s safety. I pulled out my cellphone and tried to call him, but there was no signal. This was the start of a day of worry.

We left for the funeral. Antsy and anguished, I continued to try to reach Jody, but cellphone service was reported out in the NYC area. I finally called his mother in Texas and asked her to keep trying to reach him on our landline. “Tell him I love him and to please stay home and be safe. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Sadly, my mind could not focus on the funeral rite. I just wanted to leave and head home. The service ended and everyone wanted to me to go to brunch with them. For me, it wasn’t time for brunch. “No, I’m going home.”

I got into my car and left for home. I kept trying to call Jody, but was always unsuccessful. The trip was surreal. I only remember seeing a handful of cars on the highway. Traffic was not permitted to enter Manhattan. Luckily, I found street parking in the Riverdale section of the Bronx and started to walk the three or four miles home.

As I walked, I kept trying to call Jody. About ten blocks from home, I finally got a connection. We were both relieved and began weeping aloud. At last, I reached home and we embraced and just held each other for the longest time. He had received the message I sent via his mother. Our neighbors had looked in on him to make sure he was safe and not alone.

In subsequent years, as the World Trade Center area was rebuilt, a memorial was created honoring the 2,753 people who died there — a fit tribute to them and the first responders who fought valiantly to save them and have suffered consequences in the years since.

As someone who lost a loved one to COVID-19, I often wonder when a memorial for the more than 46,000 New York City residents who died during the pandemic will be built. The grief and pain of loss experienced by their families and friends needs to be recognized in a collective manner in the same way that the victims of September 11, 2001, are remembered.

I have only visited the WTC memorial once in the past 25 years dragged along by visitors who wanted to view the memorial. Inside the museum, there is something called the “blue wall” designed by Spencer Finch. It consists of blue tiles of various hues, one for each of the victims of that day. Embedded in that wall is a quotation from the Roman poet, Virgil, which reads “No day shall erase you from the memory of time.” That too seems an appropriate statement for all those lost to COVID-19.

In April 2020, when my brother Johnny tragically died of Covid-19 along with tens of thousands of our citizens, Dolly Parton gave 1 million to Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville, Tennessee. Her contribution helped to fund the crucial research that led to the Moderna vaccine. She also encouraged the public to trust the process at a time of so much misinformation, confusion, misrepresentation and fear. Everything about the pandemic and the vaccine became sadly and unfortunately politicized. Dolly Parton stepped up and even appeared on camera receiving the Covid vaccine. She helped to save countless lives during the pandemic . She was for so many reasons the best of the best in humanity. She will forever be missed.

My brother Johnny’s birthday is August 9 th. He would be 72 years old but he died in the beginning of the Pandemic. He loved gardening so much and was very gifted with a green thumb. He grew the most beautiful dahlias, zinnias and marigolds that often bloomed near his birthday. There were many other flowers in his garden but these were his favorites. He said these flowers enhanced his garden and attracted the beneficial insects and loved the hot weather. Johnny always took good care of his garden as he did with our grandparents, parents, friends , neighbors and pets. He was an outstanding caregiver.

My brother knew how to make the gardening season last forever until winter came. In early August he would plant flower bulbs for the following spring. Everyone loved to visit Johnny’s gardens. I am very grateful that I have the many memories of all the joy gardening brought to Johnny and all others. Every time I visit a beautiful flower garden it is bittersweet. It reminds me of how lucky I was to have such a wonderful brother for 66 years and yet how sad I still am that Covid stole him like a thief in the night.