First kisses and final wishes

Somehow I managed to take the news well when it came. Oh no!  Him!? I hadn't thought of him in ages. We had parted ways ...what, 30 years ago? It was sad news, my very first boyfriend has passed after a long painful battle with MS... and I immediately regretted not staying in touch but I swallowed the news and put on my "public face" and soldiered through the day. I pushed the news into my back pocket and sat at the Fair, chatting with people and doing business.

That night, however, the information came crawling out of my back pocket and planted itself square on my chest. That sorrow. That heaviness. I could see Roberts face as clearly as if I had just talked to him. I hadn't actually seen him in decades though.

He had a brilliant funny smile that made him always look as if something sarcastic was about to be said. He looked like he knew a hundred amusing things you did not. His eyes forever mischievous. 

I can see him laughing and talking and hear his voice perfectly...a strange testament to the magic of your brain preserving memories perfectly. 

It was hard to sleep. I thought about him and how I let him down as a fellow human and friend. I did not stay in touch. He had asked me to and I did not. I could've, would've, should've... And I didn't. Don't we all have stories like that? 

When I woke up he was heavy on my mind. He deserved some words. Our little story was never told. Your first kiss, boyfriend, crush- holds a very special place in your life. No one else gets to claim that.

I used to cry over Robert and our breakup- my fault- for being a jealous girl and way too young. I cried the way only a teenage girl can. It's the end of the world, after all. 

We would see each other off and on even after splitting up. You think your tears for that person are over, you move on with life. So do they. Other relationships fill your world and you bury the thoughts and memories in the attic of your psyche.

But today I find myself teary and as full of heartbreak as if me and Robert just split. I feel 14. I'm 45.

I still had tears to shed for him after all these years. Not because I wanted things to be different but because he had so much pain in his world and I wasn't any help at all. I cry because he took part of our story with him. I cry because he reminds me of our lost youth and the hardness of life. But I also cry that he is released from this pain at last. You never forget your first ...and he was a very sweet first.

Sometimes you realize you are still a teenager at heart. And any childish utterance of " it's just not fair!" that teenagers are known for- become all too true as an adult ...and real life hits you hard. 

Today I find myself grief cleansing the house and indulging in the crap you eat as a teenager because your body hasn't revolted on you yet. Wolf brand chili on a hot dog and Lays potato chips. It feels necessary to put vinegar and Ajax on everything and scrub away the dirtiness of life- wearing the very same Cure shirt that you wore that day over 30 years ago to catch that first boys eye. 

Life. It's stupid and wonderful and horrible and beautiful...and I will just never understand it.