THE CUISINART COFFEE MAKER

“The next morning when I woke up, he was drinking a cup of coffee and asked if I wanted one too.”

According to a friend, I announced my plans to date Steve a year or so before we actually met. This surprised my friend because other than the fact that Steve and I were both in pharmacy school at the University of Colorado, we didn’t seem to have much in common. Steve was an upperclassman, a Colorado native, soft-spoken, well-groomed, dressed like a grown-up; I was a fast-talking kinky-haired bohemian-style first-year loudmouth from Perth Amboy, New Jersey. 

When we finally did meet, at a hospital in Denver, I was a pharmacy intern and he was a pharmacist dating another pharmacist. The minute she broke it off with him, I made my move. To say I was attracted to Steve is an understatement. It was his looks, yes (among other things, he had amazing hair that women, even lesbians, swooned over), but it was also his demeanor: calm, patient, kind and funny in a goofy way. I asked him out for a drink and the whole night as we talked and laughed, he never took his eyes off me until my purse fell and my diaphragm spilled out of it. The way that made him smile still makes me smile.

The next morning when I woke up, he was drinking a cup of coffee and asked if I wanted one too. I was a tea person, but it didn’t matter; we were an item from that day on. Steve liked my opinionated Jersey personality. He said I made his life exciting. On May 30, 1980, he asked if I wanted to get married, and four months later we did.

He became a pharmacy director. Everyone held him in high regard. He enjoyed his work—really, he enjoyed his whole life. He loved hiking, skiing, fly fishing and drinking single-malt Scotch but was also happy to go with me to English tea or to the ballet. He made fantastic cheese and veggie omelettes and great pancakes. And of course every morning he woke up early and made coffee. One Christmas I bought him a Cuisinart coffee maker with an insulated carafe so he could make extra and it would stay warm. 

Steve survived colorectal cancer, surgery, radiation and chemo in 2005 and again in 2014. Following the 2014 surgery, he developed nerve damage in his left leg and had to start using a cane to walk, so we decided to downsize to a one-story place somewhere without snow or ice. The Cuisinart coffee maker claimed a spot on the kitchen counter in our new home in Florida, and I started making Steve’s coffee when he started sleeping later than me.

The nerve damage in Steve’s leg eventually resulted in a wound that required yet another surgery. Though the procedure—on November 19, 2020—was successful, he contracted COVID-19 in the hospital and died a month later. To say my life was forever changed requires a word beyond “understatement.” Steve was my best friend. He loved me unconditionally and supported all my endeavors, good and bad. He made me laugh. He cheered me up when I was down. Even before we got together, he made me feel special.

In 2023, wanting to keep Steve near, I got my first tattoo: a note from him, in his handwriting, saying how much he loved me. Wanting to keep him near is also why I keep the coffee maker. I think I will always miss making Steve his coffee and watching him enjoy it. In fact, I miss it so much, I’ve started making coffee for myself. Every morning as I drink it I think of my soulmate, and it brings a shot of joy to my lonely days.

—Cynthia Johnson 

Steven Roy Johnson, 1954-2020, the love of my life.

Steve’s love tattooed on my arm.

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Cindy Johnson is a retired pharmacist and social worker who now does voiceover work (www.voicesbycindy.com) and teaches muscle-recovery workouts and grief yoga.

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