Did you and your partner have rituals and routines? Things that happened everyday in the same way at the same time? I'm sure you did. Even if you don't remember, if you were able to go back, I'm sure you would find there were routines that were part of your daily life. Routines that grew out of your love for each other and for the world around you.
Our favourite ritual from pretty much the start of our relationship was to have a little car journey in the early evening. This happened at least three or four times a week. When Chris moved in with me to my little house in Wiltshire, we would often drive through the area, going through Castle Combe, Lacock, even into Bath. If we had the whole day to travel, we might go to Avebury and have lunch in the pub that sits in the midst of the standing stones. When we lived in Hastings for a short time, we would drive to Winchelsea and back along the coast. In Moffat, our trip took us out past the Grey Mare's Tail waterfall to St Mary's Loch and then cross country to Meggethead and the Talla Reservoir, before coming back out the main road and making our way back to Moffat, past the Devil's Beeftub and the glorious Dumfries & Galloway countryside. When we lived in Easter Ross, we would head out and just take whatever road we hadn't been on before. Sometimes we would drive up into Sutherland by way of Dornoch, head east to the Black Isle, or head west toward Wester Ross. And when we finally settled in beautiful Wester Ross, we would drive north from Aultbea, enjoying the views of the Minch, Little Loch Broom, the feral goats near Dundonnell, then work our way farther north to Ullapool and beyond to favourite spots like Loch Assynt and Lochinver. Perhaps we would even go as far as the Kylesku Bridge and beyond. We loved our road trips. As we would explain to people, the only substance we abused was petrol. (I should note most of our trips in and around the northwest Highlands were done before the introduction of the concept of the North Coast 500 in spring of 2015. Prior to that huge fiasco, we could drive for hours without seeing another car. It was heavenly.)
Chris and I had several more domestic rituals and routines. From the time we first lived together, our nighttime routine was in place. Before we settled into bed, Chris would always go the kitchen and fix us both a slice of toast or crackers with cheese. Then, before we went to sleep, we would always kiss each other with the same pattern - peck, peck, peck, smooch -and we would do that three times. We would always hold hands in bed as we fell asleep. I miss the kisses and his hand in mine. Even now, I feel myself longing to experience those sensations. In the early days after he died, I actually caught myself in a state of half sleep reaching for him, searching the bed for his hand. But then it would hit me all over again that I would never feel his hand in mine again. Even now, over five years later, the very thought of never being able to touch him again makes me well up.
As Chris' cancer progressed in that final year, he would often tire during the early afternoon and take himself off to bed for a nap. He always asked me to come with him. We would cuddle and talk before he would fall asleep - a welcome respite from the discomfort that was with him 24/7. Sometimes, our talks would lead to tears. He would tease me and tell me he needed to change because my tears had drenched his shirt.
Later still as we came closer to Chris' death, the medications introduced a new component to our nighttime routine. Chris would wake up every morning at 3 am to use the loo and then he would talk to me. Very animated, but very nonsensical as the morphine pumped through his body. It was all complete flights of fancy, utter nonsense, and he would always ask me in the morning about our 3 am conversation. And we would laugh. We had to. There was no other way to react. If we hadn't laughed, I'm sure we would have cried. Even now, like clockwork, I awaken at 3 am.
Those nighttime rituals when Chris was alive have been replaced by another ritual. I wear a necklace every day that bears two large pendants and two tiny charms. One of the pendants is a star map of the position of the stars on the day we married, with W.H. Auden's lines engraved on the back - "He was North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest." The second pendant is a heart charm that was specifically made to hold ashes, so part of Chris is always with me. The two small charms are the letter C and the Celtic symbol for eternity. At night, before I go to sleep, I look at the photograph of his smiling face on my bedside dresser, say goodnight to him and tell him that I love him forever, and kiss the heart charm in exactly the same way I kissed him every night (a little less smooch, though). I can't sleep if I don't carry out the ritual.
We are all, no matter our situation, creatures of habit. We fall into routines that may seem silly or mundane, but the day they end through death, we come to appreciate these silly little rituals. To quote a famous movie line, "I wish I knew how to quit you." But, truth is, I don't want to quit loving Chris, to quit missing him, to quit longing for him to be beside me still. But, oh my goodness, he made me happier than I ever felt possible. As songwriter Tony Arata penned -
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end,
The way it all would go.
Our lives are better left to chance.
I could have missed the pain,
But I'd have had to miss the dance.
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Chris and I loved clocks! We had them in every room of the house. The first one we bought is the one featured in this abstract digital photo art piece that Chris called The Arch of Time. We bought the clock during one of our trips north when we were living in Wiltshire. We bought it at a shop in the Lake District and it hung on the wall until it was irreparably broken a couple of years ago.
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