Yesterday, I said the words again. It was 2:30 in the morning, I was groggy, he was barely awake. My bags were packed the night before, but that didn’t prevent me from rushing through his house, gathering items I almost left behind. After packing the rental car, I went back inside, grabbed my jacket and walked back into his bedroom, where he was nearly asleep again.
And that’s when I said it. That’s when I felt it. That is the worst part of our separation; the part I hate the most – the goodbye.
The distance between us is magnified every time I have to say those infamous words. For us, goodbye isn’t permanent, but it is saying hello to our next several months apart. It often follows a vacation where reality suspends itself, and we can just “be.” Like this past week, where we traveled the coastal area and went on daily adventures. We suspended our real life for 10 days. But then, it all comes to a close, and I have to pack my bags and get ready for the long drive to the airport, the flight, and the ride home.
I have trained myself to no longer shed tears. I have trained myself to no longer feel emotion during the goodbye. I simply kiss my husband, say a quick goodbye, and hop in the car – not looking back. I have become a robot to these actions, on auto-pilot, for the sake of my relationship.
I’m frequently asked if its hard to be in a long distance relationship, and I say it can be trying at times, but its working out overall. But is it hard? Truly, really, deeply hard? Yes.
The separation from my husband kills me at times. I am half a person when he is away. When we are together, I feel whole again, but that feeling is only temporary. This constant state of saying goodbye creates instability – a never-ending state of temporary.
It’s the worst.
But then, one or two months later, I say the one word that solves it all: Hello.