It was a perfect day with the family. I drove up to Ossippee Lake, NH early this morning to meet my family who stayed overnight. We had a great day of swimming, throwing the football in the water and making the obligatory big splashing catch. Followed by Pizza with my parents at our favorite Pizza Restaurant (favorite for riding home from our lake house that is) and we split cars. Girls with Mom and boys with Dad.

What a great ride home. We talked and listened to music on the radio. I got a chance to expose my boys to my music. A block of Lonesome George Thorogood brought on some air guitar from me and some air drums from the back seat. We listened to some oldies like “My Generation” by The Who. My boys are very receptive to my history lessons when I keep it interesting. I was excited when I came across the beginning of Pearl Jam’s “Black”. Despite Eddie Vedder’s act getting old for me I have always loved this song and find the lyrics incredibly powerful. I don’t know who he is singing to but he was clearly in great pain when he wrote it and his angst and sadness are quite genuine. The lyrics are below

Hey...oooh.

I usually enter a transe-like state when he wails the final refrain. But as he finished pleading “why can’t it be mine?” I heard from the back seat over the loud music “Dad, what’s wrong?”

I was crying. Why was I crying over a song I had played hundreds of times? My boys had some fun with me for a minute until I explained what it’s about. As I was talking to an 8 and an 11 year old I kept it simple. It’s about love and heartbreak, I explained. Love is to deeply care for someone and heartbreak is that feeling you get when you’ve lost the one you love and it hurts to do everything without them. Heavy shit but they got it. So I turned the radio back on. But why was I crying?

Then it hit me. During dinner my wife excused herself to check on the kids who were playing in the restaurant’s game room. As she walked away my mother leaned over and told me that she had come across a box of letters from Laura while cleaning the attic. Did I want them? Laura is the one that got away. The love of my life that I foolishly let out of my life and then begged her to come back into it. But I fucked up and she called me on it. I told my mother to throw the letters out. There was no fucking way that I could ever relive that again. I had repressed it and there it must stay. When my wife sat down I forgot about it.

I have had one chance at true love and she was it. Most men scoff at the notion of true love but I have lived it. I wish I could have told my boys what it was like but they wouldn’t get it. How can they understand that when Laura told me that I had indeed ruined any chance of getting her back I was so crushed I couldn’t function? That my heart actually hurt when I thought of her and that I had difficulty performing the most mundane of tasks for the longest time. It was the hardest time of my life. Sure I moved on but I never got over it. I just suppressed it like I do everything else. I am officially a cold fish. I joke to conceal my genuine sadness and lack of satisfaction. I’ve heard it hundreds of times.

I love my wife, but I don’t think I have ever been “in love” with her. It’s not her fault. And frankly, she’s not in love with me either. We’re two ships that instead of passing in the night we crashed into each other. But my wife and I have a decent life together. We can laugh, we can talk and sometimes there are glimpses of when we actually had fun. She‘s a good wife…she’s my little Silver Medal.