Ronan's ship, the L.E. Roisin
A figure walked down the gangplank of the ship and came toward me across the concrete of the jetty, and my heart skipped about fifteen beats. Wearing a dark blue T-shirt and sunglasses, he was taller and slimmer than I remembered, and his stride was cool.
When he got within hearing distance, he asked, “Hey, how ya keepin’?”
I was too overwhelmed to know how to answer. He walked up and kissed me, and his lips tasted salty.
I heard a noise from behind him, and he laughed, embarrassed, and said, “Oh, don’t worry about that, just me mates back there.” The other sailors were whistling and hollering from the ship…
Ronan and I met in Croatia in the summer of 2002 and spent a week together in Miami in the spring of 2003. His larger-than-life stories and funny, thoughtful humility made it effortless to fall in love with him. Talking to him was like stepping into the world in Digital Technicolor when I was used to it in staticky black and white. He taught me more about the world than I realized there was to learn.
When I found out he was killed saving an Iraqi child from sniper fire, I was devastated. My friends knew I was crazy about him, but few knew the extent of it or how much he affected my life. I wanted to write our story anyway, and Ronan’s partner in the UN contacted me and said it would be nice if I could write a tribute for him. So this is it.
