This hit hard on a recent trip.

*Names changed to protect the guilty.

I had this fantastic teacher my junior and senior years at a small, but well-loved Catholic High School, which will be referred to as CHS. This matters later.

I was involved in the after-school arts programs, specifically theatre and choir. I may not have had the voice of an angel, but I was able to carry the entire second soprano section single-handedly in all three choir groups - Glee Club, Chamber Choir, and the most elite of them, Folk Group.

Folk Group was the choir that would miss school to attend the funerals of students, faculty, and their loved ones, and so on. That matters because what brought me 'home' was the funeral of that fantastic, beloved teacher.

Jordan Wellington was the one to break the news to me that Mr. Wilson had passed away the day before.

Okay, History Time:

I was Hermione in a group of boys.

Jordan was my on-again-off-again (but mostly on-again) boyfriend once I had transferred to CHS after a traumatic relocation for my father's job, and the beloved group of friends I left behind from my old school from freshman/sophomore years. The other boys were Jake Salmon and Tony Gunner.

Tony was like a brother to me and was there for me during those two troubled years my brother and I lived alone with our father (mother was in another state as their marriage fell apart, and she knew things were getting worse by the day in my relationship with dad).

Jake had a crush on me, which he fully admitted, but didn't let that get in the way of our friendship. He was great about that. And I truly and very platonically loved him.

The four of us did everything together, certain classes (I was a year ahead of them), after-school lunches, billiards/pool, and extracurriculars, namely theatre and choir. More importantly, we would have sleepovers watching the shittiest horror movies we could find, and occasionally throwing in Winnie the Pooh when we got frightened. (Yes, boys, you got just as frightened as I did. Own it.) We spent pretty much all of our outside-of-school time with each other in any combination of friends.

Jordan, however, was special. He was my first real love, and, while not my first kiss, my first everything else. We were in an off-again phase of our relationship when I left for college. He was a huge flirt with the ladies, and I knew that, being 18, he wasn't in any shape to maintain a two-hour long-distance relationship. I didn't resent him for it; it was just practical and, for me, the best way to not get hurt. (It didn't work.)

I'd pretty much cut off my old life, save for my family. I buried it down deep because it ended badly with Jordan, and it ended worse with Tony* (a situation that was 100% my fault; I had just been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, and while he was living with me (at my mom's) for the summer, I started taking out all of my crap on him. I own that, and I deeply regret it.)

I moved across the country to San Diego, CA, to start a new life with my BFF Macy in a city I'd never been to and knew no one except Macy, who'd been there for a year attending law school.

I was living the SoCal life at 23, working freelance and helping Macy study for her exams. (Turns out I learned a lot about law as well; probably why I ended up as a legal assistant in later years...) The latter half of 2005 was shaping up to be an awesome year.

My mom and brother came out to celebrate Christmas with me while Macy was with her parents at a fabulous resort in the Grand Tetons, where she borrowed my skis.

Christmas morning rolls around, and I wake up to a phone call from Jake at 06:00 AM (who's still on East Coast Time). He wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas and to ask if he could come out to visit me in March-ish. I said yes without hesitation. It would be great to see him. Yes, a blast from the not-so-long-forgotten past, but if he cared enough to contact me, of course I'd see him. (Even if he did wake me up at 6 AM on a holiday.)

Jake arrived, and with him came nostalgia. I asked how Tony was doing, and, because I couldn't help it, Jordan as well. Then we moved to more solid ground, like his being in college studying Architecture in Philadelphia. He was glad I was doing well, away from all the "friend drama," and healing.

I should've known it was coming, but of course I didn't, so when Jake kissed me, I just went along for the ride. I was a young adult, free of any attachments, and I had been friends with him for going on seven years by that point.

Jake and I dated long-distance for almost two years, seeing each other maybe six times in-person. The only reason we broke up was that he was there and I was here, and he was a terrible communicator. I knew he loved me; I loved him, but he wouldn't return texts, phone calls, or anything at all, so I ended it. Besides, I was going to film school and wouldn't have any time for him anyway either.

So, I continued on with my life, and dating wasn't really a thing for me. I was focused on school. Okay, so maybe there was this guy I had a fling with in college who was getting rekindled at the time (he's another saga completely), so going to the East Coast was always fun.

