Angus and I drove to some Roman ruins nearby on Monday, to a wind-swept archaeological site dotted with moss, mud, and memories of men. An enclave nearly 2000 years old, the remnants of a fort abandoned by the sould who built it. On the way into the fort we passed a tiny church, inelegant yet dignified, tiny yet yawning, and on our way in we passed ancient graves of ancient lovers. A Mr. and Mrs. Tompkinson, buried side by side in the late 1700s. A Polish family, buried a few years ago. Older graves whose name has been kissed off by the wind and sun and scattered over the remnants of the Roman wall.

Walking to the wall with Angus, I had a sudden thought-at 12 years my senior, would Angus go before me? Would I be like the widows of old who lives a long life alone, with a supply of cats and tea cozies? Would I go on, or would this be the last time that my heart unfurls?

What do you do when mortality gets in the way of love?

I wondered what I would do next, should something happen to him. Where I would go, what I would do should my new life come about, life Number 7, where I live the life of a cat. I have managed to live a thousand lives in my thirty years so far, would the next life be too full as well? Could I wait and bide my time for my space next to him in a plot, a space that beckoned me every Sunday and in which I would take meticulous care?

The instigator for moving on to the next life is if I lost Angus, and to my mind, only that. I have been utterly content with where I am in my tiny village in England and with my lovely man, the only thing that would knock me off of this bridge is if my bridge support disappeared. As much as I would like to say that I will stay here, find someone new, build a life with a man named Nigel or Alec, I know the truth of the matter is that I would bolt and race off into the distance, a colt whipping out its legs to cover more ground.

When you've had the brass ring, it's impossible to say you'll be willing to settle for a Juicy Fruit wrapper should someone take your ring away.

In my mind it is clear. In my mind it's all quite a ways into the future, when I have hopefully become a grown-up. I would buy an old Land Rover. I would pack up my dog-for I will always have a dog, and when my lovely girls pass away I know I will likely never have another cat-and drive away.

And I will just keep driving.

A few years ago I wrote a book (which lingers in idle digital moments on my pc) called Nomads. It was the story of my move to Sweden, of what it's really like to be posessed with the need to move, to keep hunting for what it is that defines contentment. I don't think I will ever do anything with Nomads-it exists as a record of that time in my life, but fundamentally, it stands for so much more.

I always moved around as a child, a pattern I continued as an adult. I couldn't stand to live in the same apartment, the same neighborhood, the same town. My feet would itch once my boxes were unpacked, and I invariably had an old lover banging on my mental space trying to get past the door frame.

If Angus disappeared, I think I would have to leave and I would go at it as I always did-I would leave without a trace and leave everything behind me.

There are areas where I can never go again, I think. The small hot dusty town in Arkansas where a curly blond girl forgets her dreams. Corn fields in Iowa that whisper of haunting pain through the crackling fields as the cicadas force dandelion fluff to hustle through the air. The ache of the keyhole building in Dallas, of giggling companionship overlooking the city and a boy who held my hand. A tall concrete hospital in Stockholm near a perfect gingerbread house that saw my imminent failure. This lovely town we live in, whose cricket green echoes with Angus' deep and happy laugh, should Angus not be there to laugh with me.

These are places I cannot go back to because the truth is, maybe the issue is not that I need to keep moving because I have such wanderlust.

Maybe I have to keep moving since I can't bear the memories.

I want to say I would be able to stay and live my life here in this tiny place I call home, even if it was Angus-less, but I know myself a little too well to be able to say that with any certainty. I will hope that if anything happens to my boy, I will stay in this place that we created. It's not just the fact that I have someone that I love so much-it's that I have someone that I like myself when I am with. I couldn't bear to lose us both.

But in my vision of how to cope in a life sans Angus, I get into my old Land Rover, a lazy big dog dripping his tongue onto the seat beside me and my heart packed up in a hat box, and drive away. To Africa, to India, to as far as I could get on as many tanks of gas as I needed. And instead of leaving everything behind me, I would actually have more with me than I ever realized, than I ever had before.

Because I have learned that there are some people that you can never leave behind, and whom can never leave you.

I will have had the greatest love of all times and have known that in all of the places I have been, I was actually entitled to have felt like home at one point. For a crazy chick like me, it's thanks enough. My boots fit here. My keys open this lock. My laughter rings this chimney. My bedouin tent has been firmly packed and lashed with its ropes.

If I were to lose Angus, I would have with me the knowledge that once I knew a place where my feet didn't itch and the moving boxes didn't need to get stored for the next move. Where a man knew everything about me and didn't flinch. Where the word "home" had a meaning, a belonging that I wore about my neck like a scarf.

And the loss of that would be a reason to keep driving if there ever was one.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 06:28 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
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1 What a sad and beautiful post.

Posted by: lostdawill at January 05, 2005 09:12 AM (jNeD2)

2 Or, maybe, having known such love and acceptance, you'd find it within yourself and be content to live in that place. Maybe you wouldn't need to keep moving on. Maybe you'd just want to live near the memories because that in and of itself can be a comfort when all else is gone. Either way, I'm happy for you that you have it here and now.

