Ann Gorewitz's husband Steve, her soulmate of 45 years, passed away after a three-month battle with a rare pneumonia following a routine surgery. During his final months, Steve communicated through a notebook, eventually writing illegibly before stopping altogether. The notebook went missing during his transfer to palliative care, despite Ann's desperate pleas to hospital security. In its last entry, Ann had drawn a heart and written, "Ann and Steve forever."
Steve and Ann met in 1976 at a teacher workshop in New York City's Lower East Side. Ann initially thought he looked familiar; Steve thought she was hitting on him. After Ann was laid off and transferred to another school, Steve was the first person she saw. She ignored him until a mysterious voice in her sleep told her he was "so good looking, intelligent and decent." She began noticing his blue eyes, slender physique, and passion for teaching. She asked him to lunch repeatedly; he refused until one day he agreed. Over grilled cheese at a nearby restaurant, he mentioned his love for ballet. Ann suggested they go together, but he didn't respond.
A Revelation Over Dinner
The next day, Steve confessed he was depressed. Ann suggested doing something together, and he invited her to a Fellini film that evening. At dinner beforehand at the Riviera Cafe, he revealed he liked men. "I've slept with two women in my life, but I prefer men," he said. Ann swallowed her wine, realizing his past rejections weren't about her. "Thanks for sharing," she managed. "We could still be friends." At the movies, someone held someone's hand. Afterward, he invited her to sleep over at his apartment, and she accepted.
An Unconventional Marriage
They married in 1976 and were together for 46 years, counting from when Ann moved in after that night. Neither could recall who held whose hand first. Ann believed it was bashert—divinely foreordained—since a voice in her sleep had brought them together. Steve was bisexual and slept with men before and during their marriage, with Ann's blessing until the AIDS crisis made it too risky. Ann also had other partners, but Steve worried she might get emotionally involved. She never did. "Steve was my best friend. My soulmate. No one could compare," she said.
Birthdays and a Beloved Dog
Ann drilled into Steve that birthdays mattered to her. He called her birthday "the worst day of the year" because finding the perfect gift made him anxious. But he always made her feel special. In 2020, during the COVID-19 pandemic, their beloved cocker spaniel Cassie died suddenly. They searched for a rescue dog but found none. Steve suggested finding a breeder. They found one for mini golden-doodles an hour away. The mother-to-be, Lola, wasn't pregnant yet, but Steve insisted on a large deposit. Soon Lola was pregnant, and the breeder posted Instagram updates.
Illness and a Puppy Named Romeo
By then, Steve was hospitalized with multiple strains of pneumonia on a ventilator. Ann had watched him conquer throat cancer and aorta valve replacement, but this felt different. When Lola's nine puppies were born, Steve and Ann looked at photos through masked nurses and doctors. Steve chose Romeo, the one with a white heart on his forehead, writing in his notebook: "Romeo, the one with a white heart on his forehead. That's the one for us." As Steve's condition worsened, his writing became illegible. He scribbled, "Am I dying?" Ann assured him he wasn't, but the doctor told her the pneumonia was rare and the medicines weren't working. She signed a Do Not Resuscitate directive. Steve was transferred to palliative care. He passed away at 2 a.m. before the vent was turned off.
A Birthday Gift from Beyond
Hours after Steve's death, Ann received an email from the breeder: "Let's talk. We're ready to decide which puppy is right for you." Ann requested Romeo. The breeder set a meeting for May 12—Ann's birthday. Ann believes without doubt it was Steve's birthday present to her. Romeo will be ready for pickup on June 27, their wedding anniversary. Ann kept her maiden name, but the puppy's surname will be hyphenated with both their names. "Our relationship might have been unexpected and unconventional," Ann wrote. "I could have walked away when Steve told me he was mostly interested in men, but I didn't. I felt something beautiful and true blossoming, and I stayed."
Love Imprinted Forever
Hospital security never found Steve's notebook, but Ann says it no longer matters. "'Steve and Ann forever' is imprinted in my heart. And now Romeo, with his white heart on his forehead, will be by my side." Ann Gorewitz is currently working on a memoir, "Dog Therapy: Loving and Losing Cassie," about the healing effect of loving a dog during her husband's illnesses.
