A Typical Weekend Visit for the Long-Distance Couple

It's 5 p.m. and I scramble to finish making his favorite dinner before he arrives after a long drive after an even longer day at work. I set the table that never gets set, putting down those place mats I rarely ever use, clicking on a few of those lame fake candles because I foolishly realize I only have one scented one in my apartment.

I put on our favorite Pandora station and make excuses to peek outside, waiting to see the lights of his car shine up the road.

He arrives. My heart flutters. Hugs and kisses.

We eat dinner and he catches me up on the latest potential work news while I sit back and smile, thinking about how hard-working he is and how I hope this new situation will work out for him. For us.

We finish eating and then we change into PJs, slipping into our goofy selves, making each other laugh so loudly that we rival the obnoxious guitar-playing neighbors below us.

He falls asleep at 8:30, allowing the exhaustion of a post-graduate substitute teacher pore over him. I stay up just a bit longer, grateful that he is here and say a quick prayer that the rest of the weekend won't fly by.

We greet the day at 8 a.m., both not sure what to do, and finally settle on going to Barnes and Noble and the mall, our typical fall-back date. We window shop for a while and head back. We watch Pitch Perfect and eat dinner, laughing and snuggling on the couch, thinking how awesome it is to be so comfortable doing nothing at all, but loving it all the same. The afternoon and evening roll by lazily, but steadily.

We get ready and head out to meet another couple for drinks at 9 p.m.--late for us "old folk." I stress and freak out about driving in the snow (thanks to this accident), while he confidently navigates us to the city.

When we arrive, I forget all of my fears and simply enjoy the evening with our friends. I bask in the ease of conversation and enjoy having him by my side. After much conversation, we realize it is way past our bedtime and we head home.

The next morning, we head to church--a fairly new activity for us to do together--and I hear him sing the praise songs next to me and it fills my heart with joy.

We stop by a local coffee shop for lunch and I start to get antsy and uneasy, trying to stretch out this lunch as long as possible.

But, like all things, it flies by and it is time for him to go. I tell myself to be strong this time, that I will hopefully see him soon. I hold him tight, give him a kiss, and let him go, watching him drive away.

I am fine for a minute. And then the tears come. I just want to go home. I miss him and my family every day. And even though I've been away for several months now, saying goodbye is still never easy.

But as a good friend recently told me, I must remember the hello's and treasure those happy moments, and some day, I won't have to say goodbye anymore.