Posted by: RP at January 05, 2005 11:06 AM (X3Lfs)

3 What an interesting piece of synchronicity. I was going to send you an email this week asking about the Roman wall in London. Somehow I'd never heard of it before, but it's taking a central role in the book I'm currently reading. Very interesting. Mortality is something I've been pondering lately. I've reached that stage where I'm going to more funerals than weddings.

Posted by: Easy at January 05, 2005 01:13 PM (MyGMv)

4 Isn't it just the most beautiful thing to love someone that actually gives you that much strength. This is after a year of being with him...hopefully after many many years you'll be that much stronger to deal with anything the future might bring.

Posted by: Jadewolff at January 05, 2005 02:01 PM (8MfYL)

5 huh. j & i are 12 years apart as well. i don't know if i'd want to stay near the memories or move away from them. i think it would depend on the circumstances - if he dies when we're old, the memories may be a comfort. if he was taken from me too soon, i may not want the reminders. can't tell until we're there dear. and hopefully neither of us will be there for a very long time. oodles of years.

Posted by: becky at January 05, 2005 03:22 PM (/VG77)

6 Every day when I come here, I tell myself I can not be any more amazed by you than I already have been in the year I've been reading you. And every single time, I'm wrong. Your words were ... haunting today. And they will be with me for quite some time. You never cease to move me.

Posted by: amy t. at January 05, 2005 03:41 PM (zPssd)

7 Master and I are 21 years apart. Mortality is something very real, and something I will have to address sooner than most couples. I don't know what I will do. I think I will probably go into hibernation, surrounding myself with His things, all that He is, all that makes Him who He is, and not come out for a very very long time. On the other hand, His parents are still alive, and one is in their 90's, so I don't think I will have to worry about it for some time to come yet. I honestly don't think I will make it long after He goes.

Posted by: nuala` at January 05, 2005 04:41 PM (8ePZ6)

8 You never fail to amaze me, Helen, with the way you pour your heart out into words and always, always touch my heart with them.

Posted by: scorpy at January 05, 2005 08:17 PM (nhV1K)

9 That's just depressing Contemplating one's own death or a loved one's death can help put proper perspective on things; but don't dwell on it too much...it can be unhealthy to do so. I agree with everyone else, though; you have a way with words and imagery that conveys an excellent mental picture.

Posted by: Solomon at January 05, 2005 09:11 PM (k1sTy)

10 I'm ten years older than Dan, but women live longer than men overall, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed we'll somehow go into the Great Demise together. But I have thought on occasion about what would I do if Dan died suddenly. He could get hit by a truck, you know. Drop dead of a long hidden blood clot in the brain that suddenly broke loose. We read about such things all the time. I worry about the cats too. My cats live on an average of 20 years. I'm 48 now. My youngest cat is three. As morbid as it sounds, I think he's my last cat. If he is like the others and lives to be around 20, I'll be 65 by the time he croaks. My mom only made it to 63. I don't want to chance my little kits being foisted off on anyone else. If Dan goes first, I don't ever want to marry again either, I know that. There is no such thing as anyone ever getting as close to me as Dan has become. It wouldn't be fair to another man. I'd always be comparing him to Dan. I've met many many men in my life, through my job, through friendships and there is nobody like Dan. I would live alone for the rest of my life. Just me and my Hitachi Magic Wand. And a purple hat. Which I'd wear when I did the gardening out front. And I'd yell at the kids to get off my lawn. Yep. And I'd talk to Dan's picture on the mantel at night while I drank my hot herbal tea. But no kitties. :-( Okay, I've changed my mind on the kitties; I'll have to have SOMETHING around! So I'll be the old lady with all the cats. And the purple hat. Who talks to pictures. That doesn't sound so bad. Does it? It does? Okay, then everybody's right...christ this is a depressing subject! ;-)

Posted by: Amber at January 05, 2005 11:15 PM (zQE5D)

11 "" Older graves whose name has been kissed off by the wind and sun and scattered over the remnants of the Roman wall. "" Something I thought of once. Maybe once the name is erased by Mother Nature it means the person has been brought back..

Posted by: LarryConley at January 06, 2005 05:10 AM (y5h4n)

12 If ever put in that situatiion, I think the only thing one can look for is something different, the hard part is always making yourself believe that someone else can be as good in an entirely different way. As far as packing your stuff in a old Land Rover, Please, Helen, reconsider! Remember all the folks you care about you... Have you ever driven an old Land Rover? First off, you won't fit, long legs and Landie's don't mix. Secondly, if you want to assign yourself to an eternity of pain, you couldn't pick a better vehicle because regardless of your actual destination, an eternity is how long it will take you to get there. Please reconsider on this point, At least get an old Range Rover =)

Posted by: Dane at January 06, 2005 05:36 PM (ncyv4)

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