Sigh

I'm very melancholy today.

Last night I had a dream about my first love.  It was very vivid, we were both young, (Don't you love those kinds of dreams.) and happy, and obvious looking forward to a future together.  Why is it first loves sometimes tend not to work out?

I never forgot about him, and he was the only man I loved, really, really, really loved.  I had different kinds of love as I went through my life, but they were never like the love I had for him.  I thought of him, and think of him frequently, his memory is in a pretty little box sitting on a shelf in my office.  Sometimes I open it, and smell the smoke of his favorite cigarette, his aftershave, see his pink and grey car, his slightly crooked smile, and his beautiful red hair.  There are times I shed tears.

But, he married, somebody else, I moved to California, and time passed.  I can see now it passed very, very quickly, too quickly.

We lost touched, until my mom passed away, when at that time he sent me a beautiful sympathy card, it is now in my scrapbook.  I wrote him a lengthy letter back.  In it I said I was not trying to re-enter his life, thanked him for the card, and then told him about my life over the past years.  I explained he did not have to reply, that I was simply glad to have heard from him.

Therefore, I was quite surprised when a few weeks later I got a call from a mutual friend that he would like to call me, and did she think I would be agreeable to that.  I guess the phone line didn't even have a chance to cool before she was on the phone with me.  I told her I would be delighted to hear from him.  She called him back, and he called me.

My heart leaped into my throat...

We had a delightful, long talk.  Caught up on much, and he said he would call again from time to time if that would be okay.  Would I have said it was not okay?  I think not.

I told Paul about the call, he was fine with that, and didn't even care if he would call back.  After all, how much bad can happen when the two parties are three thousand miles apart.

And so it was that every couple of months I would get a call from my first love, we talked about the past, the present, and even about 'what might have been'.  It was a lovely time...just the two of us.  This went on for a couple of years, I so looked forward to our calls.

Then...one day...our mutual friend called...she told me he had died of a massive heart attack.  I wept.  I had not lost him once...I had lost him twice.

So, I love when I have a dream of him, and love going to my little orange covered, empty box on my office shelf.  I open it and there he is...the memories, smells and sights leap out at me in wild abandon.

I'm coming someday, Ronnie, wait for me.  I refuse to lose you a third time.