It’s April, and he’s gone. Never would I have expected for things to have turned out this way. Yet, here we are.

No longer we, though: you, me, and the past.

I had no doubts that this was going to work. We were in love. We planned, we worked, we thought of everything. Well, almost everything. Everything seemed to go in our favor for so long. We fell in love; we got the visa; we had no major obstacles along the way. Nothing that we could not overcome. Until now.

Change. That’s the one variant that we didn’t account for.

I am afraid. I am afraid that after being content, happy, safe, comfortable, so comfortable with you… I am afraid I will never feel those things again. The hurt will go away, eventually. The tears will cease. But what else does the future hold? Will I always be sad that this one thing, this one thing that I wanted so badly, did not go as planned?

All the things that we meant to each other, all the feelings we have; what to do with those now?

the grief is wrenching out of me, leaping from my mouth, from my heart

Each of the three times I’ve had to see Charlie off at the airport, it’s been a tearful parting.  The first time was because we’d fallen in love, but we didn’t know what would happen next, when we’d see each other again.  Now that I think of it, each time he’s left that’s been the case, that’s been the question:  when will we see each other again?  The uncertainty is a bitch.

It’s been 18 days since I took Charlie to the airport.  Eighteen days I have, at some point, on each of those days, been in tears.  Some days have been ok; some days, well some days have been unbearable.  A week ago yesterday, for example, I spent an entire day crying.  Today has been another unbearable day.

My mind keeps returning to the airport today, for some reason.  I have this picture in my head:  Charlie going through the security gates, turning back to look at me as I waited until he’d gone through.  One last final wave, and he was gone.  Then, in my imagination, I run through the gates, run until I catch up with him, throw my arms around him, ask him to please reconsider.  please stay.  finding some last minute reason, some fantastic miracle of a reason for him to stay.  finding some way to quell his yearning for London.

Of course, this was not how it happened.  I stayed until his flight left; I cried in the car for a while.  I circled the Nashville airport twice because they are doing construction and I couldn’t, in my blurry-eyed state, find my way out.  I only wanted to go home and bury my head in my pillow and cry.

I couldn’t sleep that night.  I waited until I thought he was home again, about 1am my time, then went to sleep.  He texted to say he was in London about 3.30am.  I awoke at 5.30am, and could not get back to sleep.

I would love nothing more than for the phone to ring, and Charlie tell me he’s at the airport, ready to be picked up.  Alternately, I’d love to jump on a plane, right this moment, and fly to London.  The only thing stopping me is the fact that I just applied for a passport, and it won’t arrive for  a couple of weeks.

The separation from him is killing me.

It’s hard to talk about heartbreak, especially when you are still in the depths of it. Deep, deep in the heart of it.

It’s March, and hopefully spring is near. Just one year ago, Charlie and I began the process of applying for his visa, so that he could come here to America, and we could be together. We have gone through the entire process: paperwork, interviews, the selling of belongings, the moving in together. Just a few months ago, December, Charlie came here to live.

The sadness I feel now I can’t even put into words. Just a few weeks ago, Charlie moved back to London.

I miss him terribly; there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I’ve not wished he was here, still. But his he was homesick for London, for his friends, for his family– how could I compete with all of that?

Missing him is only part of what I’m feeling now: mostly, I feel heartbroken that he was unhappy here. I am sad that we went through so many things to get here and it didn’t work. I am sad that we had goals, a direction, plans, and now we are starting all over again. I am anxious. My moods have been labile, my emotions erratic.

I feel anxious without him; somehow, his presence calms me. That was a welcome revelation for me, the first time I realized it. Anxiety has been a steady presence in my life since childhood. But the first time Charlie came to visit me, December of 2007, and wrapped his arms around me, I felt calm and content for the first time in my life.

That first meeting in December 2007 was nerve-wracking for both of us. The first week was horrible, as well: Charlie was suffering from a mix of nerves, sleep-deprivation, and homesickness. He’d also somehow convinced himself that I had no interest in him. Of course, I’d convinced myself, based in his behavior, that he had no interest in me. He stayed in a hotel for the first week; then he came and stayed with me, sleeping on the couch at first. After over a week of neither of us making the first move, I finally took the plunge. As we sat on the couch one day, and as I was talking to my sister on the phone, I reached over, and held Charlie’s hand.

I’ll never forget that moment: it was a defining moment in our relationship. If he had rejected me, I’d have been crushed. I had no idea what he would do; I only knew I had to break the ice between us, somehow. We held hands often after that, cuddling on the couch. He told me once that the single act of me reaching for his hand made him feel instantly better.

