He wasn’t my first love or even my greatest love, but he had been one of my serious loves, and now here he was — for the last time — seriously and forever gone.
I don’t recall what brought me to turn to the all-knowing Google for an online search, but an obituary that told of his death was not what I expected to find. Thirty years later and again I was reminded how quickly time flies. Just like life’s flitting pages, the shared moments still bound to my memory now flashed through my mind.
Slow dancing to Foreigner’s “I Want To Know What Love Is.” It’s funny how certain acts, specific points in time get seared into the brain. It was the theme song of my life at the time, but a story role he later professed to no longer have an interest to play. The closing of that chapter left my longing and misunderstood heart to once again wonder if I would ever know true, lasting love.
I moved on, literally and figuratively, but there were times when my thoughts flashed back to reminisce on the time he and I shared. And now, with news of his passing, I searched for his letters, long stashed away.
The first letter reminded me that I “need to live more in the present than the past,” a condition that has apparently plagued me for years. One week later: “I will never forget you or how you changed my life.” His obituary confirmed he had since married, albeit later in life, and I now wondered whether that declaration of a lasting impression had cracked and faded or mirrored mine.
The letters that followed discouraged me from moving back, trying to convince me (or maybe himself) that it was truly over. At seven months and hundreds of miles apart, the next to last letter admitted what I’d believed all along: “I think about you and care more than I probably care to admit.” Another month passed, and the final letter confirmed why and when we gave up the fight: “It will not work out between us.”
Reading between the lines of those pages now spread out before me, I was once again reminded that being open and honest with ourselves as well as others requires that we be brave. Avoiding change, disappointment, or hurt does not save us from pain. Instead, it just alters our direction and points us to a different struggle ahead.
Struggling with the news that this piece of my life was now forever, physically gone, I took comfort in realizing the role he played still lived on in my heart and mind. Studying the one close-up photo I had as though it was a portal in time, I could again hear his laugh, see his smile, and the light and life in his eyes twinkled on.
Yes, knowing and speaking the truth of our hearts may require a commitment to the effort, but these few letters confirmed that even the feeblest of attempts can defy time’s boundaries and allow memories to stay alive. As I returned the letters to their resting place, I paused to again say goodbye, vowing to live the values of this latest lesson with hopes my light too will live on.
Here’s to the memories, Carl. I hope your heart and life were full.
© 2019 HSE
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