Photo: Lukas Medvedevas

SECRET

Something that happened 50 years ago still troubles me.   

When I was in my mid-twenties, I met Rick at a party.  Sparks flew that night.  We hit it off and felt deeply connected.  It was as if we had known each other long before.  After dating for a year, we decided to move in together.  When the lease was up in November, we renewed it for another year.  But one month afterward, he broke up with me—on Christmas day.  

I was absolutely devastated.  Emotionally and financially.  Not only was it really bad timing, he left me with the responsibility of paying 11 months for a two-bedroom apartment.  And the worse thing was, he couldn't tell me why he wanted to break up.  He simply said he had to leave. 

I asked him if he was gay, but he denied it.  It didn't matter to me if his sexual preferences had changed.  I simply wanted to know for closure.  But he couldn't tell me why he needed to leave.   

And...to top it off, he sent me a letter a few months later informing me he had moved to California and how great his life was.  What was he thinking?  I wanted to tell him:  F*ck you!  You screwed me over and then gloat about how happy you are?   

Many years later, I found out that he had passed away.  His obituary was in the local paper.  It stated that he had been married, lived in Massachusetts, and had three daughters and that he died unexpectantly at home.  I sent his mother a sympathy card and placed a picture of him inside it.  I was hoping she'd write back, but she never did.  I wanted to know how he died.  Was it an accident or did he commit suicide?  

To this day, I wonder what really happened.  If I lean into my gut feelings, I suspect he killed himself. Though he would never admit it to me, I believe he was secretly gay.  I have good reason to believe that the month before we broke up, he was having an affair with another man.  

His death must have been tragic for his family.  Rick was only 50-years-old.  I suppose his wife remarried.  His daughters are now grown-up.  Once, I toyed with the idea of trying to contact her, to express my sadness about his passing and to find out how he died.  But this would have been too awkward, especially if he had died of a heart attack or an accident at home.  And then again, if he was gay and couldn't live with that fact, I would have been able to give her a reason why he took his life.  In the end, I nixed the idea.  It would have been too selfish of me, and reaching out to her could cause more harm than good. 

Over the last few years, Rick's father, then his mother, and then a brother passed away.  I had actually wanted to go to the funerals, but after all of these years, they wouldn't have remembered me.  I would have wanted to learn what really happened to Rick. 

It's been over twenty years and still, something aches inside me.  Not from the residual pain of the break-up, but from not knowing what caused the break-up.  Why couldn't he have told me?  Surely, there was a reason.  I think back to my younger self, being madly in love and then being dumped without any answers.  How did I get through that heartache?  

To this day, I live with this unknowing.  This silent and unspoken part of my past.  Somethings are never forgotten.  Somethings will remain a secret. 

À la prochaine!