Losing those we love is the part of aging our parents didn’t tell us about
The photo above is of me at my first love’s prom in 1970. Her name was Ginny Price. I say was, because, at 5:26 this afternoon, she passed away.
I don’t care how long we live, or how many loves we have over our lifetimes, there is something about that first love that we never forget. Being a young man was not easy for me. She was with me when my father passed away a few weeks before the above photo was taken.
I was inconsolable. I’ve never cried as hard as I did that March evening in 1970. Ginny had lost her father two years before, so she understood. She held me close as my world seemed to be falling apart. I will never forget her words as she told me to cry it out. She assured me she would be there for me, and we would get through this, come through the other side of this dark moment, and laugh again.
It was the first time anyone had used the word we as two people, facing life’s turmoil. She kept her promise.
It was a long time before I smiled again. In the photo above, my smile was forced. My grieving my father was hard but Ginny helped me through it all. For her, the Spring dance was important. She told me that if I didn’t feel like going, it was OK. I wanted her to enjoy this midwestern rite of passage, so we went to the dance.
