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Memories of Steve
This page is dedicated to the memory of Steve Naylor.
He died in the spring of 1989, and his memory lives on!
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Steve was a part of my family from the day he was born. His aprents and mine had been friends even bfore I was born. I remember growing up with the parents playing cards on Friday nights and all of us kids being put in another room to play. He was 3 years younger than me, and he was great fun.
In high school, we attended rival schools. We were both in ROTC and had a lot of fun competing against each other. By the time he was in high school, he was standing well over 6-1/2 feet tall. He had the bluest eyes and the blondest hair. A flirt from the word go, and an athlete to boot. But back then, we were the best of friends and nothing else.
But that all changed in the spring and summer of 1987. My oldest daughter was born in March of that year, and our families tried to have us get married, to he wasn't the father, and at that time, never even could have been considered such. Although the parents all thought that it would be a good idea, we thought otherwise and left it at that.
Later that spring, we went on a date. We partied and laughed and drank way too much, And so we ended up sleeping together. We became lovers, and he moved in with me. We had some great times, and really enjoyed each other's company. He was a tender lover, and took really good care of me. We rode his motorcycle all over town and out into the country. It was a good time in our lives.
Alas, the good times were not to last. He haad decided that maybe the parents were right and that we should get married. Me, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with that particular prison. And in the fall we parted rather bitterly. We went our separate ways and made the best of our lives apart. We never spoke again after that night.
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Over the winter of 1988 and early 1989, he tried to contact me by phone. I was pregnant again, and very unhappy with life. My aunt had died in October, and my father was very ill. I was in no mood or frame of mind to talk to him. Mostly, because I had begun to realize that I had made a mistake about not marrying him. I finally realized that I had fallen in love with him.
My daughter was born in February of 1989. By late that spring, I was being seen by a psychiatrist and he told me I needed to resolve my feelings for Steve and to get on with my life. I was still not ready to tell him how much I loved him. And then it was too late.
While I was struggling with my emotional problems, he was too. He had gone to my father with talk of suicide. My father told him that if that was ttruly what he wanted to do, then the only thing he could say was to not leave a mess for his mother. Steve had asked my father to intervene on his behalf with me and my father said I had to make my own choices.
Less than a week later, in the wee hours of the morning, while his mother was away from home, Steve stepped in to the shower, turned it on, placed the barrel of a pistol in his mouth, and pulled the trigger. The last thing that he had heard and listened to was to not leave a mess. And he didn't.
At least not a physical mess. Though no one blamed me, because I guess they never knew, except my father, I blamed myself. And I still do. I can't help but think that if I had not been so stubborn, and had answered his calls, and told him how much I loved him, then perhaps he would still be alive.
Most of my family knows I blame myself for not telling him I loved him. But this is the first time most of them will know all the truth. Sso all that I can say is that even if you have doubts, tell the person you love them. It could save a life.
