Every time I have to leave you, I leave a piece of me behind

This posting is from a member of our community in Canada:

We live on opposite ends of the continent; me on the West Coast in Vancouver, Canada, and Andrea on the East Coast, in the Boston, MA area. For the past 18 months, we’ve traveled to be together for brief or slightly longer periods of time. She cannot move here, for job and family reasons, and I can’t move there, for *stupid* political reasons.

How we cope? We pretend that I go on long business trips. During shorter breaks in the academic year, she visits her kids on the West Coast, and I get invited, too. In the summer months (last year) we managed to spend 3 months together, alternating our home base every 3 – 4 weeks. This summer… who knows?

How we cope? The traveling has a cost – and not just a financial one, although it does add up when you fly to Boston practically every month. I’m trying to find a steady job here, and when I’m successful, that’s the end of my longer stays there – a long weekend every now and then, and hopefully I can fly her up here for (part of) the summer – at least we’ll have the evenings and weekends.

How we cope? With IM, and Skype, and thoughtful emails. With sappy Hallmark cards. With aching hearts.
How we cope? I wrote this a couple of months ago, and I’d like to share it with others in our situation:

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Every time I have to leave you, I leave a piece of me behind.
So far, I’ve left you 9 times in the past year, and
I’ve spent a total of 212 days and nights with you
out of 374 days since our first night together.
That’s almost 57%; just over half my time
has been with you

And each time I have to leave you, I leave a piece of me behind.
I also take a piece of you with me, hoping it will last
until I’m back in your arms again.
Sometimes it does.
Mostly, it runs out a few days before I return
to reunite with the piece of me I left behind

Sometimes, the piece of me I left behind is all used up.
It’s gone. I search for it, in your eyes, in your embrace, in your kiss.
But it’s not anywhere I look; I can’t find it without your help.
And when I need you to show me, to tell me we’re all right, and still whole…
is when it seems hardest for you to do just that.
Seems you’ve lost that piece of me, too.

Sometimes the pieces of me in your care, and the pieces of you in mine
are lost, consumed, faded away – despite our best efforts to keep them safe.
This is an unhappy side effect of leaving all the time.
We can rebuild those pieces, you and I, but starting each new visit
with a deficit means we’re forever playing catch-up;
and while we do grow, growth is delayed, retarded.

This is why I want to stay; why I want to stop leaving.
So we can build, instead of re-build.
So we can walk into a future together, growing steadily as a couple,
instead of two steps forward and one step back
But until we can, I will cherish our time together, and
every time I have to leave you, I *will* leave a piece of me behind.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

At Passover, we Jews say “Next year in Jerusalem”. My fervent hope is, that I can say – soon – “Next year in Boston”.

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