During the next weeks, Nate and I texted back and forth every day, usually managing a quick call most of those days. On the days where we were both too busy to touch base, I found myself missing his voice. No day passed when I didn’t miss his touch, either.
This is what long distance means,I realized a couple of weeks into our separation.You do what you can to keep in touch, but it’s never enough.
Just as I recognized the hardships, though, I discovered that the reunions were sweet and joyous. Nate flew back to the Hamptons for a weekend three weeks after he had left, and the excitement on his face when he saw me waiting for him at the airport made me feel missed and special. We spent as much time together as my schedule would allow on Friday and Saturday, then we went out for one more lunch before he had to fly back to Lexington on Sunday.
As I waved goodbye, struggling to hold back tears for a second time, I suddenly understood Nate’s aversion to goodbyes. They sucked. I hated them, and I had only gone through two so far.
During his teenage years, Nate had to tell his mom goodbye every day because she was so busy working the late shift at the county jail, and sometimes he didn’t see her for days on end. I knew one of the reasons Nate came to my house so often was to spend time with my mom and me. Otherwise he would have no one.
Maybe if we don’t say goodbye, then it isn’t a goodbye at all. It isn’t real. Just like our marriage.
Finally, I understood, but I was powerless to change anything. All we could do was hope that in time, the goodbyes would get easier, and all I could do was keep believing in my newfound trust in Nate, hoping he wouldn’t suddenly decide to leave again without telling me goodbye.
