In December, Vic came home from Mozambique. I took the bus up to Buffalo, so that I would be there when he got in. (Side note: Several people at the time commented: “you’re taking the bus all the way to Buffalo?! That’s like, an 11 hour ride!!” to which I would say, “11 hours in a nice bus, on a nice, smooth, paved road, with a bathroom!! TALK ABOUT LUXURY!” If I had brought a laptop, I even could have used the INTERNET while on the bus. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that. America is a strange and magical place…).
We hadn’t seen each other since May… sometimes this long-distance thing seems surreal. I’ve found that there’s a strange phenomenon within Peace Corps with regards to time. You start viewing months more like days. Literally, I think things like, “Well, its mid-February now, so it’s basically March. And then there’s April, and I have that thing to do in May, so that’ll go by fast. So, really, July is just around the corner!” Non-Peace Corps-people sometimes ask how I’ve found being in such a long-distance relationship, and I’m not sure how to answer. “It’s not so bad… We talk once a week or so and I’ll see him in about 4 months,” seems like a reasonable answer to me, but they tend to look at me like I’m crazy.
That’s not to say that it’s easy. There are periods where our minimal communication is infuriating. There are stretches of time that are lonely and hard. But it was while I was home taking care of Margie was the first time that the distance felt more than geographical. For the first time, I felt like I couldn’t relate to his life, and like he couldn’t relate to mine. After all, how could you ever understand something like that if you’re not there? Still, we talked about it; we talked about why it was painful and frustrating to be apart during all that. We said everything that could be said and got through it.
I expect it wouldn’t have been all that different even without the geographic distance. Even when people are right there with you, physically, there are some things we all experience on our own. A hug would have been nice. For him to see, with his own eyes, everything that was happening would have been nice (well… not “nice,” but you know…). But I would guess that even then I would have felt like he didn’t understand, because he wasn’t ME in a relationship with HER for the last 16 years. He loved her too, but it’s just different. This was MY grief. He could support me through it, but not be IN it, regardless of distance or lack thereof.
Anyways… in December Vic was home. I spent about a week in Buffalo with him and his family, and then he came back to Boston with me for about a week. Buffalo was fun. I had met most of his family before, but in passing at his graduation party. This gave me the chance to get to know people a little more, which was great. It was also good to be away for a bit. I couldn’t worry about getting things done around the condo, because I wasn’t there. I could rest.
Once he was home I had talked everything through with him, and decided that I would go back to Niger. It became clear, once I was sure what my options were, that part of me would regret it if I didn’t finish my service, and that no part of me would regret it if I went back and gave it my best shot, even if it was hard.
Being home with him was both good and stressful. We tried to cram so much in. He came to the one-month memorial mass, which was great. It was really hard for both of us that he couldn’t be there for the funeral, so the memorial mass was really nice. We spent a couple of days with my Mom for her birthday, which was really nice, too. We got together with friends a couple of times, had dinner at my Aunt’s, and went to the Tangney Grab (a family Christmas party/”Yankee Swap”)… and we packed. He helped me sort through pictures, papers, dishes, etc. etc. By “helped” I mostly mean he hung out with me while I did that, because I really had to be making decisions about what I was keeping and where things were going - i.e. I didn't really let him do much, but he took it in stride... I was overwhelmed, but for the most part he kept me sane. Everything got done when it needed to get done, and we had some fun despite the chaos of it all.
In the midst of all the packing, I had the chance to share some really cool stuff with him. Old family pictures, Chris’ eulogy from Dad’s funeral (Chris’ eulogy from Margie’s funeral, for that matter), things I had made as a kid.... The kind of things that mean a lot, but that aren’t on-hand on a day-to-day basis. We also found a portfolio of pictures that Margie had apparently had done when she was about my age and trying to get in to modeling. I do vaguely remember being told that she was a hand model, but these weren’t just hand-pictures. These were pictures of her in all kinds of outfits and costumes, looking sometimes glamorous, sometimes sassy, sometimes silly, always beautiful. I had no idea those existed – talk about a find!!
The last day before Vic went back to Buffalo we had decided to set aside as a “date”: no hanging out with other people, no working/packing/obligations; only the two of us, and only fun things to do. We took the T in to Boston, walked all around Newbury Street and Beacon Hill, went ice skating on the frog pond, wandered around Quincy Market looking at Christmas lights. It was perfect. Then, towards the end of the day, over by Long Wharf under the archway, all lit-up for the holidays, he proposed! I could hardly believe it. To this day I have no idea what he said (although I have been assured that it was very eloquent): I was so in shock! We had, of course, talked about the possibility before, but under the circumstances I was sure he wouldn’t do it then. Things were just too crazy. There would have been no chance to plan anything at all! As it turns out, he carried the ring around with him for those two weeks, waiting for the right moment to present itself. He had told my mom a few days before when we went out to dinner for her birthday, and he had even called Margie the month before to tell her.
I can’t describe how ridiculous giddy I was for the rest of that night. We went out to dinner, basking in the exhilaration of this new step in our relationship. When we got home that night, we started making phone calls, to tell family and friends the news.
