In Memory of My “Friend”

Last week I was made aware that a friend I had known from childhood had died suddenly.  I was stunned because this wasn’t just any friend, but this was a guy who was my first boyfriend: my first love.  With the exception of some messages we traded back and forth over Facebook (“How are you?”  “How is the family?” “How do you like living in Charlotte?”, etc.), we had lost touch, and I hadn’t spoken to him in years, so why do I feel so affected and heartbroken about his passing?  Since I heard the news, I find myself thinking about him all the time – even dreaming about him.  However, before the news, I honestly can say that I didn’t think of him that much.  Through the power of social media, I was able to get a glimpse of what his life was like before God decided that his presence was needed in Heaven.  He was married, had kids, and was even a Grandfather (a point he made sure to mention to me in our message exchange last year.  I felt his sense of pride in the words he typed).  He was beloved by all who knew him, which did not surprise me because he was a pretty cool dude (it was nice to see that others thought so as well).  I can still vividly remember the night when I first met him at a house party, in Brooklyn, more than twenty-five years ago.  I remember that he was sitting down talking to some friends, and he and I looked at each other, and neither one of us could turn away.  I can’t remember what happened next, but I know that shortly after that house party, he became my boyfriend.  He was tall, handsome, and had the biggest prettiest eyes I had ever seen.  I was the envy of a lot of girls my age.  He made me feel special, made me feel that big girls were worthy of love too, and we had a lot of fun together.  He said he loved my middle name (“Monique”), so he took to calling me that instead of my first name, so much so that if he ever called me “Tara,” it sounded strange.  Although, to hear him say my name (either name) made my heart melt, you know that knock-your-socks-off, butterflies-in-the-tummy, weak-in-the-knees type of melt.  Now, I won’t completely romanticize this relationship because there were some hard moments, and my heart was broken, but that is to be expected when you’re young and in love (or so you think you are).  However, I have zero regrets about the time we spent together because in every relationship, whether it is romantic or platonic, you should learn, grow and walk away with great memories.   I did that with him.  While we were not meant to be together for the long haul, there is a part of me that wishes that I could have gotten to know the man he was before he passed away.  I wished we could have had consistent communication.  I regret that I didn’t make more of an effort to do that.  I will, however, cherish the time I got to spend with him, and I will always hold a special place in my heart for that young man who locked eyes with me, one night at a house party in Brooklyn, more than twenty-five years ago.  I will always love him. 

So rest in peace my dear sweet friend, and thank you for what you’ve added to my life.  I’m forever grateful.  By the way, if you’re looking for some tips on how to navigate Heaven, my Grandfather has been up there for a while now; he’ll show you the ropes!