Love in the Autumn Years

It was a cool autumn morning and the sun was shining through the almost bare trees lining the winding street leading to the hospital. The couple walked silently, arms linked, both entertaining thoughts about the season, with its golden yellow leaves and almost bare branches- a season so rich in colour, yet so near the end of the year.

They reached the hospital and found their way to the breast scan unit. The woman was a bit hesitant, but he gave her a gentle push and the same reassuring look as he had been giving all these years. She registered while he sat with his Guardian among other middle aged women waiting their turn for the breast scan. He was the thorn among the withering roses and yet felt quite comfortable being there, as he had been numerous times before at pre-natal classes, baby scans, baby births – everywhere, holding her hand and giving moral support, and just being there.

Like autumn, their life together has been rich enough to make a beautiful picture. They had gone through spring and its head spinning, heart fluttering moments. Summer came as the children made their appearances and now it is autumn. But unlike autumn the season, the autumn of their life together will not repeat itself after winter. But it can be framed and treasured.

The gold plated pendant that she received on Valentine’s Day 1978 was perhaps the first and the last Valentine’s Day gift she had ever received. And she had long forgotten how to sulk as the day came and went without a register of recognition of the day’s significance in his eyes. To him, it is not important. And now to her it is not important too.

What is important is the companionship, the togetherness even if unspoken.

What matters are those times; when he woke up two or three times during the night to read and check on her attempts at feature writing, when he travelled miles to bring their first born to wherever she was for the baby to be breastfed, when he bought her not flowers but books to read and enrich her mind, when he made her leg of lamb and roast potatos at the end of her long day at work.

What is important is that wait; at the platform, at the book shop, at the cafe. Fifteen minutes, half an hour, one hour – with the knowledge that the other will turn up.

What is unforgettable is the picture of him reading books on pregnancy, on PMT, on migrane and poring over recipes to make keropok when she craved for keropok while heavy with child, and tying her shoe laces as she was too big to bend down and do it herself.

What is also precious is that reminder to take vitamins early in the morning, the gentle tug at midnight with a glass of water and vitamins that he feeds her. What is more precious is the ‘Bismillahirahmanirrahim’ that he utters as she swallows the vitamins and goes back to sleep. Similarly precious is the “Tawakkal tuAllah’ from him that accompanies her daily as she sets out for work.

Last night, at the usual place by the fountain, she waited for half an hour. After all these years, she knew he’d turn up. After all these years, she was aware that he was lost among the bookshelves of Waterstones. But she waited. And yes, did he turn up. No more tantrums and sulks of those spring years or fiery anger of summer. This autumn stage of our life has become so predictable; as predictable as the leaves falling, as predictable as winter being around the corner. With that realisation, I think love in the autumn of our life is not too bad at all – even without the flowers and the chocolates.

So, without much fuss, today she says thank you and let us make the most of this autumn years in our life.