So, last week I ran into my first love again at the funeral of his wife, of all places and honestly, ever since then, I feel like my whole worlds been turned upside down. Im 40, divorced for two years now, and Ive got two kids. I really thought Id been through all the big stuff when it comes to love, felt everything there was to feel, closed all those chapters. But just seeing him again made me realise there are some stories that never really end.
We were together when we were 17. He was my first proper love, you know the kind the sort that sits heavy in your chest, that makes you write long letters and daydream about a future together. But my parents never accepted him. Said he didnt finish school, that he was just a mechanic, that he had no prospects and that I deserved better. The pressure from them was just relentless. In the end, I broke it off not because I stopped loving him, but because I just felt forced to. Not long after, they packed me off to study in Manchester, and that was the start of a completely new life for me.
Years passed. I finished at university, got married, had my kids, built the sort of family everyone expects you to have. On the surface, it all looked put together, but my marriage just didnt work out and so we split. A while back, I moved back to my hometown a little village in Kent with the kids. Got back in touch with people from school, old neighbours, familiar faces but never saw him. I never asked about him either. Maybe I was scared, or maybe it was out of respect, or maybe I just sensed that digging all that back up would hurt.
Then, just last week. A mate messaged me: Have you heard about Tom? At first I didnt know what she meant. Then she told me his wife had passed away, and some of his colleagues were arranging flowers and a send-off for the funeral. She asked if I wanted to be involved, if Id be coming along. I just stared at my phone for ages, not sure what to say.
But I went to the funeral. I dont even really know why I just felt like I had to. When I saw him standing there by the coffin, looking exhausted and with red, tired eyes, it was like a punch in the gut. He wasnt that 17-year-old lad anymore, but he was still unmistakably him. We caught each others eye from across the room. Didnt hug. Didnt speak. Just that single look between us. And honestly, it was enough to turn everything inside me upside down.
Since then, I havent been able to stop thinking about him. About what we had. About what we could have been, if only wed been allowed. About what my life wouldve looked like if I hadnt been so obedient back then. I feel guilty, too for feeling all this right now, when hes mourning. Im not planning to make contact, I dont want to make anything awkward for him, or confuse matters for either of us. Were not even friends on social media. We havent spoken at all. Its all just playing out in my mind and in my heart.
And here I am 40 years old, two kids, life all lined up but I feel just like that 17-year-old girl, falling in love for the first time again. I honestly cant tell if its just nostalgia, or if Im mourning for what never happened, or if its just normal that first loves bring all these old feelings back to life.
What do you reckon? I could really use some adviceMaybe none of us ever really stop being seventeen, not on the inside. Maybe we just grow layers over it, like coats hung on top of old favorites in the wardrobe.
Yesterday, before school run, I walked past the old park where we used to meet. For a long moment I just stood there, watching the sunlight flicker through the leaves, listening to someones radio muffled through a kitchen window. And in that quiet, I realized something: I might never see Tom again, or maybe I will. Maybe nothing will come of it. All those unanswered questions, old regrets and imagined livestheyll always live somewhere inside me. And maybe thats all right.
I took a deep breath, let the breeze lift my hair, and walked on.
I have my kids. I have friends now who know my history. And I have this heart that, even after everything, still wants to love and be loved. Maybe all the detours and closed doors werent just about missed chances, but about learning how deep and wide love can be. Sometimes, the story isnt about reclaiming the past. Sometimes, its about letting it rest gently, like an old photograph you finally stop hiding away.
Today, after the school run, I think Ill bake a cake with my girls, call my mum for a chat, and maybewhen the house is quietwrite a letter Ill never send. Not to reopen old stories, but to thank them for showing me how alive I still am.
I think, for the first time in a long while, Im curious to see what comes next.
