We met in 1982, when Steve walked into the old location of Murphy’s Pub. Evie and I were running the open mic. He was the prettiest man I ever saw, with a thousand watt smile, suspenders, creased jeans and a cap. He played and sang like an angel, and when he was done, he sat on the couch. I sat on the arm of said couch, and after we’d talked for a bit, he put his hand over his heart, looked up at me with those big blue eyes and asked if he could follow me home. I said no. My resolve lasted until two weeks later, when he came back.
We broke up in ’87, spent 16 years passing each other like ships in the night, and got back together in 2003. From that moment to the last, we weren’t apart a single night. If he went to the hospital, so did I. If there is a hereafter (and with all of the messages I get, how could I believe otherwise?), all I want out of it is to be with him again. All I ever wanted of Heaven is in his eyes, in his arms, in his kiss. And if, contrary to my (and others’) experiences, there’s nothing, then my starstuff will be with his, and I’ll still be content. I hope I don’t have to wait long. I’m gutted without him. Lost.
I love you, my Stephen John Patrick Lalor, beyond the rings of the world, ’til every star burns out, and after that. Goodnight, love of all my lives. I miss you more every day.