The trip home was eight hours of trying to figure out what to do next. I think we were both hesitant to admit exactly how we felt, afraid that words like “love,” and “forever” would scare the other one off. I mean, we *were* both married, and there were eight kids to consider, and again…we weren’t even gay. We danced around the options, all of the possibilities, except the one we were both quietly hoping for: rearranging our entire lives to be together because how could we even breathe without the other one?
When I dropped her off at the airport, I knew…not being together was not an option. I felt like part of me was missing and I didn’t know what to do. So I sent her this while she was on the plane and when she landed and replied it was like finally taking a deep breath after barely breathing for three days, and we both knew:
The days that followed that second trip to North Carolina were spent navigating how to completely turn our lives upside down to accommodate each other and this love. They were scary and hard, but full of so much joy and certainty. Not being together just wasn’t an option, and when I tell you that mountains moved for us to be able to make a smooth transition into each other’s lives, well, that might be an understatement.
Our husbands were supportive (not to say that they weren’t also angry, confused, sad, and a host of other emotions…they were), weary from years of just surviving marriage and happy to see their wives finally genuinely happy. There was heartbreak for sure, I think there always is when relationships end, even the unhealthy and borderline toxic ones. We made arrangements for where we would live, how we would support our giant family, and how we would tell our friends and family. We made a timeline for moving, planned a few trips, wrote each other millions of words and spent a lot of hours on FaceTime.