Sunflowers and Sunsets

Sunlight poked through the bedroom window shades casting gold lines over a slate grey wall. Michael had laid awake all night, dreading the morning, and here it was; beautifully indifferent to the sorrows of the world. Tired eyes stared blankly while Michael tried to muster the will to get out of bed. This day had been looming over his head for six days, thirteen hours, and thirty seven minutes. Now that it was here it felt oddly anticlimactic as if it were just another day. To the rest of the world it -was- just another day. 

Light crawled across the wall as Michael laid in bed and wished he could close his eyes and sleep the day away. His gaze met a familiar painting. It was abstract; a rainbow of greens and blues danced over the canvas, with bright contrasting bursts of bright yellow and burnt orange. Michael had walked by the painting hundreds of times, but had never paid it much attention. Seconds melted into minutes, into hours that felt like centuries as the paint seemed to stare back at Michael. The silence was interrupted when footsteps could be heard approaching the bedroom door, then a light tap. The familiar voice of Adam, Michael’s oldest and dearest friend, spoke up from the other side of the door. “Michael? Hey. You up, man?” Michael drew in a deep lungful of air and choked out a gravely “yeah, I’m up. I’ll be out soon.” The footsteps retreated back down the hall, then halted for a moment before Adam hesitantly spoke up again. “I’ll make some breakfast. We’ve got time.” Michael looked over at the mustard yellow clock resting on the nightstand. 9:36 AM. They wouldn't need to be on the road for at least another hour and a half, and that was if they wanted to be early. Michael most certainly did not want to be early. Reluctant hands pushed a body-warmed comforter and quilt away, and a quiet surrender to the day began. 

Michael had recently separated his life into two categories; the Before-Days, and the After-Days. Before-Days Michael was a jubilant morning person. Routine usually consisted of naturally waking up a few minutes before a 6:00 AM alarm, going for a run, showering, dressing, coffee, and a commute to work in which Michael would hype himself up. He was driven, ambitious, and in love with his life and the direction he was taking it. After-Days Michael was an intruder in this household; moody, lost, and dull. Each day blended into the next. There was no routine, no runs, no work commute. It was just Michael, and all the time in the world.

Auto-pilot kicked in and navigated Michael to the master bathroom connected to his room. He undressed, swiped back a sunflower printed curtain, turned on the shower, and waited for the water to get up to temperature. A stranger stared at Michael from the mirror that was mounted above the sink. Before Michael was a happy man with an animated face, color in his cheeks, and light in his eyes. The man in the mirror looked like a ghost. He was pale. Lack of sleep had painted dark circles of stress around sunken eyes, which were empty; alive, but unfeeling. 

A fog had formed on the outer edges of the glass. The water was scalding when Michael stepped into the shower, and painted streaks of angry red against his dull skin, but he hardly noticed. Slow hands mindlessly lathered shampoo over a buzz cut balding scalp, then slathered a floral smelling soap over the body. Hot water rinsed away suds, and continued to flow over Michael. He raised a finger, traced over the shapes of the sunflowers on the curtain, and marveled at how his surroundings suddenly felt foreign and distant today. 

There was a set of taps at the door. “Hey man, I’m not coming in, just checking on you. Breakfast is done.” Michael shut off the water and grumbled back, “yeah, OK.” He could hear a slow withdrawal from Adam’s steps, and decided to speak up again. “Thanks, Adam.” Satisfied footfalls could be heard retreating back down the hall. Michael pulled a large towel blindly from the rack mounted next to the shower, and brought it up to his face to dry his eyes. He opened his eyes and saw one lone bright yellow sunflower embroidered into the corner of the towel, then pushed the cloth to his face and inhaled deeply. The scent of lavender and vanilla was savored for a few moments before Michael stood to lazily wipe off some of the moisture, then wrapped the towel around his waist. When he stepped back into the bedroom, he saw his bed had been made, and clothes had been set out. A hard lump formed in Michael’s throat. He simultaneously felt deep shame for his current state, and even deeper gratitude for Adam. Without Adam, Michael knew he would have spiraled down into the depths of insanity. Even with Adam, he felt a trip to loony-town could still be in the cards. 

Michael made fast work of getting dressed. He didn’t bother looking at himself, presentation wasn’t a priority today. When he opened the bedroom door out into the hallway, the smell of bacon hit Michael’s senses and a wave of nausea ran through him. How was he supposed to get through this day?

Michael walked the length of the hallway and turned the corner into the kitchen. The sun glared at him through the window that had been decorated with stained glass bees and flower figures, and splashed bright colors over the kitchen walls. Adam was sipping from a steaming mug of coffee, leaned over the butcher block counters that lined the far corner of the kitchen. He set his coffee down. “‘Morning, buddy.” Adam walked to the archway where Michael was standing, and pulled him into a hug. The two gentlemen stood for a few moments in an awkward embrace that was mostly Adam’s arms wrapped around Michael’s shoulders while Michael leaned his weight towards Adam with his arms at his sides. Both men cleared their throats, and pulled away from the hug. 

“Coffee?” Adam moved to retrieve a mug from a cabinet. Michael shrugged in acceptance. Adam poured the coffee into a large periwinkle cauldron shaped mug before he halted in horror at his error. “Wrong mug. I can see it on your face, I’m sorry.” He motioned to reach for a different vessel, but Michael stopped him. “It’s a mug, Adam. It won’t hurt me.” Michael reached out for the coffee, took a sip, and forced a smile at his friend. “See. I’m fine.” 