I hadn't thought about any of 'my boys' in years. And the years ticked on as they always do.

Well, not true, Jake was still a sometime fixture in my life. We never lost touch, and when things got really bad between my father and me, he came down to VA from PA to take care of me post-surgery. But Tony and Jordan were off-limit topics.

Jake added me to Facebook. I wasn't on there much, but I didn't mind either.

Then my CHS friend, Cammy, found me. It was strange to reconnect with someone from my old life whom I pretty much wanted to forget. Interesting.

A few years later, as fate would have it, Facebook suggested Tony as a friend because we had mutual friends. So I pinged Tony via messenger about three years ago and said, "Hello, it's been a while," and he replied, "I've been waiting for you." Just like that, we picked up like it were yesterday and not twenty-some years later. When I apologized for the heinous things I'd said to him, he said, "Water under the bridge, don't even think about it." We now chat regularly, every few days or weeks, just to talk about family events and whatnot. He always asks about my husband, and I ask about his wife and kids. We fell back into our easy brother/sister relationship, and I treasure it.

A year later, Facebook suggested another friend. I knew it would happen. I did not go looking for him on Jake's or Tony's pages. He just popped up unexpectedly in my feed. I debated for hours whether or not to add him. I was already happily married and over childhood/young adulthood drama. It was the past, so I should've let it lie.

I didn't. I was curious about where life had taken Jordan. I wasn't interested in starting anything. I would never cheat on my husband, my best friend, the love of my life, my person. I just had this itch to find out what was going on in Jordan's life.

It was an itch that I stupidly scratched.

I added Jordan as a friend and pinged him so my friend request wouldn't "come out of nowhere" (like pinging ahead of time would soften the blow). He messaged me back immediately, saying, "I didn't expect my ex-girlfriend from twenty-five years ago to drop out of the sky! What's up? How have you been? Tell me everything."

So I did. And he did. I told him I'd been happily married for nearly eight years and that I've never been happier. He said he'd married a year and a half ago and had a one-year-old son. I congratulated him, happy for him. He had suffered a lot of crap in our CHS years, so I was genuinely happy to hear he'd settled down after a few really tough years. We exchanged "war stories," like an accident that occurred just after I'd left PA that nearly killed him; I told him about my CRPS and how it started from that skiing accident in high school, that he'd carried me down the mountain after, and how it screwed up my knee and nerves so badly that I now have Complex Regional Pain Syndrome.

We just started talking like old friends. It wasn't quite like Tony and me, who slipped back into our roles as though nothing had happened. Jordan was my history, messy, hurtful, complicated history, but I reached out with friendship, and that's what he readily took.

So we talked a few times a week. Sometimes he would call me to chat during the day (while I'm between jobs) while traveling. Our conversations truly never brought up the past except when he told his niece about our relationship and that college changes things, that me leaving him was really hard, but it was best for both of us in the long run. My first thought was, "I didn't leave you... you moved on before I was ready to, and things ended messily," but obviously he remembered it differently. It irked me, but it was his perspective of the past. I let sleeping dogs lie.

Then, three weeks ago, it happened. Jordan told me that Mr. Wilson had passed away the day before. I was crushed. Granted, I hadn't contacted Mr. Wilson in ages, but I thought about him often and fondly.

Mr. Wilson was there for me at my worst:

My Catholic upbringing told me that losing my v-card made me a whore. On top of that, things at home with my father were escalating. I'd had a minor car accident where I'd lost steering and literally drove Tony and I up a wall. It was a miracle we didn't flip. We got back to Tony's and I called my dad to get a ride. He screamed at me the entire way home about how irresponsible I was, that I was foolish and stupid, that I shouldn't be trusted to drive because of how reckless I was, et cetera.

So we got home, I went to my room, took my pain medication for my knee so I could sleep, then took a few more, and a few more after that. More than two-thirds of the recently filled bottle was gone, and I lay down to sleep, only to start projectile vomiting within three minutes because 1) I took too many at once, not waiting to do one at a time, and 2) because I was so upset about everything, I was likely to puke regardless. I always got sick when I was upset, and this was the most upset I'd ever been in my young life. So, my being so incredibly distressed, ironically, saved my life.

