Well, last Saturday, we packed Gustavo’s bags into an Uber and watched him take off towards the Lincoln Tunnel. (We love each other enough to accept that I’m never driving him to JFK again.)
It was bittersweet.
The more time passes, the closer we get to living in the US together. Yet, when we’re together, it feels like time passes so darn quickly.
The first two to three days are always the hardest. I love the routine you get into, living together. The way you eat breakfast together, decide schedules, chit chat throughout the day. It’s all so simple, but really those simple, small moments are what make up a life.
So when that disappears, it feels abrupt. Not like a breakup, where it feels like your best friend has been ripped out of the pages of your life. It’s more like a quiet sadness. A constant feeling of something “missing,” like you forgot to put on your watch or your ring and you keep touching the place where it usually is.
What do we do? We call, we chat. We sent videos. This time, we remembered to keep a few of Gustavo’s shirts here so when we video chat with the dog, even those of us with four legs can pretend he’s here. We make little timelines in our head for when we’ll see each other next.
When we’re long-distance, we shift back into a different mode. It’s not like being single, but just like your partner is perpetually on a business trip. You cook differently. You go out differently. You remind yourself to see more friends or try different activities.
In a way, it’s helpful. Except for when you want to try new things with your person.
For now, maybe we’ll make dinner and eat together over Google Hangouts. (We’re lucky we only have a three hour time difference and I have the eating habits of an 85 year old.) Or call each other while I walk the dog. Or send something sweet via Amazon. (Okay, that only works for me.) You make do with what you have and try to remind yourself that these, too, are the memories you’re making together – even when you’re apart.