First love. The words themselves carry a weight of emotion, a whisper of both joy and inevitable sorrow. It’s that initial plunge into the deep end of human connection, a time when the world feels newly vibrant and intensely personal, often shaped by the very person who first unlocked those feelings within us. For me, that person was Ian. He expanded my horizons in ways I couldn’t have imagined. He introduced me to the bustling energy of New York City, the vast landscapes of the Great West, and the captivating cultures of Europe, where we lived during his study abroad year. He possessed a social grace and financial security that were foreign to my upbringing. For a while, these differences seemed insignificant, overshadowed by the intensity of our connection. But as time unfolded, the disparities became undeniable, ultimately leading him towards someone who mirrored his world more closely – a sophisticated redhead he met in Switzerland.
Is there a deeper cut than the wound inflicted by first heartbreak? At 18, the pain felt absolute, a devastation that seemed insurmountable. Yet, life, with its relentless momentum, continued. College beckoned, and with it, new loves, new heartbreaks, and eventually, marriage, further education, and a career. Ian’s path diverged sharply. He completed his studies in Switzerland, inherited wealth, relocated West, married, and then, tragically, in his thirties, took his own life.
The unsettling truth is that, beyond Ian, three other boys I loved also met untimely ends: my first steady boyfriend, my first kiss, my first lover. Three suicides and one murder, all before reaching the age of forty. The news of each loss was jarring, incomprehensible. Their lives appeared so much more secure than mine. I was raised in a chaotic farmhouse, surrounded by animals, the daughter of a mother battling alcoholism. Ian’s background was starkly different – Park Avenue apartments, luxurious ski trips, a world of privilege.
Now, Serre, a young man named after my first kiss who was just a boy when Ian died, sits across from me. At twenty, he eats a hamburger and drinks a Coke, observing his father’s first love, a woman now navigating her early fifties, standing on the precipice of later life. He witnesses firsthand the enduring echoes of a first love, a love that shaped a young woman’s world and continues to resonate through the years, even in the face of profound loss and the relentless passage of time.
