*This post is a little rambly. Please bear with me. My head is a little weird right now. Sorry if it doesn't make a lot of sense*
I got the new yesterday morning that an ex-boyfriend of mine was killed in an accident. We dated for about a year and a half eight years ago and hadn't really spoken since the break-up. I don't want to go into the how's and why's of the breakup - that's not the point of this post.
Looking back, I choose to remember the good times that we had. I was young (18/19) and had no fear and no cares in the world. We spent a summer basically living in his bright orange VW Van. He had it painted like the General Lee from Duke of Hazzard. We took a trip to Nova Scotia to go kayaking. We ended up kayaking with whales! A mama and it's baby breached the surface extremely close to our kayaks. I still have a shell in my car that he found and gave me in what we affectionately called "the lagoon" (a little sheltered bay we found on the Nova Scotia coast).
We traveled all over in the short time we had together (we were long distance for a majority of the relationship). We traveled through Baxter State Park many times, took a trip to Portland, ME and North Conway, NH. When he moved to Colorado, I visited for a week and we took in the sights in Crested Butte and took a drive into Utah and Arches National Park.
He's the reason that I chose Colorado when I moved. I didn't move FOR him, but he was the reason I chose the location I chose. He brought out the adventurous side of me. A side that I've lost in recent years. We jumped off cliffs in Baxter, took rambling day trips and it really opened my eyes to the life that I could live.
Honestly - he was my very first real, out of high school relationship. Really, my first serious relationship. He was my first in a lot of ways (although not THAT way). And even though we hadn't talked in years, I'm mourning the loss of that. The loss of him. The loss of ...... something.