Twenty-Two Years Later

A journey through grief

Twenty-two years later, I returned… without him.

I’m not sure what compelled me to dine at the exact same restaurant where Peter and I had our first date… on the same night… twenty-two years later. And yet, I did.

Peter and I met for our first date on October 31, 2003.

Now, some might think it an odd way for me to spend this year’s Halloween, reliving that night. Perhaps it was.

And yet, it was also another way for me to cling to anything possible that would allow me access to my memories of Peter and the time we had together before he died.

I made the three hour trip north from our home in Massachusetts to the lake house in Maine on Friday, October 31. Leaf peeping season has come and gone. Many of the trees along the highway have let loose of their golden yellow and brown foliage signaling preparations for the long winter ahead.

And though I’ve not “let loose” of Peter, this trip feels a bit like a time of preparation.

October 31, 2003 was a Friday. I traveled an hour and a half south from Bangor to Augusta to meet this man with whom I’d been communicating online. We chose Halloween in part as our attempt to not have to deal with trick-or-treaters. We had no way of knowing how that Halloween would be etched into our story as the night it all began.

We met at an Applebee’s… fancy, I know. Neither of us were fancy… especially back then. Actually, I don’t know that we could ever have been thought of as “fancy.” We were just as happy having dinner at an Applebee’s in Augusta, Maine as we were dining on the most delicious steaks we’ve every had at Steak 954 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

Nothing fancy about this trip either.

The hostess led the way to a booth by the windows where I settled in for my meal. I wasn’t completely sure, yet my mind wandered to the idea that this very well may have been the exact same place Peter and I sat all those years before. Wouldn’t that be a happy coincidence?

I had already decided what I would be ordering… Fiesta Lime Chicken, the same dish I ate on our first date. I remember how delicious it was then… or perhaps it tasted so good because the company was so good.

I gave the waitress, Sarah, my order and waited patiently for the meal to arrive. And as I ate it, I thought of Peter and of that night. I also thought of how the dish, for me, seems to have lost its taste, or its appeal over time. Perhaps both.

I guess things do taste a bit different now that Peter is gone.

While making my way through dinner, I heard the people seated in the booth behind me speaking loudly to one another. So loudly, in fact, that I’m confident I wasn’t the only one hearing their conversation. I say this in part so you know I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping. I had no choice but to hear what they said.

And what they said became another coincidence.

The couple behind me named frequently in their conversation that they were there on what would be their first date.

Peter and I met there for ours… and now this couple will also have Halloween as their “special date.” It took everything I had within me to not turn around and tell these strangers the story of me and Peter twenty-two years ago. I felt as if we somehow now share a bond with this new couple as they embark on their Halloween-launched relationship.

Occasionally, when I was unable to distract myself from the voices behind me, I heard the new couple name some of the absurdities and peculiarities accompanying a first date.

They talked about how they decided what they were going to order in such a way as to not have something too messy to consume in front of their date.

They mentioned the intentionality around having a decision as to where they would go next, should the date go well.

And they had lovely banter over who was going to pay the bill. Ultimately, it was the man who invited the woman to dinner… so he paid.

It all made me smile. It has me wondering if anyone was listening to Peter and me back then as we discussed the peculiarities of our first date. Of course, as a queer couple in a fairly conservative area, we may not have been able to be as loud as my dining neighbors were last night.

I’d like to think we talked about our hopes and dreams. I was early in my seminary years when Peter and I met. I’m sure I talked about my plans for ministry in the years to follow. And I’m confident Peter shared with me some of the unique aspects of the infrared work he was doing then.

Enjoying each other’s company and our “fancy” Applebee’s dinner, neither of us knew where life would lead from there. In fact, the weeks to follow had me thinking that wherever life was leading… it wasn’t going to be bringing us along together.

Thankfully… things turned out quite the opposite.

Peter and I had nearly twenty-one years together following that Halloween at Applebee’s. We built an incredible life alongside one another. We brought our children into the mix. We traveled. We moved (too frequently). And we landed a beautiful home on a picturesque lake in Maine where our family built an extensive cache of memories.

In many ways… the house on the lake became an anchor for our family. So many good memories were generated there.

I’ve only been back to the house a handful of times since the night Peter’s body was found there on its hallway floor. With a water pipe bursting a few months after he died, I’ve stayed away much of the year as construction rendered the home unusable.

So to be back in the area last night... to dine at the same Applebee’s… and to sleep in our bed without him…

It’s bittersweet, for sure.

Our eldest son accompanied me on this trip. He and our youngest son had been in the house when Peter died. And something in me needed to see how he would respond to being back in the space.

Best I can determine, our two sons were on their own… the only living beings in the house… for approximately 24 hours before a neighbor checked in and found Peter’s body.

Hours later, I asked our youngest to recount what he remembered of that horrific night. And after hearing his take on the details, I promised myself to never ask him again, to never put him through the retelling of the night he watched his dad die.

Due to a traumatic brain injury our son acquired at an early age, I knew that he’d be able to recall the details early on… and eventually lose many of them. In this instance, the injury is a blessing.

Our eldest son, who lives with severe Autism, lacks the ability to recap his experience of Peter’s death. Well… other than the one piece he’s held on to; “Daddy fell.”

Yes, Daddy fell…

He spoke these words a few times both on this recent drive to Maine and while staying at the lake. He states the fact… Daddy fell. And then his brain moves on to something else. Again… perhaps a blessing for him in not having to dwell in the grief and the trauma.

Over the past year he’s also said these words to me on other occasions. Yet on this trip, a new question arose… and when he asked it of me, it broke my heart.

“Where’s Daddy?”

It’s a question I’ve only heard him ask once before.A few days after our son’s adoption, Peter was working in Florida and our son and I were alone at home. One afternoon, our son was tapping on the window, pointing to the space in the driveway where Peter’s car would typically be found, and asking; “Where’s Daddy?”

I’m confident he knows deep down that Peter is gone. And perhaps his question to me yesterday speaks of a deeply-held hope that one day Peter will return.

If only.

And yet, I sit with his words. Where’s Daddy?

He’s in that booth at Applebee’s where we ate last night’s dinner.

He’s at the lake, out on the dock every time the sun breaks through the clouds.

He’s in the car with us as we traverse the drive back home.

He’s sitting beside you in the pew on Sunday mornings.

He’s at our dining room table each time we sit down for a family meal.

He’s asleep on the couch, asleep in the recliner, asleep in his lounge chair. And I’d like to think he’s lying beside me as I drift off to sleep each night.

He’s wherever we are… I know that. As long as the stories of his life come from our lips, he is with us. As long as he’s in our mind… he returns.

Twenty-two years later, I returned…

Though I’m not sure what compelled me to dine at the exact same restaurant where Peter and I had our first date… on the same night… twenty-two years later…

I’m glad I did.

I’m glad I got to relive that first date all over again… with him.

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