I just heard that a friend of mine died a few days ago. Larry Painter was a boyfriend from the late 80s who I saw every few years since then, catching up on our lives like we'd never been apart. Tall, blond, good-looking with dimples, always with a smile on his face. He was the only person in my life who called me, not Ellen, but L...N. The initials, said with affection.
He wasn't the usual guy in our materialist society. He never had much in the way of possessions, but he really appreciated what he did have and did not seem to desire more. When he was with me, I always felt that he was fully there, concentrating on being with me, for whatever time we were together. There was something in him that kept him from deeper commitment, but he was content with his life and never sought the answers to what it might be. He made friends easily, he loved people, and most of all he loved his daughter. I always felt there was some unexplained sadness beneath his wonderful smile, like he never quite knew why he didn't achieve many of his dreams, but he lived like each day was enough, that he was grateful for whatever pleasures that day might bring.
I don't think love goes away. I think that we carry a piece of everyone we meet, that the minutes or years we are together change each of us, make us different people. Larry's joy and love softened me, made me more relaxed, allowed me to breathe in life more deeply. I'll bet he did that for lots and lots of people lucky enough to have known him.
1 comment:
Ellen, thank you so much for visiting my blog on Sunday.
Decided to leave my comment after this post because I do understand that sense that love doesn't go away. Two of my past boyfriends have died and I feel linked to them still. Your Larry had a kind face and I appreciated your tribute to him.
The boy I was with from senior year of HS through two years of college died 13 years ago of a massive heart attack. Like his father before him, he was a doctor (his father actually delivered me), and they both had hearts of gold that stopped young.
I lived with a special guy for two years in the 1980s and never stopped loving him really. Last year I found his younger brother via Facebook and learned that M had died in 2002 of a rapidly-growing lymphoma. If you want to read my post about it, click here.
Post a Comment