My Boyfriend Died

Are you okay?” The text from Paul on a Sunday morning was unexpected.

I flipped the pancakes and glanced at my kids piling around the table.

“I’m great, why?” I replied.

“Can I call you?”

“Sure.”

I didn’t know that phone call would drastically alter my life.

Gino was gone. He suffered sudden cardiac arrest at home on a Saturday evening, and his youngest daughter — the girl whose name lit up his face — was the one who found him.

I knew Gino was different as soon as I met him. We matched on Tinder, but he was a man more suited to Match or eHarmony — one of those solid, steady types who does the right thing even when it’s the hard thing.

Our first date was breakfast and a walk — it was supposed to be two hours and turned into six. Later that week we met at a vineyard, shared a charcuterie board and a bottle of wine. When he kissed me next to the pond on the property, the world fell away. That’s how it was with Gino. When you were with him, you were the only thing that mattered. His phone stayed in his pocket, he listened, he asked questions, his entire body and mind were present.

That day as we drove off the vineyard, I stopped my car and walked back to his for one more kiss. He said that’s when he knew there’d be a third date. After I left, he turned around and bought another bottle of the wine we shared to save, but I wouldn’t find that out until much later.

Gino was divorced, and unlike many divorced men who carry on about how crazy their ex-wives are, Gino owned his role in the demise of their marriage. He texted me once about his view of the end of his marriage.

“She cheated, but that’s not why the marriage ended. I was stupid. I ignored the relationship because I was so focused on getting through life and taking care of all the things that needed to be done. I was too task-oriented and not focused enough on taking care of the relationship. I figured that once the kids were grown, she and I would find our way back to each other. I know that’s a stupid way to think, but it took me a bunch of therapy to figure it out and I was too late.”

Gino’s kids were his world, and the reason he made every decision. His decision to work midnights as a patrol officer was so he could attend sporting events and be around after school. His decision to work overtime was so he could pay for college and not saddle his children with piles of student loans. His decision not to tell his kids about me was because a past girlfriend broke their hearts, and he didn’t want to put them through that unless he was planning to marry someone.

Our time together existed in that bubble couples create around themselves, a distorted reality where we didn’t have real-life problems and could just float for hours on a sea of companionship and bliss. It wasn’t the stuff that makes a lasting relationship, but it was exactly what we both needed at the time.

Being with me was the first time Gino encountered non-monogamy, and he was reasonably hesitant at first, but he soon realized that what I asked of him — kindness, compassion, closeness, and connection — were exactly the things he needed. He always saw himself eventually getting married again but just couldn’t see how that fit in his life with work and kids. So, we let our friendship evolve over the course of two years.

Grieving his loss has changed me, almost as much as knowing him changed me.

Amidst the grieving process, there was another unexpected blow. I had hoped to pay my respects at Gino’s funeral, to find closure among those who had loved him. But his ex-wife, still bitter over our non-monogamous relationship, barred me from attending. She cited my marriage and lifestyle as reasons why I didn’t belong among those mourning his loss.

It was a painful rejection, adding another layer of sadness to my already heavy heart. I asked for a moment to go through the house, to retrieve the hundreds of notes, letters, and other memories of our time together.

“I found those, I threw them all away,” she hung up the phone.

I sat in that hurt and anger for a while. Then, I chose to honor Gino’s memory in my own way.

By relentlessly pursuing the dreams I shared with him that he always encouraged.

Now, he’s been gone almost as long as I knew him. I still talk to him most days, usually while I’m driving somewhere. I thank him for his support of my dreams, and or showing me that, even disabled, I was worth falling for.

I can’t bring myself to delete his number from my phone. I still have a screen recording he made of our initial Tinder conversation, and all the texts we ever sent.

Erasing those would feel like erasing a piece of him, and I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready to let go of those. I find solace in revisiting our memories, like flipping through the pages of a cherished photo album.

I feel him most in our spaces.

One evening, I decided to visit the vineyard where we had shared a bottle of wine, walked around the property, and shared our first kiss. It was a bittersweet pilgrimage, filled with both joy and sorrow.

Standing by the pond where he kissed me, I closed my eyes, allowing the memories to wash over me. I could almost hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his embrace, my head tucked under his chin. It was as if he was there with me, his presence lingering in the air.

As I opened my eyes, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. Gino may have been gone, but his spirit lived on in the memories we had created together. And though I would never hold him in my arms again, I knew that knowing him had forever changed me. I am grateful for that.

With a final glance towards the pond, I turned and walked away, my heart heavy yet strangely light. And as I left the vineyard behind, I carried with me not just memories of Gino, but a profound sense of gratitude for having loved and been loved so deeply.

You can read more about Gino here.

Thank you to those followers who’ve patiently waited while I sorted my grief. I’ve found me again. I’m here to stay . . . again.

Molly Frances’s writing explores what it means to be human: relationships, families, sexuality, mental health, and growth. When she isn’t writing or working with clients, she’s either on a beach, or reading (or both). She lives with her husband, a pile of children, a rescue pup, and too many books. You can also find her on www.sexwithmolly.com, and Dipsea.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean?

My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me

The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex

The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence

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