Several decades ago I stumbled across a friend who became a lover and who stood by me for nearly four years - we laughed - we cried - he meant more to me than anything else in the world. When he died in 1993 I felt as if my heart had been ripped from me - an emptiness that could never be filled - and for years I walked through life replaying all of my regrets - remembering his "perfection" - yet forgetting all along that he was the one who died. Not me.
Two decades later I have been blessed by the happenstance of an acquaintance at an online porn site - a place that was once a community but no longer is one. And through the years where we both were members and several years after we left, we've maintained a weekly conversation.
I'm not built for much sexual exploration - I did my share when I was in my twenties before meeting Richard and ultimately settling down with him. Since his passing I have had no real desire to pursue such intimacy - I'm a coward, I suppose. I remember the feeling of my heart being pulled from my soul, and I swore that I would never put myself in that situation again. When your best friend is also your lover and you lose one, you lose the other. I walked in a daze for years committing myself to work but leaving my own personal life by the wayside.
Now in my 50's, I have long lost what good looks I had, but I have gained a perspective of maturity and a wisdom of having been there and done that in my life. I've recently found closure with Richard's death and a new sense of appreciation of life.
And now I have found a truly wonderful friend - my best friend - a friend whom I can talk with - whom shares with me things he dare not say to others. Even though we've never met beyond conversations on the telephone, I feel connected to him in a way that I once was connected with Richard. If you've been in a long-term relationship you can relate - a sense of trust - a sense of knowing the person beyond the years you've known the person. Slowly but surely this gentleman has occupied that empty space I have inside.
We talk every Friday - he greets me with possum and I greet him with Mrs. Doubtfire. We close in a similar way. What started out as friendship is evolving to something more precious and more rewarding. What we talk about is for our ears to hear, but the two hours we spend each Friday are some of the last words I hear before I go to bed that night. I lament that significant distance is between us in geography, but I nonetheless feel a closeness to him that I have missed. We agree to disagree on many items - he loves his MAC's and I am a Dell man. He loves a wider variety of foods than I do. And we certainly aren't on the same side of many political discussions - but our differences are perhaps what I cherish the most - that we manage to grow by listening to each other's passions and our divergent thoughts are never wedges in our friendship - they are the dovetails in a fine piece of furniture that meld our lives - that add spice and spontaneity to our conversations.
My "friend" recently had a birthday last Friday, and I so wanted to make it special for him - I worked to make his favorite hockey player's graphic - chose videos that I thought told the story of his rise to fame, and then told him a bit of a white lie that I had lost several videos that he had wanted - all the time scheming to send them early that morning so he'd have them to start his birthday. I hope that I made a part of his birthday more special than it might otherwise have been - I know it made me feel close to him than I've ever felt.
And with this I'll say, "goodnight, poppet". And I can hear the "possum" inside me embrace my heart.
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