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He dropped me off at the airport one last time, and he hugged me again. He wasn't crying this time. Instead, he mentioned that it may not be the last time he'd see me. But it was. Nitro was a fixture of the VirPed forum from February 17, 2015, contributing nearly 5% of all the forum's posts and offering direct peer-support to hundreds of his fellow anti-contact pedophiles, including to several in person. He died on 21 April 2025. I had known Nitro on VirPed for a few years when we first met, but seeing him in person was surreal, just like with any other MAP. He had already been in and out of hospital a month before our meetup, and that late August evening, I walked down the path and saw him sitting, walking stick in hand; a huge smile. He struggled to move, but still shook my hand and said how happy he was to see me.
When we arrived at his place, I saw on his computer that he had posted a thread with the title "PY is here". Underneath it: "And I couldn't be any happier. Never needed someone so badly before." I wondered if he saw me as a grandson in the same way that I saw him as a granddad.
I admired how stubborn he was, determined to take me on a day trip to walk around a national park despite his health. He wanted to do it for me, an early-20s guy wanting to explore the world, but as the day wore on, his breathing worsened and he leaned on me, and eventually we had no choice but to use one of the park's wheelchairs. It was stressful to suddenly have to take care of him like this. I didn't want to be responsible for something happening.
Nothing bad happened, and he was able to drive. I begged him to take me to Wendy's for dinner (we don't have it in my country so I always go whenever I'm in North America). He didn't order much, just a small salad, and he marvelled at how much I ate.
At his place that night, we searched for a movie to watch and settled on About a Boy. I still remember the banter about how cute the boy was. Nitro had sports trophies from decades before. He showed me photos of the families he had sponsored and told me what he had done for them.
I remember him dropping me off at the airport the next day, and the emotional hug he gave me. He had tears in his eyes. Neither of us wanted to let go.
His kindness didn't stop at the families he had sponsored. Less than a year after our meetup, he used his own airmiles to pay for my flights. I would be visiting over Christmas and there's no way I could have afforded those flights to spend Christmas with him, and then with my MAP boyfriend. It was the best Christmas gift I've ever been given.
So when I got off the plane, you bet I gave him another massive hug. It was the least he deserved. We set off in his car, listening to Cormac Thompson. It was a sunny day, with small patches of snow on the ground, and we made the decision to take public transport to the city for logistics. He was holding up well, until I had to catch him from falling down the stairs of the underground metro. That was terrifying. I'm not very strong (I was nicknamed "noodle arms" by one of the kids I volunteer with), but we managed to make it into town.
The winter air was crisp as we made our way to the (expensive) restaurant, and his walking ability was deteriorating with every step. (there were wheelchairs available.) Over that dinner, we talked about many things, both MAP related and not, and when we arrived home, I handed him his Christmas present and card from me. I had done my best to express my gratitude in that card. He hugged me and teared up a little. I got him to play on my Nintendo Switch; he just about managed to make his way through a small section of Super Mario 3D World.
The next day, we met up with another local MAP for lunch, the three of us chatting away. He paid for it all. He dropped me off at the airport one last time, and he hugged me again. He wasn't crying this time. Instead, he mentioned that it may not be the last time he'd see me.
But it was the last time. I still remember that hug, holding him close—a dear friend of mine; a kind and generous soul with warm eyes. Thank you, Nitro, for everything. | |