The first night he didn’t have to sleep on the couch was New Year’s Eve. As he held me in his arms, I felt, for the first time in my life, that I was happy, safe, content. I had none of the normal anxiety or fear. To me, that’s amazing.

It’s hard to sleep lately, with the man I love half a world away.

Or maybe I should say American ennui?  Or an English citizen in America ennui?  However you want to say it, the bottom line is this:  my Englishman is bored.  Right out of his mind.

Granted, Nashville isn’t the most exciting city on the planet, but I doubt it’s the worst one, either.  I think moving to another country, and having no friends or job or anything to keep you occupied is the culprit of Charlie’s boredom.  After all, there’s only so much sightseeing a person can do in any city, right?  A place doesn’t hold much meaning for a person without friends and family.

It doesn’t help that it’s the holidays, normally a time for family & friends to get together.  Being subjected to someone else’s family  might not be the most comforting thing, no matter how nice that family is.  Thankfully, Charlie met my family last Christmas, albeit two days after he met me…  A bit overwhelming, to say the least!  And my immediate family is small, just my sister & her husband & son, and my parents.  Not so bad.

Holidays are just slightly different in England, and although you wouldn’t think it would be that different, even those small differences count.  For instance, we don’t have “Boxing Day” here:  In England, Boxing day (the day after Christmas) is a day for going to the pub, hanging out with friends, things like that.  What do we do here?  Hit the malls.  Isn’t consumerism fantastic?  When Charlie asked me what we were doing for boxing day, I was at a loss.  Thankfully, there’s an Arsenal game on that morning, so he will be occupied for at least 90 minutes!

In an effort to make this holiday bright, I’ve decided to cook dinner this evening, including making scones.  I’ve never made scones before, and so far have only had the pleasure of tasting the Americanized version.  I don’t know if this will cure any of Charlie’s boredom or homesickness, but it’s a start!

So, the last month has been quite busy.  Quite.  Charlie had things to do in London, like saying goodbyes, and packing, and getting ready to move 4,000 miles from his home.

And me?  I was cleaning, making lists, worrying over all the things I had to do to prepare for this tall adorable Englishman to arrive.  I had lists of the most inane and ridiculous things, but I had this need for everything to be perfect.  Perfectionism is a large pain in the ass.

So he’s here, finally!  He arrived Wednesday, December 3rd.  Hence the reason neither of us has blogged, as we have been busy catching up.

Now the blog will have to take a slight turn…  Which direction it will go remains to be seen!

I wonder what other couples argue about– do they argue about money, work, politics…. what? I find that I tend to argue over small things, like semantics or other small things no one else would notice. In the past there have been arguments with drunken boyfriends (which are quite painful because one person wakes up with the full weight of memory: the other doesn’t), friends, bosses, co-workers, family members…. I’ve always held on to a certain amount of self-righteousness through these arguments, certain that I was right, the other person was wrong, end of story. I suppose that many of us argue with just this belief in mind. I have had knock-down, drag out, yelling & screaming arguments, and yet none of those even touch the feelings I have after having even the smallest of disagreements with Charlie.

I feel guilty after we disagree: I feel pain. Our disagreements, so far, have been completely long-distance, via phone, and that makes it worse, somehow. The things we argue about seem to rise from our circumstances, such as misunderstandings or mis-communications over text messages and habits that we’ve both developed. Our communication is so limited. It infuriates me– lately, on a daily basis. There once was a time that I couldn’t even imagine us having an argument, I dreaded the day it would happen. Now it’s happened a few times, and I still dread it. It’s painful to have someone that you care about be angry with you, or critical in any way. Some joe-schmo could come along and say any insulting thing he wanted to me and I wouldn’t blink an eye. If it’s Charlie, though, it’s a different story.

And I seem to be argumentative by nature. And it’s annoying. I have learned that it’s really easier to just let things go, forget them, and move on. Some days, I just can’t seem to do it. We are both stubborn and maybe that adds to it. I keep blaming the fact that we have been working a long time on being together, that we have been waiting and waiting and then waiting some more, and oddly enough neither of us has become more patient through this process. Our most oft said phrase lately– ‘guess we’ll just have to wait and see.’ This is starting to become a bit maddening.

Soon. Hopefully he will be here soon, and he can experience all of my madness and argumentativeness in person.

As I was driving home tonight, I was listening to Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” and as usual, it brought me to tears. I might be a bit over-emotional today, but how can you not be when you hear these lyrics?

“ But remember when I moved in you…..

And every breath we drew was Hallelujah”

So the good news is that we got our visa- Yay!

I cannot write here how relieved I was when I opened the courier package to find my visa right in front of me, I cannot express how happy I am now that I know I can spend the rest of my life with Jen!

These things are huge. The last seven months have been heavy going for both of us so we are both immensely happy about the outcome.

