1,500 or 15,000?

Newer readers might not know that I have been in a long distance relationship for almost five years.

Most of the time, it doesn’t bother me too much. Aside from the normal sadness that comes with only being able to see each other three times a year, and not spending holidays together and stuff, I think Marci and I have done a phenomenal job of dealing with the circumstances of our relationship. It’s hard, but we make it work. We take pride in the fact that we have lasted this long. We think it makes us tougher.

None of that helps me right now.

A few months ago, Marci started complaining about stomach discomfort. After a trip or two to the doctor, it was determined that her gallbladder had to come out. Today was the day. It’s been one of the hardest days of this relationship.

When I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Marci, I made her a promise. I promised that I would be there for her during the tough times as well as the good ones. I promised that I would take care of her.

Today, she had surgery and I couldn’t be there. She’s recovering at her parents’ home instead of her own home…with me.

Today, the 1,500 miles that separates us might as well be 15,000.

I feel like I’ve broken my promise.