Lori blogs from a Denver suburb about mindful living at Weebles Wobblog and about her twisty journey to become a mom at Drama 2B Mama, She also dishes about good buys at All Thumbs Reviews. Writing sometimes helps her to recall bits of herself that she once gave away. Her great dream would be for her son and daughter to keep their soul-bits to themselves and never have to do such a recall. Is that even possible?

He was 19, two years older than I. Because I had been a band-weenie in high school (flute, thank you very much), it was quite a social promotion for me to wear his letter jacket at our small college. He — the artist, the poet, the football star, the Paul McCartney look-alike — he was interested in little ol’ freshman me.

“Paul” and I were together less than a year. We began dating in late fall and broke up some time during the summer when we were home in our respective cities and he met a new girl. But in the early part of the summer, I received beautiful poetry written for me, devotions of undying love. Real handwritten letters in my mailbox. It was an endless summer and a painful fall.

Fifteen years later, he looked me up and began emailing me. He was going through a divorce, and I knew that such a thing can prompt a person to take stock of his past. We corresponded for a few months, and our interactions culminated in a phone call where I gently slipped in (in case he had begun wanting to become more then “old friends”) that I was very happy in my marriage. The call ended and he never contacted me again.

Fast forward another decade to now. Soon I will be traveling to his city. I read in our alumni magazine that he has gotten remarried and has two step-children. He and his wife own a business, and I find an email address for it. I write him a brief email congratulating him on his new family and business, and tell him I’ll be in his town on a certain date. Would he like to have coffee?

I have reconnected with many old friends — male and female — from past eras of my life. Sometimes I have been the seeker and sometimes I have been the found. I have appreciated these opportunities to revisit situations from my teenage and naive self with my now grown-up eyes. I have valued the chances to reclaim bits of my spirit I may have allowed others to stow away.

I was prepared for Paul to respond “Sure. There’s a Starbucks at Main and Broadway. When is good for you?” I was ready for “No. This really isn’t a good time for me. Sorry.” I was even ready for, “Do I know you??”

But I wasn’t ready for what I got. Paul wrote back, “No, I would never meet with you. Never contact us again.” His wife also chimed in to tell me that when the High Ranking Clergyman married them, she and Paul made a commitment not to look into the past. And I should not contact them again.

So, being a polite and non-confrontational person, I will not.

But I would like to ask him/them this: how, exactly, did you go from “coffee” to “breaking the bonds of marriage” in one short email?

Oh, Lord, it’s just as well. I bet his Starbucks serves clouds in the coffee.

But I got my bits back.