The next day, he went back to Buffalo, and a week later (after Christmas and the oh-so-fun opportunity to tell many – although sadly, not all – family and friends about our engagement in person), I went back to Niger. To start over.
We hadn’t seen each other since May… sometimes this long-distance thing seems surreal. I’ve found that there’s a strange phenomenon within Peace Corps with regards to time. You start viewing months more like days. Literally, I think things like, “Well, its mid-February now, so it’s basically March. And then there’s April, and I have that thing to do in May, so that’ll go by fast. So, really, July is just around the corner!” Non-Peace Corps-people sometimes ask how I’ve found being in such a long-distance relationship, and I’m not sure how to answer. “It’s not so bad… We talk once a week or so and I’ll see him in about 4 months,” seems like a reasonable answer to me, but they tend to look at me like I’m crazy.
That’s not to say that it’s easy. There are periods where our minimal communication is infuriating. There are stretches of time that are lonely and hard. But it was while I was home taking care of Margie was the first time that the distance felt more than geographical. For the first time, I felt like I couldn’t relate to his life, and like he couldn’t relate to mine. After all, how could you ever understand something like that if you’re not there? Still, we talked about it; we talked about why it was painful and frustrating to be apart during all that. We said everything that could be said and got through it.
I expect it wouldn’t have been all that different even without the geographic distance. Even when people are right there with you, physically, there are some things we all experience on our own. A hug would have been nice. For him to see, with his own eyes, everything that was happening would have been nice (well… not “nice,” but you know…). But I would guess that even then I would have felt like he didn’t understand, because he wasn’t ME in a relationship with HER for the last 16 years. He loved her too, but it’s just different. This was MY grief. He could support me through it, but not be IN it, regardless of distance or lack thereof.
Anyways… in December Vic was home. I spent about a week in Buffalo with him and his family, and then he came back to Boston with me for about a week. Buffalo was fun. I had met most of his family before, but in passing at his graduation party. This gave me the chance to get to know people a little more, which was great. It was also good to be away for a bit. I couldn’t worry about getting things done around the condo, because I wasn’t there. I could rest.
Once he was home I had talked everything through with him, and decided that I would go back to Niger. It became clear, once I was sure what my options were, that part of me would regret it if I didn’t finish my service, and that no part of me would regret it if I went back and gave it my best shot, even if it was hard.
Being home with him was both good and stressful. We tried to cram so much in. He came to the one-month memorial mass, which was great. It was really hard for both of us that he couldn’t be there for the funeral, so the memorial mass was really nice. We spent a couple of days with my Mom for her birthday, which was really nice, too. We got together with friends a couple of times, had dinner at my Aunt’s, and went to the Tangney Grab (a family Christmas party/”Yankee Swap”)… and we packed. He helped me sort through pictures, papers, dishes, etc. etc. By “helped” I mostly mean he hung out with me while I did that, because I really had to be making decisions about what I was keeping and where things were going - i.e. I didn't really let him do much, but he took it in stride... I was overwhelmed, but for the most part he kept me sane. Everything got done when it needed to get done, and we had some fun despite the chaos of it all.
In the midst of all the packing, I had the chance to share some really cool stuff with him. Old family pictures, Chris’ eulogy from Dad’s funeral (Chris’ eulogy from Margie’s funeral, for that matter), things I had made as a kid.... The kind of things that mean a lot, but that aren’t on-hand on a day-to-day basis. We also found a portfolio of pictures that Margie had apparently had done when she was about my age and trying to get in to modeling. I do vaguely remember being told that she was a hand model, but these weren’t just hand-pictures. These were pictures of her in all kinds of outfits and costumes, looking sometimes glamorous, sometimes sassy, sometimes silly, always beautiful. I had no idea those existed – talk about a find!!
The last day before Vic went back to Buffalo we had decided to set aside as a “date”: no hanging out with other people, no working/packing/obligations; only the two of us, and only fun things to do. We took the T in to Boston, walked all around Newbury Street and Beacon Hill, went ice skating on the frog pond, wandered around Quincy Market looking at Christmas lights. It was perfect. Then, towards the end of the day, over by Long Wharf under the archway, all lit-up for the holidays, he proposed! I could hardly believe it. To this day I have no idea what he said (although I have been assured that it was very eloquent): I was so in shock! We had, of course, talked about the possibility before, but under the circumstances I was sure he wouldn’t do it then. Things were just too crazy. There would have been no chance to plan anything at all! As it turns out, he carried the ring around with him for those two weeks, waiting for the right moment to present itself. He had told my mom a few days before when we went out to dinner for her birthday, and he had even called Margie the month before to tell her.
I can’t describe how ridiculous giddy I was for the rest of that night. We went out to dinner, basking in the exhilaration of this new step in our relationship. When we got home that night, we started making phone calls, to tell family and friends the news.
The next day, he went back to Buffalo, and a week later (after Christmas and the oh-so-fun opportunity to tell many – although sadly, not all – family and friends about our engagement in person), I went back to Niger. To start over.
No comments:
Post a Comment