A Visit From The Past

From late 1974 until sometime around April or May of 1978, I was in a relationship with the same girl. When the relationship began, she was barely 20, and I was 23. This was the first full, loving, adult relationship either of us had been in. I’m referring to the kind of relationship where you eventually find that you are relaxed and comfortable around each other, and the sexual fires that once raged have become the less intense but long-lasting, glowing embers.

She was slender and pretty. She could be silly, kindhearted, and there was not a hint of cynicism in her anywhere. She was smart but probably not a genius. And she was a little bit ditzy too. One day she decided to write her memoirs, that is, until she realized that she was 22 years old and had no memoirs to write. I thought she was wonderful. Her name was Ellen. It’s still Ellen.

About two weeks ago I received a message through my Facebook account. It was her, Ellen. Her last name had changed, but I knew it was her. For about a minute I just sat there and stared at this notification of a message from my long-ago girlfriend. Finally I read it. I could simply tell you what it said, but I think I’d rather describe to you its effect on me.

Ellen stated that she is now a 59 year-old grandmother of 2, the oldest grandchild being 10 years old. For me, this was genuinely traumatic. The last time I laid my eyes on her she was this slightly daffy girl not yet 24 years old, now she is a 59 year-old grandmother. Anyone can do the math and figure that the 24 year-old girl I last knew over 35 years ago would be a 59 year-old woman today, but through all of those years I remembered her as a young, sparkly-eyed woman. For me, the revelation was truly traumatic. It has been a few weeks and I am still not over it, hence this blog entry.

On Ellen’s Facebook page is a single photo of what I would assume is her and her husband, but the photo is very tiny and the subjects were sitting a distance from the camera, so I can discern no detail. Another words; I do not know what the 59 year-old Ellen looks like.

We have exchanged a few other messages since the first one. It might come down eventually where we might meet for coffee or something. To be forthright, I’m not sure how I feel about such an encounter. I would like to know that Ellen has lived an enjoyable life, on the other hand, if none of the lighthearted Ellen of long-ago exists, I don’t want to know it. I want her to remain a bit daffy and thoroughly good-natured, if only in my memory.

Here’s an odd thought I had just yesterday, born from another memory. In late January 1978, Ohio was hit by one of the biggest weather events in the history of the state. It is called simply The Ohio Blizzard. I remember it well. There were howling winds, and a blinding snow storm mixed with lightning and thunder. Later that day I drove across the icy streets and through the snowdrifts to Ellen’s tiny apartment a few miles away from mine. As usual, Ellen did not have much to eat in her cupboards and refrigerator, so we drove off in search of an opened restaurant. A mile or so down the road we found one.

I remember that the parking lot was all but empty and we were just about the only people in the restaurant. But we had a good time sitting there having dinner hours after a massive blizzard. It seems almost unimaginable that before the end of that year Ellen would be married, and she would be married to someone other than me. Someone promised her things I could not, things that she wanted, and she slipped away from me. Our lives went in different directions. It might be best for me psychologically that they stay that way.