Gerald "Gerry" Tate

Gerry would have been thirty-six years old today. He was a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew, a cousin, a friend, a boyfriend, and my first love. He passed away on March 9th 1997 at the age of twenty-two. I think about him often, and I wonder what his life would have been like had he lived. I thought that we were so grown up already (I was also twenty-two at the time). I look back now, almost fourteen years later, and I realize how very young he was, how very young we both were, and how much of life he has missed and will continue to miss. At the time, I remember thinking of all the things he hadn’t done yet. He hadn’t jet-skied, hadn’t gotten married, hadn’t had children, hadn’t finished college, hadn’t traveled much, hadn’t decided what he wanted to be when he “grew up”. So many things I know he wanted to do and his time here was cut short. I think of all the Christmases he's missed, all the family holidays and birthdays and celebrations. And I think about how much the world has changed, all the things that are a part of daily life today that he never experienced, that didn't exist or weren't widespread yet in 1997 . . . the internet, cell phones (especially smartphones), digital cameras, iPods, Disneyland's California Adventure, all the new music and movies of the past fourteen years, public figures that are a cornerstone of our world today. Despite the fact that we were not a couple in the months prior to his passing, I knew he was out there somewhere, living his life, and if I wanted to get in touch with him I could have. It gave me a sense of security and peace to know he was out there and ok and reachable. I miss that.

I wish I could have talked to him one more time. I wish I could have told him that I loved him still. That even though things weren’t working for us, I still had hope, and believed that someday we would be together again. That I had so many wonderful, beautiful memories of good times, memories that I cherish to this day. That I loved him like I had loved no one else. He was my first love and for many years I thought my only love. I’m grateful for the time that we spent together because it taught me what it feels like to truly be in love with someone. Sometimes it was painful and dramatic and unpredictable, but most of the time it was glorious and passionate and overwhelming and beautiful. I never thought I would feel that way about anyone else, and even though I was very sad about that I felt so very blessed to have experienced it at least that once. At least I knew what it felt like to be completely in love with another person, and to have that love returned. I would tell him now that I am still devastated that he is gone. That I will always love him. That he changed me in so many ways and helped shape the person I am today. He prepared me for the true love I have in my life now, and for that I cannot thank him enough. Who knows what would have happened had he lived. Would we eventually have gotten back together? Gotten married? Had children? I don’t know. But I do wish things had turned out differently, very differently. I would have been so happy to hear that he had fallen in love and gotten married, finished college, had a job he loved, traveled, lived.

It seems like I am having a harder time this year than usual. I am so very sad, but I am also angry. I am angry at him for leaving. I am angry that he didn't try to prevent this. Why didn't he go to the hospital and get help? They probably could have saved him. He could still be alive today, enjoying life and experiencing so much joy. I am mad at myself that after all these years I still carry this pain and sorrow, this empty place in me. It hurts and I want it to stop. I am embarrassed because I'm with someone I love with all my heart and soul, shouldn't I not feel this way about Gerry anymore? Why do I? Why does he haunt me? The past couple of weeks Gerry has been a character in several of my dreams, and I have felt irritated that he is still there bouncing around in the back of my mind. If I had looked at a calendar, I might have put it together that his birthday was coming up. Maybe I feel this way every year, and then work diligently to forget how painful it really is. I’m not sure. But I felt I needed to write it down.

Even though writing this is hard and painful and makes me feel hollow, I feel like it’s time to let it out. Maybe I’ve been holding it in more than I realized, and need to face it and feel it and experience it so I can let go. Sometimes I feel like it’s wrong to still be this sad and miss him this much when I have been married and divorced and am now very happily coupled with the love of my life. So I ignore it, stuff it down and pretend that yes it’s very sad, but I’ve moved past it. I have moved on, certainly, but I don’t believe I’ve truly moved past it. I hate to admit that, but I think it’s probably the truth. I miss hearing him laugh and watching him dance. I miss laughing at him and his sister Tanna play-wrestling and play-fighting with each other. I miss his passion for drawing and music (even if I didn't always like what he was listening to). I miss his sense of fashion and his lack of fear. I miss listening to the drum and cymbal sounds he made using only his tongue and mouth. I miss the glorious time we spent at Disneyland together and how protective he was of me. I miss how it felt to be hugged by him and how he smelled. I miss how I fit perfectly under his chin when we hugged and how my hand felt in his. I miss falling asleep on his shoulder and watching him paint my toenails. I miss holding his hand at the Christmas Eve service and watching him open presents. I miss seeing his face light up when he smiled.

I can’t believe it’s been almost fourteen years. Sometimes it’s so powerful and raw it feels it’s only been a month. Sometimes it’s so much a part of me that it seems like it’s been a lifetime. So much has happened to me since he passed. Looking back, it gives me perspective to see how young twenty-two really is compared to how old I thought I was at that age. I wonder if I will feel the same way in another fourteen years, how “young” I was at thirty-six. And how much more life and experience Gerry will have missed in the years between thirty-six and fifty. I will always be sad that he passed away. I will always miss him. And I will always hope that he knew how much I loved him.

Happy Thirty-Sixth Birthday Gerry. I miss you. . . .