Starlit Ritual: Whispered Journeys Through Night and Memory

An Ode to Love, Loss, and the Magic of Looking Up

A nightly ritual had once more quietly begun while gazing up at the sky before bed. In the past, this habit of pausing by the window had become something I looked forward to doing, even though I now had to do so alone.

It was hard to believe that my dear man had passed away, leaving me with only sweet memories of the great times we had shared in this earthly sojourn together. We had found each other at the latter half of our life journeys, and what a marvellous half that turned out to be.

No matter where in the world we visited, whether at home or abroad, my sweet man would point up to the sky and make sure that I had a good look at the moon. He would look forward to pointing out the times of a full blue moon and, with the broadest of grins, would say, “You know, it only happens once in a ‘blue moon!” He was, without question, a moon man, while I was drawn to the stars. Well, at least we were in proximity, with an interest in the night sky.

From childhood onward, many nights spent gazing up at the sky fostered a kind of magical thinking about the stars and distant galaxies surrounding our remarkable globe. My fascination only grew as I saw the night sky from new perspectives during our travels. City lights sometimes dimmed the view, yet there was always something to catch a watchful eye.

One magical night, sitting on a balcony in Spain, I witnessed an unusual occurrence while watching the comings and goings of aircraft from the nearby airport just over the hill, close to where we were staying. I could see planes coming lower in the sky, preparing to land with blinking lights, filling me with fascination as they grew brighter and closer before turning out of sight.

On a particular warm night, all cozied up for my habitual nightly star watch, I observed something different. A light, brighter than usual, coming forward, made a complete turn to the right, curved around and then dove straight down, only to turn again and move upward, disappearing into the distant sky. The movement took me aback as I realized it traced a giant question mark in the night sky!

This fantastic show happened so fast that when I called out to my husband, it was gone. He arrived only to see the usual aircraft lights and movement, leaving me wondering if any of those pilots witnessed what had just occurred. I tried to explain what I had seen, only to receive that ‘special’ look that said, “It’s okay, pet, it’s been a long day and must be time for bed.” ‘Pet’ was his nickname for me.

No matter his response, I knew without a doubt that what I had witnessed was not the usual aircraft, a weather balloon, or any small toy craft with lights flying about in the airport flight path of regular planes. Over the years, when I tried to explain it to others, their responses were always tinged with disbelief. Eventually, I stopped trying to find someone who would believe me, but I knew what I’d seen, leaving me to ponder, 'Why in the world did I get to witness such an occurrence?'

Time passed without witnessing anything like that special night that held such a wonder to behold. Other things soon filled my mind, and my ritualistic habit of looking up towards the night sky slowly faded. I noticed over the years, especially after our trips ended, an emptiness in the sky whenever I looked. It seemed there were fewer stars, so much so that I eventually stopped looking.

In hindsight, it seems odd to think that such a nightly habit evolved from casual glances to a source of pleasure, then transformed into a nightly routine filled with curiosity. Strangely enough, over time, even a casual glance ebbed away, lost in a heavy mist. Yet, the ritual returned, my eyes searching the night sky for missing stars, my heart yearning to fill the void of sadness left by grief.

One night, after a melancholy evening missing my man and mourning the loss of my daughter’s recent passing, I felt inclined to look out, hoping to see some stars before climbing into my bed. I made my way to the window with the intention of sending a message to my loved ones while gazing deeply into the night sky.

Disappointed almost to the point of tears, I could only behold missing stars replaced with nothing but high clouds and a faint glow from the half-moon, struggling to shine through. At that moment, I wondered what my dear one would have said about it. “Where are you, little stars?” Almost at once, my eyes were drawn to a position opposite the moon, to a star that was a little dimmer in brightness. My heart fluttered as I thanked it for showing itself.

I became more aware of the clouds and softly spoke to the missing stars, letting them know I was aware of them hiding and that it was a shame they could not show themselves more clearly. I pleaded, “Could you perhaps give a little blink from behind the clouds?”

To my utter amazement, a little twinkle came through the darkness. I was delighted and eagerly watched as the twinkling star grew brighter and larger, moving toward me, until, although not altogether as big, it glowed more than the moon itself. In the blink of an eye, it retreated, returning to a twinkle and then becoming lost once more, hiding behind the clouds.

I'm unsure what to make of this happening. I am certain, however, that I did not imagine it as a response to my sadness or as a message from my loved ones. I don’t even know if it was the answer to my questioning the universe about the stars' whereabouts.

What I do know is that it was something very unusual. When I tried to describe it to a few people, I was not surprised by the same type of response I received years ago, only this time around, I am sure their response was in line with thinking that I was a bit delusional with grief.

My nightly ritual is now back in full force, driven by an uncanny desire to absorb what can only be called an unfathomable sight. I can only marvel at what took place and put it down to one of life's spectacular moments that peek through the density of Earth’s atmosphere to speak to anyone in the habit of looking up. If so, it becomes a sight to behold among the wonderment of the stars.

This magical, ritualistic search will continue until the time comes when I join my loved ones among the stars. Perhaps then someone will look up and wonder, just as I have. Still, in the meantime, it will continue to be me, pausing by the window before climbing into bed, which will appease my ongoing curiosity about starlight, a ritual well worth keeping.