First smile... first word... first steps... This series of firsts - sbig, small, good, and bad - continues throughout life and follows us into adulthood.
It's a curious thing. Even if were to sit motionless for the rest of my days, those firsts would keep right on coming. With or without our cooperation (or will!), we cannot escape those first times.
Yes, I realize I'm rambling, but for me, writing (and blogging) - the simple act of allowing my innermost thoughts to spill out onto my keyboard can be cathartic... and I could certainly do with some of that today.
Why? Because yesterday I learned of the sudden death of an old boyfriend of mine (old as in 'past', not as in 'years'.) He wasn't particularly old, and that's why his death has knocked me sideways.
Pete was a genuinely good soul. During those frantic, hormonally charged days of my youth, when I lurched from one bad relationship to another, Pete was an oasis of calm during a madly turbulent time. Looking back, he was much kinder to me than I deserved back then, and so of course, our brief affair was doomed.
Nontheless, Pete and I were friends (with benefits) who once shared a summer together.I guess in my way I sort of loved him, although I was never strictly 'in love' with him. Whatever it was that we had together, Pete always made me laugh. He was my drinking buddy. Not only that but he made a mean cheese on toast; he fed me chocolate, and he used those healing hands of his to rid me of my frequent headaches.
It's hard to believe he's gone, that Pete's already achieved that unenviable first of breathing his last breath.
I just can't believe he's gone.
We weren't in touch anymore, and I have no idea of how Pete spent his final years. (Was he happy? I hope so.) I don't even know where he lived, or if he ever married or had kids.
But I guess none of that stuff mattered to me. Not really.
Throughout the years, that gentle, funny guy has always owned a warm spot deep within my heart. I can only hope that he kept a few fond memories of me locked away in his.
Okay, even though the chance of us ever meeting again in this lifetime was always extremely slight/not very likely, I was at peace. It sounds mad, but because I knew Pete was still out there, living his life and doing his thing, somewhere out in this wide wonderful world, I was content to leave him there.
It was enough for me. But now... Now I just don't know.
Rest in peace, Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater. You will be missed. x
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
W.B. Yeats
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