NO LIMITS-BK 2.- Chapt 2-BEYOND THE VALE

 

 

 

 

 

Chris Ritchey Source

 

 

 

 

Links to previous Chapters and Book One – the before—-

Forward: https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2023/02/03/no-limits-bk-2-forward-beyond-the-vale/

Chapter One: https://thatwoman.wordpress.com/2023/03/03/no-limits-bk-2-chapt-1-beyond-the-vale/

And so  it was Christmas Eve, the Lombardis had put Chris’ cremains in the ground, without kith  or kin or even having the decency  to  inform his family of times etc.  just  5 days previously .

My  mum had gone back  to  her little apartment, a few blocks away. We changed traditions  that year and they  have remained the new traditions ever since.

Oh ! I  decided Chris would not be forgotten by  his baby  nephew as he grew . Chris  had always loved the presents and especially  giving  them. So  the  “Chris Miss Present” has become a yearly  “over the top  gift ” for both  his nephews now, they  know him in more ways than one.

I stopped Christmas at this house, there are no  decorations since that dreadful Christmas, no real tree ( Chris insisted upon)., the decorations of Nikkis and Chris’ special childhood decorations were packed up  and given to  Nikki  for her tree, along with  the memories of wonderful times .

I just wasn’t strong enough  to  deal with  the hypocrisy  I  felt , I  couldn’t, as my  mum asked put a good face on it, not in my  own home that had become my  refuge from the outside world  and my  prison. Now, I still visit Christmas  and can leave when it becomes too hard. I  found it works for me and my   husband.

That Christmas Eve , I  tried, for the sake of the baby and his first Christmas and my  daughter who  was also  “putting on a brave face” and the immediate family. We were all trying to  be normal and it was as false and fake and no-one was fooling anyone else. We just went through  the motions like a bad theatre  rehearsal. That year saw the beginnings of new traditions which  have now  become the annual tradition, no  more English  Christmas Dinner. We opted for Lobsters and  all the trimmings. I do  the Christmas Eve fare at Nikkis on Christmas Eve and we go  to  her home  Christmas night  Although  as Chris used to love to light the Christmas pudding  his nephews made the pudding- with  first my  mum and then me- and they  bring it to  the table to  light, only  two  of us eat it though!

 

 

 

 

 

Then that first Christmas Eve came the rather somber  gift exchange although, the gifts were mainly  for a little baby  who  really  knew nothing of what was happening even when Santa Claus  arrived. My  son-in-law was the one with  his delicious humor that kept  spirits  alive. I was allowed to  leave my  “visit to  Christmas” I  (hopefully)  smiled in the right places and tried but inside I  was failing miserably  to  cope. Driving home through  the neighborhoods of Christmas  lights twinkling , decorations of celebrations I  could barely  see through  the tears to  drive. I fell up  the stairs in my  rush to  get to  the bedroom where my  “crying pillow” was waiting for my  flood gate of tears.

I have been told everyone handles their grief in different ways. I  don’t think  I  “handle” anything , even after these years I can only  liken my  “carrying on with  my  life” as dealing with  a chronic  condition, one that has become a part of me. The flare ups, the emotional  incontinence that comes unasked  and unexpected. If there is an upside to  this grief, for me  the pain is such  that I  hit bottom so  no longer does anything other than illness or hurt to  my  remaining family  scare me.  I  am numb to  the angst, strife  and wanting connections or accolades . There is freedom and an honesty  for me  in the person I  have become.

That first Christmas Day  – AD- I had spent what was left of Christmas Eve, wandering the house, going back to  the bedroom , trying to sleep. I  found myself asking the questions in my  head, the same questions I  know other mothers have asked?

Why  my  child? What did I  do  , what did they  do ? If there is this God or all powerful  entity.  Why  was my  son, who  had done nothing taken when cretins are allowed to  carry on creating havoc, ruining lives ,  killing and maiming (even in this old neighborhood) . Was I  being punished for some “sin” Was it my  fault? Could I  have seen things earlier, could I  have done something  else , did I  miss something ? Could I  have done more to  try  and save him?

artwork Chris Ritchey

I  realized I had somehow in my  sheer emotional exhaustion wandered into  Chris’ former bedroom and had fallen  in a sleep (  for want of a better word) I  found myself waking  , my  senses on heightened alert  I  was listening , trying to  feel  , trying to  reach out to  my  son. I  was holding his jacket, breathing in the remnants of his aftershave , the smell of him as if it would aid communication. I  could hear his voice in my  mind but not  with  my  hearing, I  could close my  eyes  and see his face , but not him . I questioned and tried and there was nothing , no  answers, no Chris.

My  mum called wanting to  know about “Christmas Day” were there plans. I said No  not for me . I  just couldn’t I  had used up what little reserves I  had . I was being bombarded with  loss . I was questioning too much doubting everything. Why  were his wife and family  being so  cruel?

I decided  to  start my  clearing away  of things , I  was sure I  wouldn’t be able to  continue in my  own existence holding this excruciating  emotional and yes physical  pain for very  long. I started by  clearing out the desk that held the phone upon which I  had spoken to  mum, seemed like a good place to  start, years of papers and notes  stuffed into  that drawer,

I lit the fire and pulled out the drawer. Throwing schedules of soccer, notes, old letters  some receipts all the junk that I  had managed to  “I  should keep  that, just in case” scenarios.

My  mum , worried about me would call ,

why  are you  doing this? you  need to  rest…. be with  people who  love you.

 

No!  I  said I am looking for Chris. I  have to  do  this and I  don’t know why  but I  have to. 

She probably  thought I  had lost the plot .

Well you  wont’ find him cleaning  a junk  drawer

she said, more than a little annoyed I  think  and worried about her child me!

I finally  threw all that needed to  be  disposed of into  the fire, tidied the desk and watched as the flames died down. My  mum called again

“Are you feeling any better , should I  come over and make you  something, Loraine, Chris would not want you  making yourself ill” 

As she carried on speaking I noticed caught under the side of the couch and up turned envelope, one of the many  that had been relegated to  the fire, that I had missed. I picked up  the envelope to  throw it into  the dying flames when I realized there was something in it I  turned it over and on the front it had Chris CIA in his writing.  My  mum was still talking but I wasn’t really  listening. I didn’t recall seeing this before , but I gingerly  opened  the envelope, inside were slides  a just three. I told mum I  would call her back, ran to  the den and found the little portable slide holder.

And there they  were. I  HAD  seen the photos before BUT not as slides or in an envelope. As Chris walked across the stage at Clevland Institute of Art the day  of his graduation and when he was most happy, receiving his BFA.

The students had to  express themselves visually  that day   as to  who  they  were , what was important to  them and this was done on a huge screen behind them in sequence. These were the slides that had been used…I never knew they  existed before that day or after.

What was most important to  my  son :

Who I am- Freedom Speaks – art work Christopher Ritchey

by Chris Ritchey Freedom of Speech

“Speech Can Separate You From Everyone” poster- Chris Ritchey

 

I cried,  again, but this was a different sort of tears –  they  relieved. Whether by  accident or design I didn’t know but I  had received a gift from my  son once again on a Christmas Day .... to  be continued