I opened the door to the attic for the first time since my husband's passing. I saw how it was just the way my husband had last left it—one of the reasons I hesitated to even go in. Our wooden journal boxes, secured with combination locks, sit in the left corner.

The last time I laid eyes on them, I was a hopeless romantic but a heartbroken 20-year-old with a full-blonde head of hair.

Untouched for over five decades, the dust on the covers speaks for itself. Today, I have turned 70 years old with a full grey head of hair. The one journal of mine that I always came back to in my late teens was the pink-flowered, now with yellow, scarred stains all over it.

I‘ve been journaling every day since I received my first one when I was ten years old. It is something I’d like to think I have passed down to my late husband and our five beautiful children. My husband started journaling when he fell for me and wanted to always remember our stories.

When my husband passed away almost two years ago, Crystal, my middle daughter out of my five children, read her father's journals and his side of how I was his first love. Now, she is curious about my side of how her father was my first love.

I was the one who bought them their first journal—just as my mother had bought mine on my 10th birthday. Only after I asked her profusely for six months straight. Journaling every day runs in my family. I like to think my mother wanted to see if I was serious about writing every day, considering I was a big reader and spent most of my after-school hours in my room reading—sometimes even forgetting to have dinner.

I felt the responsibility when buying my children their first journal, so I talked about privacy when it comes to journaling to all my children. Especially because Crystal already tried to break into the attic once just to read my late husband's and mine.

Who can blame her? She is just like me.

I didn’t just attempt but read my mother's journals when she went on a trip to Hawaii in December of 1970.

I knew where my mother kept the keys to the big safe, where they stored all their family valuables. Nobody knows I read them—and this will go to the grave with me. Unless Crystal reads this.

Crystal has her father's precious smile, but she makes the same mistakes I did. I guess we are alike in most aspects, and that's why we fight but are still close.

Ever since I gave up my driving license last year because of my eyesight growing weak—I didn't want to risk it—Crystal has been the one giving me rides to the funerals I’ve had to attend. She drove me to Ben’s funeral today. Then later, she walked in on me reading through my journals in the attic. So, I read her the story of my first love and first heartbreak.

Crystal peeked her head in through the edge of the attic door.

“Hey Mum, what are you looking for?” Crystal's first question.

“Oh my! You scared me,” Lidia said with fright in her eyes as she lost her grip on the yellow-scarred journal and it fell to the ground.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Mum.”

Crystal walked in and picked up the journal. While handing it over, Crystal pulled a chair across from Lidia and planted herself on it.

“Are you okay, Mum?” Crystal's second question. “I mean... today’s funeral, Ben... umm, I am sorry. It was a beautiful eulogy by his daughter.”

“I was just looking for this journal,” Lidia answered Crystal's first question, ignoring the first question—but the most common question Lidia gets asked since she lost her husband—looking down at the journal in her lap, supported by both hands.

“Do you want to hear some of it?” This was the first time Lidia asked this question of Crystal.

“Are you serious?” Crystal asked, looking at Lidia with utter disbelief in her eyes.

“You have already pulled up the chair,” Lidia said, with one hand pointing out in the direction of Crystal's chair and the other opening the pink-flowered journal with yellow-scarred stains.

Lidia opened to where the string hung, with one hand, like she knew where she had left off—or she placed it there just to come back to it when she last read it, back when she was a 20-year-old hopeless romantic with a broken heart.

Both were true.

Crystal crossed her legs and put on her late father's precious smile.

Lidia clears her throat, “Um hmm!”

Journal entry: 3 March 1969

I saw him practicing the piano today. He played it like he had been playing it forever. Later in the day, I found out from Vanessa that today was his first time playing the piano. I love that he does not care about his grades and what people say or think about him. Everyone has only good things to say about him.

He excels in pretty much everything. I do not know if this is the reason why, but no one—and I mean absolutely no one—dares to mess with him.

Whatever he wanted to do, he did it with such passion and skill, and he always succeeded. I was mesmerized by his dedication. He built his dreams on his terms.

Everyone wanted to know where he planned to go to college—even me. I never said it out loud, but every time our teacher asked, “Who do you want to be when you grow up?” I screamed in my brain, “I want to be…”

Just as Lidia was about to finish the sentence, Crystal's phone started to ring:

There she stood in the street,
Smiling from her head to her feet,
I said, "Hey, what is this?

The tune was familiar. It was Lidia's late husband's favorite song, “All Right Now,” by Free.

The name on the screen was “Charlotte.” Charlotte is Crystal's only daughter and Lidia's eldest granddaughter.

