Love of a Lifetime (FireHouse)
Love of a Lifetime was recorded in 1990 and released in 91. Ancient history. Probably forgotten by most who lived through those years. FireHouse was not a huge band (though their hair was), but they did have radio hits, of which this was their biggest. Sadly, I heard the lead singer passed a while back, but not before realizing how many people got married to this song, which he wrote.
Why am I, in 2025, writing about a song popular on the radio in 1991? Because, when the opening chords played all those years ago, I was captivated. I sat by the radio until it played (it was on heavy rotation) and taped it, believe it or not. I knew — someday — I would have the same kind of love he sang about.
It wasn't the first time I noticed an obsessive streak in myself. When I find something interesting or compelling, I chase it down every dark and winding path. (My last name actually means to hunt or to chase a defeated foe. It's an old name, now believed to be of Dutch origin, though we were always told it was German.) I chased love my whole life because I felt abandoned as a child. I thought, wrongly, that if I loved someone enough, they might love me back. During the summer this song hit, I recall being in the basement of the place I worked with an intern who didn't mind having me around. I was always hanging around him. He was a sports writer but learned how to do just about everything else. As an unpaid intern, you learn the ropes and gain knowledge (most of which is now defunct), helping you get a job in the industry. It seems rare now. I forget his name, but he was a student at University of Nebraska — Lincoln. He was my favorite intern who spent the summer working for our small-town newspaper. There was another writer who, I'm told, had a crush on me. Things like that were so common, I had no knowledge. I was used to it. (Notice I didn't care that a real person had a crush on me. This is an important fact.)
But my crush was truly crushing. It crushed me, though she never knew. Trisha Aspegren. I knew her sister first, as our newspaper also printed the The Callaway Courier, and I always snagged a copy. She stood out on the sports page, and I was sad when she graduated because I would no longer see her face in the paper. I was ecstatic when I realized she had a younger sister, Trisha, who became my fantasy. This song and this woman became one in my mind. I was over the moon when, a few years ago, I friended her on Facebook. My original muse. How many times had I thought of you when I heard this song? I recall seeing her at the high school gym, at the track, too. She never knew the thoughts and feelings I held (she would have been amused, I'm sure). I knew I must never speak to her, of course, because then she would be a person, and no longer my muse. Somehow, I knew a muse must remain uncontaminated by reality.
It was a coup of sorts to find and friend her. She's just a woman, of course, though special in many ways, I'm sure. But certainly not the love of a lifetime. Nor were any of my crushes, even the one I wrote about often on these pages (still have nightmares about her). I wonder how that 14-year-old boy would take the news he would never find his love of a lifetime? Is he still in there? Did he learn the harsh lesson long ago that love would never find him? That the thing he wanted most was just as much a fantasy as Trisha Aspegren? Would he nod his head, already knowing, or would he be sad? Let's not tell him.
I'm 48 now and recently gave up trying to be with a woman. Divorced for 8 years. I didn't stop believing love was still possible until I heard something utterly astonishing. A story about a friend of a friend, someone I knew going back decades. He died recently of cancer. Heartbreaking, as cancer deaths always are. Some of the best and most beautiful souls are taken by cancer. I believe he was one of the good ones. But the detail that struck me was that his wife left him when he was dying, no doubt adding to his grief and accelerating his demise. "She just couldn't," I was told. It struck something deep within me — that ancient, primal fear, perhaps, of being abandoned. I'm not going to make this about the state of modern women, how they prioritize self and their own comfort over others'. No. But this was not a moment to walk away from a person you love. This was the moment you show up for them. This was "til death do us part," honey. If you love someone, you comfort and care for them when they are dying, not just when it's convenient for you. You say, "Sir, you don't understand." It would wreck me to see my beloved die. But it would also wreck me the rest of my life knowing I crapped out in their last, weak moments. I would rather die than abandon the person I loved most in this world. It was at that moment I realized true love, though often talked about, is just as much a fantasy as being with Trisha Aspegren was to the boy I was long ago.
Navy SEALs have the tradition of never leaving their fallen behind. That is devotion. And realize that is a dead body that doesn't know anything about this world anymore, yet men show that devotion, even after death. But, you just couldn't watch him die? It was too hard. Romantic love, as we are sold, does not exist. It's a feeling, and when the feeling fades, they leave. It's inherently selfish. Calling it love is wrong. We raised our girls on a steady diet of entitlement and feelings and wonder why they walk out when things get hard. Real love is tough, day in and day out, choosing that person because you would rather die than live another day without them. That is the love of a lifetime. Not a clichéd power ballad (though great) or any romantic notion of devotion depicted on film or in books. Real love does not walk away. I'm talking about an agreement between two people. It's not one-sided. That's something else, which I displayed on these pages. I don't know what that was. Sad, I guess. Gay and retarded, as the kids say. There was nothing wrong with my devotion; it was just misplaced.
I saw a woman tell her daughter to grab a different cart at the grocery store. Why? The one she was going for was right there, accessible, easy peasy. Because there must be something wrong with it, she said. The easy stuff is less desirable, we are taught. So it is with love. It should be earned, fought for, against-all-odds bullshit. Listen, if someone chooses you, that means something. If they have to be convinced, that's not for you. It's like shopping for shoes and buying ones that don't fit, telling yourself you will make them fit. They should slip on, like they were made for you. Your person should be just as easy. If that sounds boring, you don't have a healthy view of relationships. There will be hard times. The right person will weather them with you.
One thing about me is I am eternally hopeful. For me to get to the point where I let the dream die is startling. True, I may not have long to live, but studies show the touch of a woman who a man loves is healing. If I found love, it would have added years to my life. Instead, I chased the wrong dream and ended up alone and defeated. The sad part is I feel nothing. It was just a calm acceptance, as if it was decided long ago.
Thank you for reading. And God bless.
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