Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago, it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
- Simon and Garfunkle
It was November 14. So long ago. My best friend Heidi and I were sophomores. We had attended a fancy reception for all the pre-law students. Just awful. We returned to the dorms fairly disgusted with the rich college kids we were surrounded by. We came back asking ourselves, what were we doing with those people. We knew in 30 years they would be no different than they were tonight. Effetes. Privileged. Smug. We didn't want to fall victim to that.
Feeling at odds with our chosen college/career path, and out of sorts with the world, we changed out of our formal wear and into jeans. The night was clear and comfortable, and Heidi and I decided to go for a walk.
We came downstairs to the dorm reception area, and there he was. Long hair, oversized tape recorder slung over his shoulder, mic in one hand, silly grin. "Good evening, ladies, the weaker sex, most of whom are women..." he said in his best DJ voice. It trailed off after that because we were SO upset at the levity in contrast to the pomposity we had just experienced. Heidi shoved the mic back into him, saying, "what do you mean, women are weak!!" and we walked out, intending to walk under the stars in the clear night air and calm ourselves.
Shortly into the walk, just a few dozen yards from our dorm, she decided she wanted to go on alone. I honored that.
And that changed my life.
I returned to the dorm, having really no place else to go, and "he" was still there. I was fascinated. My dad was a musician and growing up I had been in radio stations, live music venues, recording sessions and the like, so a guy with a tape recorder was not really so out of place.
We bonded instantly. I've often tried to understand why, but it defies logic. We were different in so many ways, and yet, oddly, had much in common. Both orphans. Wickedly smart. Terrific sense of humor. Later, we would talk about having been together in a previous life. I came to believe it.
We got married almost five years later. Until the end, we celebrated two anniversaries -- November 14, and then our wedding day on April 5.
It was a tumultuous life, full of highs and lows, fabulous great experiences and terrible nightmares, music and drama and the law, but it was a life I could not have had with anyone else. Despite all the good and bad, and the joy and anguish, the bond that was instantly ours on November 14 never went away.
And so, when his spirit left this plane many years later on July 23, I was devastated. Despite difficulties and depressions, Steven through it all was my rock, my best friend, my biggest fan and greatest cheerleader. Even in our darkest days, he would support me in my work and cheer me on. When I needed advice, he always gave it. I knew whatever I needed was just a phone call away. And I like to believe I was the same to him.
The end came as a shock. It was a sudden illness that he ignored and by the time he realized the gravity, and reached out for help, it was too late to save him.
I recall being in the hospital surrounded by his family, being offered comfort, and also being offered pharmaceuticals because I was so distraught. But what I remember most was the sense of being utterly alone. Such a big part of my life and my identity was now gone.
I soldiered on, if for no other reason that to comfort our children, but they found no comfort and they suffered greatly with the loss.
Only now, years later, can I think back on my life with Steven, and have gratitude for all it was. And understand that the pain was part of our growth and that the good part needed the bad part to appreciate all we were and all we had. Now, for me, there is no "bad" or "good" -- it simply was our life and I wish it had not stopped so abruptly. There's so much I would love to share with him now, including the memory of the anniversary of the night we met.
I have a large framed photograph of Steven and me that recently came out of hiding. It was taken when we had been together less than a year. He was working at the Hollywood Bowl and I was standing next to him at the mix board obviously discussing something of great importance. An unknown photographer snapped our picture from a distance. The candid shot so perfectly captured us at that moment in time, young and intent and earnest. Our daughter insisted it be hung on the wall in our home, a place I bought last year, so it is a place Steven was never in. At first I was uncomfortable having it there, but it has come to be a bit of a comfort to me. Looking at it now brings a slight smile, as it reminds me of the life that was, and of the beginning, and of the end, of our time together.
And now, tonight, the anniversary of the night we met, when the night air is as comfortably cool and invigorating as it was all those years ago, I look at the photo with a wistful thought and just a dash of melancholy. I celebrate who we were, the bad days and good, the fun and not so fun, and our building a life and then our trying to redefine it when what we built fell apart. Tonight, I celebrate that beginning, and I celebrate the "us" that was.
Bookends. November 14 to July 23. I have a photograph. And memories.
Wish you were here.
copyright 2020
