It’s been a year. Time has gone by so fast, and you think it has been only yesterday when you last saw her. Her hair hadn’t been the usual bright pink, but a mousy grey. Like the time had been grey, similar to his ahead of time aged appearance due to his condition. Nothing had been coloured; all had been lifeless. Trist.
Dead.
But now, while you wander along the path in the woods, on your morning walk, you see the colours coming back. Green sprouts from the trees, and millions of leafs flower out. You can nearly see the movement with your naked eye. Along the path, small flowers grow and open their blossoms to catch the light. They are dots of violet, red and many other colours, myriads of a rainbow that seemed to have fallen from the sky and been laid to blanket the earth. You realise that truly, slowly, spring is coming back, chasing away the winter and its white and grey colours.
After all, isn’t life only worth if it’s colourful?
The wood opens up into a meadow with lone trees standing around. A small hill rises towards the other end and the path you follow winds its way up the hill. You walk it. You feel slightly adventurous, curious to find out what lies beyond. After all, you’ve never been there before.
But you wish you wouldn’t have to still your curiosity alone. You know she would have loved to go with you. She, he and your husband, too. You wished you four would be there to discover the wonders life had to offer, together.
‘Pushing, keep pushing!’
‘I am pushing!’ she shouts at the midwife, pain contorting her face into a mask of ugliness. You hold her hand, pressing it reassuringly every time a contraction runs through her, urging the new life out of the protecting womb of its mother.
You will never forget the day when your daughter was born and your husband stood at your side, giving you the same reassurance you give on in that moment.
And then you hear it – the first cry of a newborn life. It is strong, telling you that the baby is healthy and well. You share a long loving look with your daughter and she beams with pride, her eyes sparkling with love and hope. Then the midwife hands the baby to its mother, and you both share the first look on the new member of your family.
‘What do you want to name him?’ you ask her, and she responds with a smile, ‘Ted, after Dad.’
You then realise the tears of happiness and utter sadness that run down your cheeks. One life was taken, yet another was given.
That was the circle of life.
You miss them so much. They’ve been everything to you. Especially he, the reason why you broke up with what you once called home and family. What you called life. He had been your anchor for so many years, and now that he is gone, you feel like you drown. You wonder if you have ever learnt to swim, or if you were just pulled along by that anchor through a stormy dark sea which bottom or end no one could see, no matter how far advanced they looked.
‘Ted,’ his name slips from your lips, a lone whisper in the early morning breeze that accompanies your path up the hill. A single tear spills out and rolls down your cheek. You don’t touch it but continue on on your way up the hill. The top is close, and you already feel the excitement of success over having climbed it. But it still feels wrong on so many levels.
And when you reach it, the top, you see it, the return of the light. Over the trees’ tops, on the far horizon, the sun rises, and its light reaches out, chasing away the last shadows of the night. The feeble warmth touches your skin, reassuring you that life is indeed coming back with the return of the spring, as are the colours, especially with the pastel lilac and red horizon.
But in your heart, you know that those who already lost their lives will never come back, and once again you mourn their loss.
He was your heart, your love, your husband. And he lies buried in the cold, still winter hard earth.
She was your soul, your diamond, your daughter. And she lies buried in the cold, still winter hard earth.
And even though he became part of your family quite recently, he was family. And even though he meant more to her, you had loved him in your own way. He had been his friend, your cousin’s, and your daughter’s dream of eternal togetherness. But now he, too, lies buried in the cold, still winter hard earth.
There is nothing left, only sadness.
‘Andromeda?’
You turn around at the sound of your name. It’s the man who ultimately saved you and every life by killing the one who brought the death. He is the godfather of your daughter’s son.
And then you remember that there is something left for you, despite your loss. You have a child to care for. He needs your love, and you are determined to give him all the colours in the world to see the beauty of life.
The greyness has gone. Life has returned. But even after a year, you mourn them, because they have been your life.
‘It’s time for the anniversary ceremony.’
You nod and follow him down the hill again. But before you walk into the wood once more, you turn back and see the sun slowly rising up to the sky. The light touches the meadow, and this picture is burned into your mind forevermore.
The picture of hope.
You will never forget the day life and hope returned. As you will never forget that death is inevitable, but still sad for those that are left behind.