When someone you love dies, they say you see them in everything: from the chipped coffee mug to the toothbrush with the worn bristles or even in the empty seat at the table or in the car.
For me, I saw her in the colors of the rainbow. With red, I saw blood oozing from my skinned knee followed by the warmth of a kiss to seal the wound. It was for the shade of lipstick I saw her paint across her thin lips for every date night or dinner party. Of course, I wanted to wear them on my lips too. Never mind the fact I’d only lick it off seconds later.
Red was also the color of the raspberry gummy bears she liked to eat after every meal, no matter the time of day. Anytime was gummy time, as she would say.
Orange is for our spotted tabby cat named Ginger. She was Ginger’s favorite. She would hold a glass of wine in her left hand in the evenings and stroke Ginger’s underbelly until both of their eyes closed. It’s the color of Wally, the stuffed fox she won for me playing ring toss at the carnival.
Orange is also for the mimosa she once made. My tongue recoiled at the taste of the bitter pineapple juice and the acidic sparkling wine. From then on, whenever we ordered mimosas, we giggled like two little girls with a shared secret.
Yellow was for the sun beating our backs on afternoon runs around the park. It was for the salty fries we ate, always drenched in ketchup or dipped in a creamy vanilla milkshake. And it was for all the cabs we took to explore New York. I can’t help but remember Lady Liberty looming over me, the leaves gracefully gliding towards the ground in Central Park, and the bustling bodies in Times Square.
Green is for the money I earned watering her blooming morning glories and marigolds. It’s the memory of apple-flavored airheads that made our lips pucker. It’s also the mint ice cream we devoured on summer nights while counting shooting stars.
Blue is for the black to navy ombre in her tousled waves. It reminded her of the father she lost to colon cancer when she was five. It reminded me of the empty room she once painted but never filled.
Purple is for each time I saw her with a busted lip or a black eye. It brings back names like Max, Theo, Jordan, and Owen. I try to think instead of the sterling silver pendant with amethyst that rests below my collarbone. Sometimes, I think of the purple scales of “The Rainbow Fish” which she read to me every night. The amber glow of the nightlight and her soft-spoken words lulled me to sleep.
White was for her absence in my life. Biologically, she wasn’t my mom. Yet, she was the closest thing I had to one.
Comments