Over the weekend, while packing, I ran across a poem my then-boyfriend sent me, senior year of high school, all about how he’d always be there for me. He was a great guy— someone who saw a lot in me at a time when most people couldn’t see the real me. He could see a future for us, and though I loved him, I wasn’t in love with him, and I didn’t want to take advantage. I’ve been pretty ruthless about getting rid of things while packing, but I think I had the good sense to keep that one.
We’ve found each other again and again over the years, but since his marriage, I’m careful about how deep into the conversation we go.
Today, I found out he was diagnosed with cancer that has spread both to his lungs and liver. He’s starting his fight against it. He’s been married with kids for well over a decade— we’re only peripherally in each other’s lives, but it’s a sad thing to think of him in this situation. There’s very little I could do that would be appropriate, beyond hoping and praying that they can beat it. And being sad for this boy I once knew.