“Elephants never forget…”
That’s what his dad said, after giving me a cute stuffed animal elephant (not the one pictured here), that he and his wife/my old friend’s mom found for me while boot (a.k.a. garage/rummage) sale shopping the previous weekend.
I’d told them when we first met about how I’d been collecting elephants, mostly figurines, since I was a young girl.
They managed to find/buy a similar stuffed elephant, at another boot sale, for their son/my old friend as well, so we’d each have one and suggested we name them after each other.
That way, after I returned to the States, when my old friend looked at his and I looked at mine, we could think of each other.
I had found a family as sappy and cheesy as me, if not more so, bearing gifts as thoughtful and cute as I’d given others throughout my life!
My old friend told me at the airport, when he drove me there on my last day in England, that we’d have to reunite our matching stuffed elephants someday.
Spoiler Alert: I don’t think I kept mine, at least I don’t know where it is today, if I did. Which is surprising, considering what a sentimental pack rat I am, and bittersweet for me to think about now.
I didn’t remember that story, along with many others, until I read through my journals this week, from that semester, when I lived and studied across the pond, during the spring of 1996, when I was a junior in college.
My old friend’s parents seemed determined for me not to forget their son, whom I developed a fondness for, since we met the previous summer working together at a residential summer camp, here in the States. We continued to spend time together, and get know each other better, while I lived in London. I also visited his/their hometown of Southampton, England, a few times and stayed with them, that semester.
It’s bizarre 22 years later, to reflect on that time in my life, through the lens of a married 43-year-old, who is raising my own family, and has so much more life experience under my belt.
I see so much now that wasn’t clear to me then.
Which is both painful and therapeutic.
After spending the past week grieving and processing the news that my old friend died, four years ago at that, I’ve been trying to make sense of what all of this means for me now, as I remember our relationship then.
Bob has been extremely patient and supportive, discussing my feelings, my sadness, and the what ifs.
As I told him last night, I can’t imagine how I’d behave if the shoe was on the other foot, but I doubt nearly as well.
Who talks about stuff like this with their spouse?
Who shares so openly their feelings for another man, who they cared so much for, before they got together with their husband?
Yes, in the end Bob got me.
We got each other.
My old friend and I did not end up together.
That doesn’t mean my husband of almost 18 years (and partner in crime for almost 22), hasn’t been frustrated at times watching, and listening to, me as I work through this loss from my past, knowing there was someone else that meant a lot to me, before our lives converged.
“Maybe if the kind of technology like we have today existed back then, such as Facebook, things would’ve been different. It would’ve been easier to keep in touch,” I said.
“I’m glad it didn’t exist,” he replied.
At first I thought he meant because it would’ve been embarrassing to have access to something like Facebook during our college days, as we might have posted things we’d later regret, after a night out drinking at the bars, as we’ve joked about in the past.
But then I really digested what he said.
And it hit me.
If it had been easier for my old friend and I to keep in touch, Bob and I might not have ended up together.
It’s those little moments, that bring me back to the present, to this reality, not the alternate one I’ve allowed myself to entertain in recent days, as I grieve and make peace with my old friend’s death.
It’s okay to feel sad and to imagine what could have been.
It helps to remember the good times and why I cared so much about my old friend.
At the same time, I know, and Bob knows, who ended up together.
This is the life we both chose.
And I am grateful for who and where we are today.
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