Thursday, July 19, 2012

Yes, We're Halfway There

Today is the half-way mark of my vacation. We’ve been here a week, and in one more we’ll be on our way home again. I’ve been thoroughly enjoying lounging around in my bathing suit and getting some much needed sun, and the lake is sure as hell a beautiful sight to wake up to every morning.

But day after day I become more aware of the fact that RS is at home, that life goes on as usual for him while time stands still here. We text whenever we can and talk on the phone every second day or so, but it just doesn’t seem like enough.

When I finally tucked into bed last night, I felt lost. I laid there for three hours, just staring at the ceiling, numb. But when 3am hit, I lost it. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, and I just couldn’t stop. All of my self-calming methods went straight out the window, and I didn't even try to catch them on their way out. My roommates slept on, unaware while I lay there convinced I was surely dying – surely you can die of loneliness.

After a half hour of non-stop bawling, I finally decided to do something I hadn’t done since I was a child: I went and crawled into bed with my Mum.

As all Mothers do, she gave me a hug, a pillow, and a Tylenol to help me sleep. We talked for an hour until the Tylenol kicked in, and it just made everything better. Tucked into bed listening to her tell me all about the novel she’s reading, the numbness goes away and the feeling comes back. The tears dry up.

Two weeks isn’t very long, but each year it seems more so than the one before. I’m accustomed to feeling RS hug me tightly each morning before he leaves for work and waiting anxiously for him to return home to me all day long. I’m used to having him in arms reach, having him there to gather me up in his arms for the smallest kiss and there to tackle me to the floor and tickle me until I’m laughing uncontrollably and screaming for him to stop.

The simple truth is that I miss him.

I miss him more than I thought I would. I’m missing my best friend, the person I share countless inside jokes with that just don’t make sense without him here to laugh at them. Don't get me wrong, I’m my own individual and I’m fully capable of surviving as an individual without RS, but I don’t want to. I'm a better individual with him beside me, and who would want to give that up, even for just a moment?

Distance makes the heart grow fonder; I just keep telling myself so, reminding myself that in one week’s time I’ll be home with him again and we’ll be refreshed and reminded to treasure and rejoice in each other each day.

Tonight is another night. I've already taken my Tylenol, and I’ve talked to RS for two hours, clogging the phone line for as long as my family would allow. When we talk I feel better. I hear his voice and close my eyes, and I feel him. We laugh and joke, and for one hour and 59 minutes, I’m happy.

But in that final minute, goodbye comes again.

O blissful Tylenol-induced sleep, here I come.

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