Monday, February 21, 2011

Somewhere Out There

Yesterday, while sitting in a diner with my kids and some friends, I heard the song “Somewhere Out There” by Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram on the radio. It reminded me of an experience that Bobby and I shared very shortly after we met.

Bobby and I had one of those "love at first sight" romances. I never in a million years thought that "love at first sight" was true, but from the first moment we met, we knew it was special and we knew we would be together always.....except for the three week period that I was on vacation.

When I met Bobby, I had already planned a three-week trek in Europe with my friend Christina, which included a week long stay with another friend Jane who lives right outside of London. So ten days after Bobby and I met, I hopped a plane to Europe. I promised to write, and call when I could. He told me he would accept collect calls. I gave him Jane's phone number so he could call me while I was there.

One night while staying with Jane, he called me. It was about 5:00 am, London time, and midnight in New Jersey. At first, I was telling him all about the fun that Christina and I were having on our vacation, then the conversation turned to how much we missed each other. While we were talking, I looked out the window and saw the moon. Then I thought about the song, "Somewhere Out There". In the song, they sing:

And even though I know how very far apart we are,
it helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star,
and when the north wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby,
it helps to think we’re sleeping underneath the same big sky.

It gave me an idea. I asked him to take the phone outside and look at the sky. I asked if he could see the moon. He said yes. So I told him that I was looking at the moon also, and that it made me miss him a little bit less, because at that very moment, even though we were an ocean apart, we were both looking at the same thing at the same time. We could share something, even though we were physically so far apart. He said he thought that was "pretty cool", and said that every night while I was away, he would look at the moon, and know that I may be looking at it at the same time.

Yes, there are times when I feel connected to him, whether I am wearing his bathrobe, holding one of his guitars, or watching our kids. But I wonder if, and hope that he is there, too, sharing the moment, "looking at the moon" with me. I miss those shared moments. A lot.

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