The Colours Of Life

Colours of Life

Gold is the colour of the first star that breaks through the charcoal black sky, like a baseball through a barn window every night. Gold is the colour of the champagne I drank way too much of on the night we met. Gold is the colour of the watch he wore on his left wrist that had me convinced he was a millionaire. It's the colour of his very back tooth that showed every time I told the cheesiest jokes I could think of, and it's the colour of the cab he sent me home in. Eighteen months later, it's the colour of the glistening ring that he presented to me at sunset, deep in the fields of my parents dairy farm.

Purple is the colour of the ribbons that line the pews of the church that I went to Sunday School in. Purple is the colour of my best friend's dress, and shoes, and nail polish that she wears while helping me adjust my veil. It's the colour of the thirteen flowers pasted on our four tier wedding cake, and the colour of the hanker chief my mom wipes her tears with when we say "I do." Three months later it's the colour we painted the bathroom wall in the house we swore we'd never be able to afford.

Pink is the colour of the roses that he plants just outside our kitchen window. Pink is the colour of the hearts he pastes all over our bedroom on our first Valentine's Day together. It's the colour of the lipstick I wore on our first date, and the colour of the bikini he bought me for our late honeymoon to Cuba. Nine months later it's the colour of the blanket that our sweet baby Ella is presented to us in. Four years after that, it's the colour of the blanket our precious twins Madelyn and Meghan are soundly bundled up in.

Blue is the colour of his deep, unwavering eyes that I fall asleep looking into every night. Blue is the colour of the swimming pool he surprises me with for our sixth wedding anniversary. It's the colour of the suit, (that I told him I hated, but he insisted on buying anyway), that he wore to my brothers wedding, and the colour of the first pick-up truck we bought after finally paying off our student loans. Two years after Ella, it's the colour of the blanket the nurse handed us where we found our baby Brett sound asleep.

   Green is the colour of the Christmas tree we all gathered around during our first holiday as a family. Green is the colour of all my babies eyes, that we watch flutter shut as we sing them a lullaby. It's the colour of the vomit we clean when Ella's touchy stomach can't handle a spicy taco, or just when the flu hits us all. Green is the colour of the first leaf that bloomed on the maple tree we planted out front on our first 'Fourth of July' together. It's the colour of the covers we crawl into after a long day, and by the end of the night the kids are under too, but when we wake up at 4:30 in the morning, lock eyes and blow kisses to each other, I'm certain I wouldn't want it any other way.

Red is the colour of all 25 candles I blow out, surrounded by my beautiful six year old, four year old, and two year olds. Red is the colour of Mom's van, as she pulls up the drive to pick up the kids so that Mike and I can actually go out for the night. It's the colour of the matte lipstick that I smother my lips in, and the colour of the skin tight dress that barely reaches my mid-thigh. It's the colour of the dozen roses he places in a vase on the counter. It's the colour of his poorly tied tie; which I have to fix, and the colour of the convertible he borrowed from my brother which we fly away in.

Red is the colour of the first, second, and third glass of wine. It's the colour of our kind waiters suit which I compliment as he gives us our bill. The romantic night seems to last only a second, and then we are back in the red convertible. Red is the colour that the dash lights up when he turns the ignition. "Let's stay here," I said, feeling an oddly uncomfortable sensation arise. It was probably just from the red wine though.

"But babe, it's getting late. Let's just get you home." He leaned in to give me a long kiss. He tasted like red wine.

"Look at the stars honey." I gaze upwards, and so does he. "Remember the night we got engaged?" I asked, rhetorically. "We just spent the night in the field, listening to the cows moo, watching the stars, and talking about...everything." He grinned at me, encouraging me to keep going. "That's my favourite memory of us. It wasn't planned, it was just simple and casual but yet it's my favourite. I'm glad we started our life with a memory like that."

"Me to," he said, kissing my hand. "Why don't we use this night to start the rest of our life with?"

"I'd love that." I kissed him again. "Now let's go home and make this night even better." He couldn't disagree, so he slammed on the gas and away we flew, home.

Red is the colour of the traffic light he didn't see because he was nuzzling my neck. Red is the colour of the eighteen wheeler that was too far into the intersection to stop. It's the colour of the pieces of the car that are scattered across the road. Red is the colour of the constant stream of blood that flows like the Mississippi River from his shaggy mop of brown hair. It's the colour of the kind trucker's hat who rushes over to help and the colour of the flashing lights accompanied by screeching sirens. It's the colour of the back of my throat that everyone can clearly see as I screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Red is the colour of the 'Emergency,' sign that we pass under as the doctors wheeled him away. Red is the colour of the scrubs the nurse was wearing as she guided me to the waiting room. It's the colour that the doctors once white coats have turned to, because of his blood, as they motion for me to follow them. It's the colour of the streaks that are drying on his once emotional but now lifeless face. And to this day, it's the colour of the roses I place on his grave for his birthday, our anniversary, and sometimes just because.

    Black is the colour of the dresses and suits everyone wears to the church on the Wednesday after. Black is the colour of the mascara that trails down my face because I just can't control my tears anymore. It's the colour of the night sky during the nights after he died, pitch black with not a star in sight. Black is the colour of the clouds as it rained, and rained, and rained some more. It's the only colour I seem to see now in our once colourful life. Black clothes, black hair, black skies, and black dogs playing in the neighbour's yard.

    I found it so hard to find the colours again after Mike died, but since he always said "You must always take time to smell the roses, but never forget to indulge yourself in the colours of life," I feel guilty ignoring them. I stand in the grass that is as green as the first leaf on the maple tree that we planted together on our first 'Fourth of July' party. The deep, breathtaking sunset is as red as the 25 candles that I blew out on our last day together, and it turns the clouds pinker than the first blankets our adorable baby girls were wrapped in. I slowly sit on the tailgate of your beloved blue pick-up truck, and I realize that I never knew what your favourite colour was. You knew mine. It was gold. Just like the biggest and brightest first star I've ever seen, that rises above the sunset, then above the tree, above the house, and finally resting above me. I know that's you baby, and you're trying to say what you'd always whisper in my ear before going to sleep. I don't have a favourite colour. I love them all. Blue, purple, gold, green, and red, they all have special memories. These are the colours of our life, and for that I am forever grateful. Now I move on to a blank canvas, but as long as I can paint it with the colours of our life Mike, I know it will be a beautiful journey.