The next morning, I called Cammy to get a ride because I had no car. She could hear something was wrong. I spent the time it took from me calling her to her arrival to type out a sheet of paper to give her so she would know what was wrong, but I wouldn't have to talk to her about it.

We got to school, and Cammy, being the good, concerned, and responsible friend she was, turned my paper into the Vice Principal, who happened to be last year's theology and ethics teacher, Mr. Wilson. He called me in, talked with me about my home life, how I was feeling, how I was failing my AP classes and I needed to drop them so it wouldn't be as stressful for me; I explained I couldn't because of my father, and he told me that my father was not me, and his opinion of my performance right now mattered a lot less than my life. Naturally, he had to turn me over to an adolescent psychologist, but he waited nearly three hours before calling to give my mom time to get from VA to PA (a four-hour drive). When he finally called my dad, with mom 45 minutes away, he came rushing to CHS to pick me up. The drive to the psychologist's office was long, me tucked away in a tiny ambulance so I wouldn't have to ride with my father.

I told the psychologist exactly what was going on in my life and what brought me to wanting to kill myself, and, in his infinite wisdom, he told my father that I had anger issues and that he was the target of my anger; it really had nothing to do with him.

Here was my fucking "cry for help" moment, and he not only ignored it but told my abuser it had nothing to do with him. So I said that if he sent me home with him, they'd find a carving knife in my chest by the following morning.

That secured me a one-way trip to the Mercy Hospital Adolescent Psych Ward for a week.

Mr. Wilson was in touch with my mom every single day, getting updates on how I was doing, etc. He didn't want any of my teachers sending me homework, so I did the group therapy and activities, solo therapy, which didn't do fuck all, and tried to sleep on a relatively high dose of Zoloft with roommates my age who couldn't sleep on theirs.

When I got out and went to school the following morning, Cammy and My Boys were there to greet me, welcome me back, and insulate me from other classmates' staring eyes and insensitive inquiries.

Mr. Wilson greeted me warmly with a hug and took me to my classes himself that whole first day. If a student shouted something, he'd shut that kid down so fast, it was crazy.

When I would get overwhelmed in class, he would bring me to his office just to talk, so that I had a safe space, away from everyone, even My Boys, in which to confide.

I dropped my AP classes and started excelling in school again. Whenever I had difficulty processing something, his office was my refuge.

He was my hero. He had literally saved my life.

So Jordan told me of his passing, and I was struck in the chest by an emotional arrow, doing serious damage with the piercing blow.

All I knew was that I had to go to pay my respects to this extraordinarily kind and patient man who had been my refuge as a tortured teen, even if I hadn't seen him in nearly 28 years. The news brought me back to that day in his office, before I was sent to the emergency psych consult, when he held me in his wide arms and told me he loved me and that I would be alright.

I pinged Jordan back, asked for the funeral details, and told him I would be there.

I reserved a hotel nearby, and Jordan said he would be happy to take me to the wake and funeral, and that he would come out with Tony and me after the wake for dinner. I asked if his wife was going to join us and that I was really excited to meet her (which I was), but he said she had something going on that night, so it would only be the three of us. (Jake couldn't make it as he was trapped at a work event.)

His wife seemed a little nervous about him seeing his ex-girlfriend, even though it was ancient history, but Jordan assured me everything was fine.

So I made reservations at a decent place that could accommodate my gluten allergy and got all my ducks in a row. Jordan and I were emailing each other back and forth about my travel logistics and whatnot. He even said he was looking forward to seeing me.

While I'm on a Greyhound bus, literally an hour and a half out from the city, Jordan texts me, "Sorry, I can't see you or go to the wake or funeral if you're going to be there. [Wife] is blowing up about this, and I need to do what's best for my family. I'm really sorry."

So I lost not only my pickup person but my alleged friend. I called Tony, who came to get me immediately. I told him what happened and that Jordan's wife must be insanely insecure, and he told me he suspected something more had happened, given the extremely short notice and Jordan's reaction when he told me.

