Only the Good Die Young
I found out that my high school boyfriend passed away three days ago.
Colon cancer.
He had just turned 39.
I was so overcome with emotion when I read his sister’s Facebook post announcing the news, it took re-reading it several times for it to fully sink in. He was gone. My first boyfriend, ever. My first kiss. My first love. We were together for nearly 10 years. He was such a huge part of my childhood, and growing up into the person that I became. And now he was just, gone. I texted my mom and she called me immediately. We just sat on the phone crying together. There were no words to adequately express our disbelief.
No one tells you how messy navigating adulthood can be. How relationships you’re so sure will last forever when you’re a teenager, can slowly start to become something completely different over time. We were so sure that we were going to get married. We had our entire lives mapped out from the tender ages of 16 and 18, and of course there were zero concessions for hardship, or unmet goals, or reality throwing things off course. Like so many cautionary tails of young love, there was always an ‘obstacle’ or two we needed to overcome before we could get there. We needed to graduate high school. Then we needed to graduate from college. Then we needed to get jobs and be able to support ourselves. It was around the time I checked off that last ‘obstacle’ that I realized my ex and I were no longer on the same trajectory, and I learned one of the hardest life lessons of all: sometimes, no matter how badly you want something to work out, it just isn’t meant to be. People grow, people change, and it isn’t always in the same direction.
I met Rob when I was 14 years old, in the youth room at our church. He was a swaggering 15 year old at the time, incredibly confident (to me) and highly flirtatious. I’d never had a guy pay attention to me like that before, and it felt good to be noticed. I’d always been a tomboy, and had never seen myself as one of ‘those’ girls. You know, the ones that boys noticed. At 5’8” I towered over most of the boys in 8th grade, still, and here was a sophomore in high school, asking me for my phone number. It was the confidence boost I needed going into high school, and what's more I was doing it with an upper classman boyfriend. I felt like I’d arrived.
I’ve realized quite a bit over the years what a gift that relationship was to me. Looking back I see it through the rose colored lens of time and perspective. I know there was plenty that wasn’t perfect or ideal in the moment, but It ultimately formed and shaped so much of my approach to men, as an adult. I’d had the good grace of dating a genuinely nice guy during all of my formidable years, thanks to him. The ones filled with angst, and insecurity, and upheaval, and change. So much change. But I’d had this constant. This guy who told me he loved me, and meant it. Who never tried to coerce me into doing anything I didn’t want to. Who never treated me like an object, or talked down to me. I was able to trust him completely, and he was truly my best friend. Not many high school girls come out of their first serious relationship so unscathed.
Having said that, that’s not to say it was always sunshine and rainbows. Once he graduated and went away to college, things got tough. Going from seeing each other every day, to only during holiday breaks and visits home, took their toll. We took breaks while we tried to figure out how to cope, but we always ended up getting back together. It was the recurring theme during my last two years of high school, before I myself was away to college and suddenly understood why he was ‘so busy’ all the time (HA!). It made for quite the dose of humble pie, I can assure you.
At the end, though, after so many years together, off and on, and with how much we had been through, it was really hard to let go. Even though we both knew that things were no longer the way they had been, and were never going to be, again. Part of what made it so hard was how much I loved his family, too. They’d always been so warm towards me. Always included me in their family outings. They were generous to a fault, and I hated that breaking up with him meant breaking up with them, too. It made the loss feel that much greater. We saw so much change in our lives, with the other by our side. There’s such a finality to it all, when the person you shared that with is no longer around. We won’t be able to run into each other by chance, while visiting ‘home’. Make small talk about life, or reminisce about the time when we thought we had it all figured out. When the other was still a part of that big picture equation. That chapter is closed forever, now, and what stings the most is it feels so unfair to you. 39 is too young to be gone.
Berto, I’m glad your body is finally at peace, even if it leaves the rest of us reeling. I’m praying that your family is feeling all of the love that I know is flowing their way in the wake of your loss, and I hope that they take comfort in the outpouring of affection for you in the coming days and weeks. We were all lucky to know you, but perhaps, selfishly, none as lucky as me.
Godspeed to you.
