Wednesday, 4 December 2013


After my 10 year marriage ended, I didn't expect to find love again, at least not the kind that extended to my children.  Fortunately life surprised me.

A few years ago I reconnected with an old friend on one of my visits to my parents'.  When he asked me out, I wasn't sure if it was a date or if his interest was purely platonic.  I made an effort with my appearance and overdressed for the occasion.  As it turned out, ice-skating with his sons wasn't exactly conducive to romance.

We didn't meet in person again until the following summer.  For several months beforehand we emailed.  I express myself best through writing, and I realized that he is the same.  Though we've known each other since we were teenagers, I knew very little about him because he's extremely quiet.  As he slowly revealed himself to me, I recognized a kindred spirit.

I fell in love with his mind, with the depth of his thinking.

On the hot July afternoon when he picked me up- along with two of my children- I noticed something I hadn't the previous winter.  The heat meant he was wearing less.  I couldn't help staring at his body.  While the children happily gazed at giraffes and elephants and monkeys, all I could see were calves and biceps.

I fell in love with his body, with the taut lines of his muscles. 

Autumn rolled around and we promised to keep in touch.  You see, we live an ocean apart.  Most people would accept the impossibility of the situation, would say goodbye, would move on.  We chose something different, a sort of blind faith.  Over the last 3 years this man has shown constant support, been my closest confidant, and biggest fan.  He is a rock, a tower of strength.  He is also one of kindest and most generous people I know.

I fell in love with his spirit, with the gentleness of his soul.

I am so grateful for the love he gives to me and my kids, despite the distance between us.  While I try to focus on the positive side of just about everything, I can't deny that the pain of missing him is sometimes overwhelming. 
 I grieve for all the days we've lost.  

Sometimes I remind him, as I close a letter, we are one day closer to being together.  Once he pointed out that we all have a finite amount of time here, which actually means we have one less day together.  There's no way to get it back.  On one hand I grieve for the memories we haven't been able to create, on the other I cherish the ones we have all the more.

Tomorrow will be another day without his embrace.  For 300 days of the year I cannot hold his hand, snuggle on the couch, or look forward to seeing him walk through the front door after work.  Yet we remain unshakably committed to one another.  

I find myself wishing time away.  I want to fast forward to that place in the future when we are permanently reunited, when the airport goodbyes become a distant memory.  I yearn for the things normal couples do together, for the simple pleasures we may one day take for granted.

This post is part of Reverb 13.  To learn more about this storytelling project click here.
Day 4: What have you lost, what are you grieving?


  1. Long distance love is HARD. I wish for you a time of beautiful togetherness, sooner rather than later. xx

  2. Thanks for your kind, supportive words, Kat. I'm so looking forward to seeing him soon, if only for a few weeks! xx