“Sorry, Mum, I have to take this. It’s Charlotte,” said Crystal as she stood and answered her phone. “Charlotte, I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.” Crystal ended the call, taking two steps toward Lidia before saying, “I know Dad was your first love as well. He was such a laid-back but caring soul. He was simply good at everything he tried. I still want to be like Dad. He was the best.”

Lidia looked at Crystal and had the same soft smile as when Crystal pulled up the chair to sit across from her.

“I have to go. Love you, Mum. Charlotte's dance classes just ended, and I have to make dinner. I'll see you during the weekend,” Crystal said, walking out in haste after kissing her mum goodbye.

A single teardrop fell on the open pink-flowered, now yellow-scarred, stained journal.

Lidia's favorite journal has seen more tears than smiles. It covered the time period that caused the most painful heartbreak.

Lidia thought at the time that she could never recover from how she was abandoned by her first love. Even Lidia's best friend, Vanessa, could not save her with her fist.

Journal entry: 17 January 1954

Vanessa punched a classmate who was teasing me over my short hair in kindergarten. Unlike Vanessa, I do not have enough upper body strength to lift my backpack—let alone throw a punch.

Vanessa, my only best friend, is a cheerleader. She is my soulmate, and we have been joined at the hip since we were born. Our parents went to the same school and are best friends.

So, it’s only fitting we spent so much time together. Vanessa, just like her parents, was also an athlete. That was something that ran in their family.

Lidia’s eyes are full of tears as she continues to read out loud to the empty chair left by Crystal: I want to be Ben. Tears fall like rain from the darkest clouds. Lidia takes a deep breath, just so she can continue reading.

Ben with blue eyes and black hair. Tall, slim-built Ben. Know-it-all Ben, but doesn’t like to show he knows it all, Ben. Ben, who carried my backpack in the sixth grade when I was trembling—on the very first day I got my menstrual period.

He saw me run out of the class and saw me having a hard time even holding the strap of my backpack. Ben observes everything and doesn't have to be told to lend a hand—Ben. I believe he can read minds. He is my hero and my first love.

Ben asked me out a day before he just disappeared.

Lidia lifts her head and, looking at the empty chair, closes her favorite pink-flowered, yellow-scarred, stained, now tear-soaked journal, still, tears running down her cheeks. She could not go on reading, especially today.

Ben (24 March 1955 – D.O.D. 14 April 2025)

Ben left high school unexpectedly, leaving everyone shocked. Ben was diagnosed with Stage 2 Hodgkin Lymphoma. His parents moved him closer to the hospital, where he received treatment and recovered completely after treatment. Later, he went to a college that was known for its doctrinal courses. Dr. Ben never married, but adopted two girls when they were left by their mother on church steps. Dr. Ben was not the Ben Lidia remembered.

He was not thin anymore. He did not have night sweats anymore. He was not tired or easygoing anymore. He stood at 6’0” with muscles and a jawline that could cut paper. Ben came back to the town he had left behind five years after he had left—only to see Lidia.

By that time, Lidia was 20 years old and married to Christopher, the number one athlete in high school and good at everything, even drama class.

Lidia’s first love was Ben. Ben’s first and last love was Lidia.

Ben's daughter's eulogy

My dad was strong, confident, and had the kindest heart. He carried himself with such grace and compassion. You could see it in his eyes even before any words came out of his mouth.

The time my sister and I met our dad for the first time, we were just 7 years old. When we were introduced to him, he sat down to meet us at eye level.

He had this child-like laugh. We sat with him and played with dolls. He did his best imitation of a woman's voice, and it’s something that always made us laugh.

He came by every day at 10 a.m. on the dot for six months straight. Later, when he brought us home, we found out he had driven for two hours to see us. That's when we started calling Dr. Ben, “Dad”. His eyes were filled with tears when we called him Dad for the first time.

When my sister and I went to see him in the hospital, he had a letter and a list of names in his hand.

His final request was for me to invite the people on the list—and this is the letter my dad wanted me to read today.

To my first and last love,

I'm sorry I left you behind without taking you on the first date I promised. You looked so happy in that white dress—I couldn’t imagine walking up to you to say, ‘Hi.’

Your letters are still with me. Your beautiful words—I have read them every day since the day you handed them to me. Sorry, I could not imagine falling for anyone other than you.”

He never told us her name. He said that she’ll know.

His first love and the only love he had to leave behind when he was only 15—he said that it haunted him.

Thank you all for making time for my father and helping us complete his final requests.