But- We still have some more waiting to do! We still have to wait for me to sell my boat until I can jump on a plane & properly celebrate with Jen! How long that’s gonna take is out of our hands. The visa expires in mid-April, I cannot fucking wait that long to see Jen, honestly! But what can I do- I may have to put the boat on Ebay for 99p then live off of Jen til I get a job! No, seriously, the sooner I sell the boat the sooner we can get on with our lives but until then we have to do what me & Jen are so good at– Waiting!!

Last Saturday my sister held a family dinner/get together to say goodbye to me kind of thing! Which turned out to be a surprise party with all my mates, family & even a DJ! I was so impressed by this, I was buzzing! this went on til about five in the morning. It was a great night….

Apart from: (and here’s the bad news!)

When a few of my mates decided to leave to go home they were greeted outside by some of the hood-rats that live on my sisters’ estate- You know, the kind that don’t work, hang around, give grief to anyone that so much as makes eye contact with them? To the point that they tried to mug one of my mates for money & his phone! We heard the commotion & all piled outside to support our friends, only to be confronted by these two youths who had hardly started shaving, threatening us that we’re all gonna get stabbed or done by shotguns for being in ‘their yard’.

Please? I think they both had ’small-man syndrome’ or some shit. They then noticed me & said that when they see me on the estate later that they are gonna stab me! At first in my head I laughed at this but as time went on I couldn’t help but think that that could happen. You only have to look in the papers to see the number of people being stabbed on our streets for the slightest of reasons. I’m more exposed than any of the people they threatened, I don’t drive- I do have to walk through the estate day to day. Plus I have to walk the dogs when I get home from work- If they wanted to do anything to any one of us I would be the prime target.

All of this got me thinking about stuff, about mortality, about what it would mean to me in my life right now to be stabbed by one of these little scum-bags & end up dying as a result!

When I was going though the darkest days of my life, when I was surrounded by depression, when I thought about suicide on a daily basis I remember thinking that I really wouldn’t mind dying- I couldn’t take the plunge myself by taking my own life. Not because I was scared of dying but because I was scared it would go wrong, wouldn’t work & then I’d be in even more pain, which kind of defeats the object really! But amongst all this I couldn’t help but notice how very little I cared for this life. When I think about this same question now in my life the differences are huge! I have so much to live for now, I climbed out of the hole I was in & got my shit together! But above all of that I have a woman in my life that has enriched it in ways I felt were impossible, I have never felt this content in my life ever. So when these little scum-bags threaten to take what I have away from me, things that are worth so much, well it kind of brings things home for me!

I’ve had tears in my eyes writing this whole blog- I never want to lose what I’ve got because this shit doesn’t come around all that much!

Do I believe in fairy tales?

Not really.  I love those original, non-disneyfied Grimm’s tales, as scary and gruesome as they are, but other than that, I’m not really a fairy tale kinda gal.  Must be all the cynicism I’ve been holding on to all these years.  I dunno, happy endings are just so unrealistic, aren’t they?

So.  Once upon a time, last April to be exact, I met a man.  I met Charlie.  We weren’t looking for romance, either of us.  I had resigned myself to be alone; I think Charlie was just through with women.  Regardless of that, regardless of the fact that we were not looking for this, we found it anyway.  Or rather, it found us.

It was so easy to fall in love with Charlie, and the fact that an ocean separated us didn’t seem to matter.  I think we both knew all along that crossing the ocean would have to occur, that one of us would have to make the trek to see the other.  We had to meet in person, to see if this was all real, or if we were both just crazy.  Neither of us being the type to do things on a whim, it seemed unlikely that this could be anything but real.

Here’s where the story gets good:  In March of this year, we applied for a fiance visa, so that he could move to the US and we could be together.  Seven months later, and we finally have it:  we finally have the visa that we’ve been working for, hoping for, waiting for.  It still seems unreal, I’m still in a waiting pattern, I still think there must be more forms, or more information that the government wants from us.  He does still have to go through customs & immigration when he gets here, which shouldn’t be a big deal, but…  My cynicism is showing through again.

Can I say that this is a happy ending, seeing as we got what we wanted?  Actually, no, I’m going to call it something else:

A happy beginning.

Once upon a time… I met a man, a man who fell in love with me.  How lucky am I?

How do you keep the romance going from 4000 miles away?  It’s not easy.  It’s the little things that do it– those little extras that must substitute for your partner actually being by your side.

We have settled into habits, Charlie & I, much like any other couple would.  We talk at certain times of the day, we text madly through the rest of the day.  Time differences dictate much of that, as one of us is usually still slumbering while the other is at work.  When I get up & start my work day, Charlie is already through with his.  When it’s time for him to go to sleep, I still have my evening ahead of me.

