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I wrote my very first letter to Sam before he left for Italy.
“Sam,
Hopefully this little gift makes you smile. It might not be the best idea to do some of the things on the Long Airplane Ride list, but hey, it’s your call! Just as long as you come home to me in nineteen days.
Even though I’m going to miss you soooo much while you’re gone, I hope you have the time of your life in Italy! I’ll email you as much as possible and will probably be going to bed a whole lot earlier;) haha. But don’t worry about me while you’re there, because I am totally and completely addicted to having you in my life. I’m 110% crazy about you… I didn’t think it was possible, but you were right.
You’re the best friend a person could ask for. I don’t know how we ended up where we are now, but I thank God for it constantly. I hope you have an incredible Italian adventure! Go eat some spaghetti and have a cappuccino at a street cafe or something!
Miss you already and thinking about you right… Now:)Ciao Baby. -Jess(P.S. Don’t forget our July 3rd sunset date)
(P.P.S If your last name was Mickerson, your initials would be S.A.M.)”
While talking the night before his flight, we made a few promises. One was that both of us would take a picture of the sunset on July 3rd. So that maybe we would feel closer knowing we were experiencing the same moment at (kind of) the same time. When he first left, I sat in my room and reread text messages from him. Somehow missing him already and wondering if he was missing me. A quick email from the Chicago airport erased any doubt I held.
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| July 3, 2009 |
The other two promises were a little more daunting. I had to talk to one of my closest friends, who also happens to be Sam’s ex-girlfriends, and ask for her blessing. I didn’t want to hurt our friendship but I was also worried about loosing the future I had started to imagine with this wonderful boy.
The last thing I had to do was talk to my dad. Even now the thought of doing this makes me nervous. My dad is incredibly over-protective, to say the least, and had stated many, many times that he would never let me go on a date.
I put the conversations off as long as possible. Days went by and Sam’s return home was coming closer. I wanted to be excited, I really did, but instead I was anxious and afraid. I tried to mentally script what I should say to them, and quickly realized that the only way I would be able to get a single word out without bursting into tears was in the single form I felt comfortable: I would write them letters. My friend’s letter came first, and I poured my heart out. Then I wrote my dads and made it as logical as possible, promising to keep up with my studies and that Sam was a genuinely good person. After many prayers all the pieces fell into places and we could finally be together… once he came home.
I waited.
And I waited.
And I waited some more.
Occasionally I would get an email from him telling me about his sailing adventures to Croatia, the delicious foods he was eating, a field of sunflowers next to the home he was staying at, the beautiful language he was learning, and how much he missed me. I read every word several times. Soaking them in and trying to hear his voice. Every inch of me missed him and I began to count the time until he came home to me.
The days, hours and minutes all grew smaller, until there was only 1, 24, and 1,440. It was so close and I stayed wide awake all night long. Waiting. But what came in the morning is a story for next time.
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| the Italian sunflower field |