I was pissed off when we went from the bus drop-off to the wake. I didn't want to be angry, but I couldn't help it. My emotions were all over the place. Mr. Wilson was dead, and we were in line to pay our respects for almost two hours, which was not surprising in the least, as he was a loved member of the community, but it was two hours of standing after my back was already killing me from the seven-hour bus trip.

I spoke with his widow and told her briefly of how he saved my life and how much he meant to me, personally, and she even said she remembered him telling her about that all those years ago. I gave my respects to his daughter and first son, then gave Ryder, the son I knew and was friends with at CHS, a huge hug. I burst into tears and kept rambling about how great his father was. He took it all in with grace and dignity.

Tony's friend Harrison was waiting for us outside the funeral parlor. We skipped the place I'd picked in lieu of a local watering spot they liked. Tony lived pretty far away, so he and Harrison didn't see each other all that often.

We all toasted Mr. Wilson as the best of the best, and that he would always be terribly missed.

We shifted the topic to families, children, and what we've all been doing with our lives over the last 28 years. It was nice, but I was still upset. Jordan should have been there with us.

Being who I am, I decided to leave the following day so that Jordan could attend the funeral on Thursday. I had thought of lying and going anyway, but I was so upset by the whole thing that I wanted to leave as quickly as possible. I had paid my respects earlier that night; I had done my due diligence. Anyway, Friday was my husband's birthday, and I wanted to be there for him.

That night, I called Jake to get his perspective on everything that happened. I expected to bitch and have him validate my feelings. He... did not.

Instead, Jake said:

She's absolutely right to be terrified of and hate you. Hell, my wife is terrified of and hates you.

Me:

Why? I've never even met them! I'm happily married; it's not like I'm just going to go throw myself at anyone. That's ridiculous!

Jake:

You're like lightning, you are. You have no idea the effect you have. When you walk into a room, it explodes with this incredibly intense light.

Me:

I have no idea what you're talking about. I have completely platonic male friends who don't get all weird about me.

Jake:

Oh, they do. Every single one of them feels it; they just don't say it.

Jake:

I love my wife. I do, truly, she's the mother of my children, whom I adore more than anything. But you... Are the woman I'm in love with. It's you I dream about, you that I ache for.

Me:

................... I really don't know what to say to that.

Jake:

I thought you knew... but then again, you're very oblivious. Tragically so. I guess it makes sense that you had no idea.

Me:

This is a lot to unpack. I just took a sleeping pill, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to remember this bombshell.

Jake:

I shouldn't have said anything... I'm so sorry. You're on sleeping medication, which means you didn't consent to all of this...

Me:

I need to go to sleep now. But Jake, we're friends, and I don't want you to feel bad about spilling the beans. We can't put Jack back into his box, but I appreciate your honesty.

Jake:

Goodnight, love. I'll dream about y-

I hung up the phone as fast as the lightning he compared me to. I couldn't hear anymore, and I didn't want to hear anymore, and, technically, I was under the thrall of the Trazodone, so there was no reason to think about it anymore.

Except that I was up all fucking night because between my anger at Jake and my anger at Jordan, every time I closed my eyes, I'd see both of them as they were at CHS, sweet, young, and ridiculously in love with me. It was a nightmare.

The following morning, Jake texted to ask if I'd remembered anything, and I admitted that I had; there was so much to unpack. He apologized again for letting it slip, but said I'd badgered him. I don't recall if I did or not; I just remembered the "I'm in love with you" bit. I told him he shouldn't apologize for telling the truth, no matter how awkward it's made things between us.

So he's in love with me. I am in love with my husband.

I told him: Jake, if you can handle being my friend, and not constantly telling me how unexpected and beautiful and all that I am, I can be your friend. If you can handle it. I don't want to do or discuss anything untoward; that's my boundary.

He said he could, and so we chatted a little more on the train before I fell asleep.

I finally got home, and my husband asked me as I walked in the door, why I came home a day early. I told him everything. His response was laughter. Belly laughter. It was so surprising it was contagious, and I had to laugh at the sheer ludicrousness of it all.

Afterward, he asked, "So what did you learn about going 'home'?"

I replied with a sigh, "You can never go 'home' again."