A week ago, I saw my first love again at his wifes funeral and since then, it feels as though my whole life has been thrown into turmoil. Im forty, divorced for two years, with two children. Id thought Id long since gone through all the major things love could throw at me that I’d closed the old chapters. But seeing him again was all it took to realise that some stories never quite finish.
We were 17 when we were together. He was my first real love. The kind that weighs on your chest, that makes you write letters and dream of a life together. My parents never accepted him though. They said he hadnt finished school, he was a mechanic, he had no future, that I deserved better. The pressure became too much, and eventually I broke up with him. Not because I stopped loving him, but because I felt I had no choice. Not long after, I was sent off to study in Manchester, and a new life began for me.
Years rolled by. I finished university, got married, had children, and built a family. On the outside, everything seemed perfectly fine, but my marriage wasnt working and I eventually got divorced. Not so long ago, I moved back to my home village near the Cotswolds with my kids. I began bumping into people from school, neighbours, old friends but never him. I never asked about him. I dont really know if it was out of fear, respect, or just knowing that scratching at old wounds might only cause pain.
Then, last week, I got a message from a mutual acquaintance: Did you hear about him? At first I was confused. Then she told me his wife had died, and that his colleagues were organising flowers and a song for the service. She asked if I wanted to take part and whether Id be attending. I stared at my phone for ages, not knowing how to reply.
In the end, I went to the funeral. Im not sure why I just felt I had to. Seeing him standing before the coffin, face drawn and eyes red from tears, I felt an ache in my chest. He wasnt that seventeen-year-old boy anymore, but he was still the same man. We caught each others eyes across the room. We didnt hug, we didnt speak. We simply exchanged glances. And somehow, that was enough to turn my whole world upside down.
Since then, I havent been able to stop thinking about him. About what we were, and what we were never allowed to be. About what my life might have been if I hadnt been so obedient. I feel guilty, feeling this way just as hes mourning. I dont want to intrude, to make things awkward or to complicate anything. We dont even follow each other on social media. We havent talked at all. Everything is just playing out in my mind and my heart.
And so here I am forty, two kids, my life seemingly in order yet feeling as though Ive turned straight back into that seventeen-year-old young woman who fell in love for the first time. I dont know if its nostalgia, grief for what never came to be, or simply that first loves always awaken things in us we thought were long buried.
What do you think? I could really use some advice.
