Tomorrow, I mark one year that I’ve been with My American.
It will be 365 days since, after a flurry of text messages throughout the early days of January, we met in Cranbrook to see if there really was something there.
We had spent almost a week together at Christmas and New Year’s but on the day I was returning to Calgary, he said a long-distance relationship would be just too complicated.
It didn’t take long, however, before we both realized how much we enjoyed the other’s company.
How much we made the other laugh.
How much we made the other think.
So we met. And it was like we hadn’t been apart those three weeks.
There was something there.
There still is.
There always will be.
Each time we’re together, it’s like the 800 kilometres (ahem … 500 miles) have melted away.
Like it was meant to be this way.
But he’s right.
Long-distance relationships are complicated. Cross-border relationships are even more so.
It isn’t just about the travel.
It’s the lonely nights.
And the lonely mornings.
The need for a shoulder to cry on sometimes when it’s an eight-hour drive away.
The agony of ending the video Skype call when I want to stay on the line forever.
And the legalities and logistics of one day living in the same area code.
The together moments, however, make it all disappear.
The year has not been without its trials and tribulations. The distance is difficult, we fight like any other couple does and my job loss has thrown a kink into most everything.
His encouragement gives me strength.
His patience calms me.
His intelligence challenges me.
Without him, the year would have been much different.
Without him, my life would be much different.
In a way I don’t want to know.
Happy anniversary, My American.
The first of many.