There had to be something more than love at first sight. It was the early 1950s. How they met and where is a story too weird to publicise here. Even the astrologers didn’t see it. People from two continents getting married like that. There’s a tone of scandal when the older relatives talk about them.
It didn’t matter. They hiked the Rockies before hiking was a thing. Spending days in the wilderness and coming back with funny stories of bears attacking the supplies. They went to small jazz clubs in San Fransisco where little know players like Miles Davis played. Then there was the drive across the US in a convertible and lives packed into a suitcase. By the late 50s, they had circled the globe at least once.
They didn’t have kids but were the adoptive parents of many. Kids of relatives and those of us who stumbled onto them in our university and post-university days. They somehow kept the waters calm in the tiny Sri Lankan community in that isolated college town surrounded by divine scenery. In the summers, they went on their travels. Or spent a year or two in “exotic” places. Documented in reddening photographs and artwork scattered about the house. She with her engineering brain. He a creative spirit with the camera.
Eventually, in their last years, they came “back” to Sri Lanka. The first years were good despite the war. We make a few outstation trips. In guest house verandas facing the croaking jungles, I listened. The reminiscing raised to the level of poetry.
Then there were a few falls—nothing serious at first. But a cracked hip curtailed their active lives. They’re worlds become smaller. It was laborious to get about. They fell out of the social world at a steady pace. His death and her next fall a few years later was the last mile in a long life. It was hard to watch the deterioration. The mischievous spark in the conversation was gone. Even phone calls were tiring. “Nona is sleeping” was the frequent response I got when I did. Then my mother told me of the cremation. Inserted into a conversation about organising someone to fix a leaking water pipe in a bathroom.
Afterwards, I thought that’s how we’ll all go—active lives or not. Grasp the life you got now. With that thought, I’ll hit publish this inadequate tribute and get on with mine. May they both be safe healthy happy and free of suffering where ever they are.
Till the next time – be safe be well.
Cerno 