After the last few excruciating days acting like characters from Downtown Abbey, practically curtseying when we passed each other and asking if Sir would be so kind as to pass the peanut butter, we sat down and talked Tuesday night. We have this running joke about what a horrible cook I am, so when he got home from work (he worked a day shift so it was regular time) I had set the table all beautifully as if for an extravagant meal, and served him a bowl of cereal. He cracked up.
We ended up sitting at the kitchen table until the wee hours, talking honestly about how weird and amazing and hard and wonderful this turbo charged relationship has been. We admitted that we don’t know each other that well, our love for each other is instinctive and deep, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need to take the time to get to know each other as individuals. We talked about how it’s difficult that I’m going through this big thing, feeling lonely and struggling to figure out a new country, while he is just carrying on his regular life. He admitted that he has known I’ve been finding it tough but didn’t know how to address it with me, especially as he feels it’s his fault.
I reminded him that he didn’t ask me to come here. That was a dicey one, he looked up sharply, and tension spiked the air again suddenly as that had been one of the high points of the fight on Friday, but I took a deep breath and explained that I had realized that was a good thing.
He didn’t ask me to come here. After Thailand, we spent the next few weeks on Skype pretty much 24/7, missing each other desperately and planning when we would meet again. He offered to come to the US in March for a trip, but just before he booked his flights, my Grandma passed away. He said he would come anyway, even more so to support me through it, but I needed to deal with everything on my own. I don’t know if this will make much sense, but I felt like I didn’t want to confuse something wonderful (him coming to see me) with that dark period.
I think I have mentioned before here that my Grandma raised me, even though she hasn’t been mentally present for almost a decade, she has been pretty much the one anchor in my life since before I can remember. In amongst the grief for a pretty amazing lady, there was this cathartic sense of a giant door on the first part of my life closing. Even though the Viking and I had met already, that had been a holiday romance, and I needed to complete the final chapter alone before opening a brand new one with him.
So I told him not to come and he understood. A couple of months passed by and I started to feel ready for the new chapter. I hope that doesn’t sound harsh or too short, I am and a part of me will probably always will be grieving, but the period where I was consumed by it was short and sharp.
We started talking about me coming to see him – for a trip initially. I was excited, I had never been to Europe before, and so I started researching. I’ve always been a bit of a research geek, I like details, I like being informed and prepared for whatever is in front of me. So I started looking up Sweden, and the more I discovered the more I got excited about it. The history, the social progression, the beauty of the landscape and cityscape of Stockholm – I just wanted to be a part of it.
I got so excited, and I guess was so ready for a brand new life, that I suddenly heard myself suggesting it was an indefinite trip. He was kind of startled – actually I was too – but almost instantly we started to get excited and plan.
What hit me during the tense politeness of the weekend, was that I’d forgotten how much I had wanted to live in Sweden. Of course he was the catalyst and I want to live and be with him too, but the idea of moving was to live a new life in a new country – and I had kind of forgotten that. I’ve been basing my existence here on him and our relationship, and I think that’s where I’ve been going wrong…