One thing Charlie has done consistently since we met is stay up late to talk to me.  He’s stayed up many nights– way past sunrise– talking to me.  I love that;  I’ve always loved it.  This is our time together, these phone conversations.  This is all we have.  Staying up all night so you can talk to a person halfway across the world– well, what could be lovelier?

The surprise phone calls are the best; I love it when my phone rings and it’s him, just calling me to say hi, or that he loves me.  I get the urge to make those calls too, and it’s just as much fun surprising him.

This past Thursday, it was cold here, and rainy:  the first glimpse of fall.  I love the fall, it’s my favorite time of year, it makes me feel alive like no other season does.  I love the crisp nights, the sunny but slightly chilly days, the leaves falling all around.  As I was driving into work, I had the sudden urge to call Charlie up and say I love you.  I so wanted to hear his voice.

This morning, he surprised me:  as soon as I sent him a text to say hello & that I was awake, he rang to say hello.  I can’t think of a better way to start my weekend, than hearing his voice.

As far as the visa goes, we are in waiting hell again.  Last week, Charlie got all the necessary forms the Embassy wanted, and called them on Tuesday to let them know.  The Embassy sent a courier on Wednesday to pick up the forms.  Now, we are waiting.  Again.

The low sun in the a.m. sky is hurting my eyes to the point that I want to attack it, The lady & her toddler sitting opposite me on the tube are irritating me to the point that I nearly get up & move seats! If anyone tries talking to me right now I’ll probably want to scream at them!

This is what six months of dealing with a bureaucracy does to you- well to me anyway!

Two Thursdays ago I went for my visa interview at the U.S. Embassy in London. To say I was nervous will not do- I was petrified!

Waiting outside at security to be admitted in to the Embassy I start to really feel the nerves kicking in. There’s a Policemen with a gun ten feet away from me- WITH A GUN?- Please understand my fascination & uneasiness with this?- this is England, we don’t usually do guns! But anyway, I look up at this huge wide all encompassing building in front of me only to notice a huge golden eagle, wings spread, staring down at me! That’s right- AT ME!! I think to myself ‘Yeah, I know you’re there!’ I’m guessing that today everything feels a lot more acute- The eagle’s not that big & the building isn’t all that wide but my feelings say otherwise!

I finally get through to be given a ticket with a waiting number of 5001! ‘I’m gonna be here all bloody day- 5000 & bloody 1 no less!’ But it turned out that for that day the first in line was 5000, so not so bad!

As I’m sat there I notice how well dressed I am in comparison to everyone around me. Myself & Jen deliberated over this plenty as to make the right impression, but in hindsight I don’t think the Embassy could of given a shit- More money wasted! Sitting, waiting, I can’t help but notice how scared I am. I’m not alone: A woman sat a few feet away from me is that nervous that she starts to reach!

“Ticket #5001 can you please make your way to window #14?” That’s me- Here we go!

The lady I first speak to isn’t very helpful! For a start she can’t speak English very well so I have to keep asking her to repeat the instructions she’s giving me which really starts to irritate me! but not only that, she makes very little eye contact let alone break a smile which makes me all the more nervous! She takes all my paper-work & tells me to go take a seat & I will be called again soon!

“Ticket #5001 can you please make your way to window #15?” Here we go again!

This time it’s a different woman, nearer my age, she looks bright & welcoming- Straight away I feel slightly more relaxed- only slightly mind you: I start scrambling my words, I have to stop myself dead, apologise & ask if I can start again explaining how nervous i feel? The officer breaks a smile & Say’s “Of course, take your time!”

These little differences are huge! Once I realised how nice this woman was & how she really isn’t trying to catch me out I could relax, the interview went fine- Until!

Now here’s where the anger I started this blog off with came from:

My visa has been suspended because of two forms of paper-work that are needed to complete my application & for a decision to be made! Not just any paper-work, paper-work that takes time & running around to obtain: One being from Jen in America & the other a Police background check different from the one I had! The one I had was the exact one they told me to apply for but only to be told at my interview that they don’t accept those kind of police checks anymore- ‘That’s not what the instructions I was fucking given had said!!’

The point is is that me & Jen had tried to mentally & emotionally prepare ourselves for a decision either way on that day. Anyone & I only mean anyone that’s been through this will know the amount of energy that takes out of a person! Once the anger had subsided I could then realise what it had done to me- I felt ill, I couldn’t eat- I really couldn’t function properly! It took me a couple of days til I felt back to normal again!

The moral of the story is: Don’t & I repeat- Don’t fall madly in-love with someone who lives in another country to you!