It’s excruciating to go from such intense togetherness to being so far away. We spent the weekend hand-in-hand, hip to hip, sharing every view, meeting people together. Every time I leave Roxy it feels like I’m having organs torn out of my body.
We haven’t been together nearly enough this year, making each visit that much more intense and hard to let go of. I couldn’t say goodbye this time, was struggling to hold back tears, and that word, that word just felt like defeat. We both feel it, the sense that when we’re together, we’re in the right place. I feel at home in those arms, in that gaze, in that heart beating so hard it might burst.
The time together is too short and too far between. We are immediately dropped back into our regular lives. When I stepped off the plane in Seattle Sunday night, I distinctly felt I was not where I belonged. At that moment, home was 700 miles away. I called, cried into the phone, sobbed as quietly as I could in the baggage claim area. Goodbye sucks, being that far apart from someone I love, sucks, not being able to make a full life with Roxy sucks.
So here we are, thrust back into the regular, aching for each other with every breath. There are kids to attend to, other partners to give time and attention to, everyday burdens and stresses of life taking us away. An easier transition would be to come home to less chaos and have more time to talk through our mutual experiences, hold each other close until the pain eases back into its accustomed dull ache.
That’s some wishful thinking, eh? Life doesn’t seem to be interested in giving us time to process and debrief and gently transition.
And I still haven’t figured out what’s so ‘good’ about ‘goodbye’.
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