Goodbye Harry

 I found out this morning that an ex-partner of fifteen years had passed from Covid last week.  I haven't seen or spoken to him in years, he had disappeared out of my life without a word after a bittersweet parting one  morning. We had been out drinking the night before, and I had spent the night.  I can still recall exactly how we were standing in front of his house, looking at each other as I began to cry, "It doesn't work when we are together and it's not working being apart. I don't know what to do." "We'll figure it out", he says, giving me what I thought was a heartfelt hug. For years I couldn't decide if I never heard from him again out of compassion for me so I could move on in my life without him, or because he was just tired of us. I'll never know, so I choose to believe the former explanation; we must not speak ill of the dead.

He died on the 10th, and it's interesting to look back on my journal entry from the 11th. At some level, did I feel his leaving?

Do I believe at some level we are all connected and his death had impacted my mood that day? That there are no coincidences? I just don't know, not really, but a part of me likes to think that I knew and was grieving. Another part cries Bullshit! and moves on. She is a little manners challenged, that one, but I love her anyway.

Harry gave me archery, and I cherish most of my memories hiking through National Forests with him at competitions. He had become rather cranky in the latter years of our relationship; about not shooting well, about other archers, about the weather. He never could open up to me and tell me what was really going on, and eventually I guess we broke under the combined pressure of our independent moods. I know I changed after Joey died, just as I have changed again now, caring for my grandson. That's what life is after all, one change after another. 

I hope this change is one for the better for him, that his next journey brings him the peace he couldn't find in this one. Well, at least not the last few years he was with me. Reading his obituary at first I wondered who this man was they were writing about. But then I pieced it out and found the man I knew and loved.  Smart, loving to learn, playing music, being outdoors. It was just set in unfamiliar surroundings and with strangers. Maybe he found something good with them; one can hope.

I'm glad that he found someone, a family he could be with, and I truly hope he found some happiness. Do I wish he had taken better care of himself? Yes. Do I wish I hadn't heard the news? Yes. Do I wish he had kept in touch with his daughter and grandchildren instead of disappearing? Absolutely.  But everyone has a story, and not really knowing his, once again I choose to give him some slack.

It was strange, tracking down online where he lived, seeing his blue truck parked out front of the house, and knowing that's where he has been living. Florida of all places. Another Republican dead to Covid, and my Tough Chick part says, "good riddance!" God I can be mean and unfeeling, but at least I usually keep her contained.

I was telling R earlier that I hadn't realized that there was still a part of me that was expecting him to come back, so we could be the old fogies together out shooting at archery competitions. What do I do with that? Am I never going to shoot again? Am I going to ever be healthy enough and strong enough to go hike and shoot? And by myself? The grief wells up and I let the tears come as I mourn my friend, my lover, my past. All for selfish reasons I guess, but for what he lost too, because we could have had fun I think.

When we first kissed there was an electric spark that passed between our lips. Maybe it was a windy day, maybe it was kismet, but it changed my life for the next fifteen years. Now I can put that chapter of my life to bed, and just remember the best times, and let the rest go. Rest in peace,  you grumpy old man.