That Which Remains Unspoken

I recently learned that an old friend had died.  His death came upon me like a phone call in the night, unexpected and emotionally jarring.  I found myself reminiscing about the times we had spent together.  

Over twenty years have passed since I last saw him.  And yet, in my mind's eye, I can see him as if it were yesterday. He is wearing a leather jacket, a broad smile stretching across his handsome face.

I remember the way my heart flipped when I saw him, and the voice in my head that said, "Give it up, Leah.  He will never be interested in you." 

I thought I would never see him again.

But, Fate had other designs...

It turned out he was interested in me.  We had a brief, passionate romance that ended in heartache.

I soon discovered that his interest in me was merely superficial.  He enjoyed visiting, but became less interested when he saw the emotional baggage I was toting.  To use street vernacular: he was a Play-ah.

Though I was distraught, our parting seemed to mean very little him.  I walked away feeling less of who I knew myself to be.  I felt...pathetic, desperate, ashamed of the way I acted around him.

So, why, over twenty years later, do I feel bereft at his passing?  Perhaps it is because I never told him how much he meant to me...just as he was.  Sure, he was a Ladies Man, and I just another notch in his bedpost, but he made me feel...audacious and desired.  He was a charmer who possessed the rare quality of being able to make every person he spoke with feel special.

I wish there was some way to tell him how sorry I am sorry that he had to suffer.  I wish I could tell him how much he meant to me, how I used him as a yardstick to measure every man that came after him.

I wish, too, that I could tell him how much his philandering broke my heart.  I wish I could let him take a peek at my days gone by - let him see how many tears I wept over him - how many times I wished that he would make some grand gesture to prove to me that he truly loved me...just as I was.

In the end, I realize that things happened the way they did for a reason.  He lived a full, vibrant life and loved many women after meeting me.

I married a loyal, honest man who says he loves me despite my many flaws (verbosity and over-analyzing being at the top of the list).  We have been blessed with two beautiful children.  Could I hope for more?

The loss of my ex-lover has taught me to accept things as they are and not as I once wished them to be.  I am learning to accept the notion of loss, and that some things, though powerful and true, must remain unspoken.

Sometimes, when the house is quiet and I am alone with my thoughts, I wonder if my memories of him aren't just highly-embellished illusions, conjured to ease my lonliness and quell my feelings of self-loathing.

It is during these times that I remind myself that I have been blessed with a life far greater than I ever imagined.  And these reminders help to ease my regrets...