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!