Losing childhood too...

If you've been following my posts about my oldest friend, Kyle Parks, you know he was in the picture Mike Miano sent and that Charles helped me find him and then Mike, again, found Kyle's obituary--ten years ago.

I haven't thought of him much. It's been 40+ years since we've spoken. But he was always in the background, Kyle and Billy Bridgeman and Joe Tagnisi, the kids I grew up with. These were the people of my childhood and now I know, 10 years too late, that Kyle is dead.

Toe-head he was, very short, almost white hair. Very put-together. A 'straight arrow'. A good, good guy was Kyle.

What I've been pondering is that with my knowledge of his death, my childhood has died as well.

Should have a long time ago, I guess. But the thing about me is this--I've had a remarkably happy and wondrous life. When that happens, I think, your childhood hangs around. There was nothing bad about my childhood or adolescence or young adulthood or my life since then. I have been profoundly lucky and wondrously blessed. So my childhood was still alive and well and fine until I found out Kyle was dead.

It's like the rope to the anchor broke and my boat is now slipping out to sea.

I don't want to be dramatic. After all I went 40 and more years before trying to find Kyle. But knowing he is dead is stunningly profound to me.

I'm fine--I'm always FINE--that's the uneventful and rather boring story of my life. I've always been 'fine' and will be even now.

But something has left the room of my life. Childhood, I think. It's silly to say I 'miss' Kyle since I let him float out there or over four decades without trying to find him. But now that I know my much delayed desire to find him is thwarted, well, something has left the room of my life.

I'm growing older--something Kyle never got to do--and I'm growing older knowing he's not there to look for anymore.

I'm going to sit with this for a long while. I need to ponder my childhood and how it seems to not be there anymore.