Adam set two places at the small square dining table, then began to dish out cheesy scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. The two men sat in silence, Adam ate his food between gulps of coffee, and Michael tried to look busy pushing bits of egg from one side of his plate to the other. Sympathetic eyes met Michael’s. “If you’re not feeling it, it’s OK, you know? Just eat something later. You’re not hurting my feelings.” Dead silence engulfed them, and another lump formed in Michael’s throat before he cleared it and declared good spirits. “I’m fine.” He stabbed at the eggs with his fork, and fought back a gag as he chewed and swallowed. “Really, it won’t hurt my feelings. My cooking is dope, I don’t need a sad sack like you choking it down to know that.” Adam gave Michael a wink, then cleared his empty plate and Michael’s full plate from the table. Michael remained in his seat, holding the warm mug in his hands staring off in the distance as Adam washed dishes and chatted away.

When the coffee was gone, and everything had been cleaned and put away, Adam looked at the bright floral analog clock which hung on a wall by the coffee maker. His demeanor sank a little. “I guess it’s about time, huh?” Michael also took a glance at the clock. 11:47 AM. “Yeah, let's go get this over with.”

The commute to the Bradshaw’s house was beautiful. Michael thought of that song from the 90’s. If ever there was irony in the weather, it was on days like this. Bright golden sunlight lit up the greenery of the warm summer day. Pastel wildflowers lined the roadways and sidewalks as they drove. Michael watched a blue butterfly flit from plant to plant when they came to a stop sign. They were getting close to their destination, when they passed a playground where rainbows of balloons and brightly wrapped packages gave away a child’s birthday party. It was the prettiest day of the summer so far. 

When the two men pulled into the driveway of the Bradshaw’s, Michael paused before getting out of the car. “Fuck! I didn’t bring-.” Adam interrupted. “The flowers? I got ‘em. I also grabbed your cards. I didn’t expect you to remember.” He paused, then added, “sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.” Michael’s voice cracked as he fought back another lump in his throat. “I’m grateful.” Both men unbuckled and exited the vehicle. The calm demeanor that Michael had been maintaining began to evaporate as he walked up the drive, this was madness. He was only 36 years old. He felt like he should have been in his prime, but he had never felt so weak and unsure. He broke. Adam had already made it to the door of the lilac home, but he backtracked down the porch steps when he turned to see his friend stuck in the middle of the drive. Michael held a hand up. “It’s OK, man! I promise. I’m just going to take a minute alone to breathe.” Adam looked at the door, then back at Michael. “You sure?” “Yeah I’m sure. It’s OK. Go on, go on. I’ll be fine.” Hesitantly, Adam grabbed the knob and opened the front door. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll come get you if anything happens.” He disappeared through the door, leaving Michael to himself.

With Adam out of sight, Michael let himself have a small fit. Frantic hands ran through his hair before they punched at the air until Michael lost balance and found himself in a bush of Mrs. Bradshaw’s peonies. Moments later, he could see Elizabeth Bradshaw herself peeking out from behind the curtain of the front parlor window. Her cheeks flushed a deep rosey color, which contrasted well with her vibrant green eyes. She smiled weakly and lifted her hand in a fragile wave that Michael returned. He propped himself out of the bush, wiped a few petals from his clothes, then shrugged. Mrs. Bradshaw nodded in understanding and vanished behind the curtain. It had only been several days since Michael had last talked to her, but he could swear there was twice as much grey in her hair. It was time. 

Michael forced himself one lead foot after the other up the driveway and through the threshold into pure misery. The room was full of familiar strangers that went silent when he walked in, all faces he knew but didn’t recognize today. All eyes were on Michael. Adam was there to save the day again with two glasses of wine, he held one out for Michael to take. “For the pain, friend…She looks beautiful. I mean, she always did, but they did a good job.” Adam threw an arm over Michael’s shoulders and led him to a beautifully woven willow casket that held the fair and late Hannah Bradshaw. Her head rested on a small feather-down pillow, and her strawberry blonde hair laid around her face and rested over her shoulders with flowers braided into some of the strands. She had been placed, barefoot, into the linen lined casket wearing a white dress that Elizabeth had tenderly embroidered with her signature sunflowers; Hannah’s favorite. This time there was no fighting the lump in his throat or the tears from building up hot in his eyes. Michael wept into Adam’s shoulder. Mrs. Bradshaw appeared by Adam’s other side, and rested a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Oh Michael. I know, baby. I know.” Her voice was soft and soothing despite the grief in it. Tears fell over Elizabeth’s cheeks when Michael pulled away from Adam’s shoulder to greet her. He pulled the older woman into himself and held her there while they shared grief and loss. Mrs. Bradshaw pushed him back gently, forced a brief smile, and wiped tears from her eyes. “Well, Slim. Let’s rip the bandaid off this busted artery, shall we?” She turned to address the fellow mourners. “Folks, it’s time to say our farewells to my sweet baby girl. Please join us in the parlor.” Adam handed a stack of cards to Michael before taking a seat with Mrs. Bradshaw. Michael took his place at the head of Hannah’s casket and gazed down at her as the crowd shuffled into the room. When everyone was settled, Michael looked up over the congregation of black. He could see all the eyes in the room on him, could feel how people were sizing up his grief, and pouring pity into him. He could hardly stand it, but he pushed forward. 

“Hannah loved flowers, who doesn’t, right? But this girl…she really loved flowers. I used to call her my Blossom because she was in a perpetual state of blooming, and she gave me the honor of witnessing it. Now…” Michael fought back the lump in his throat. “Now, I’ve come to the autumn of my life. Hannah left us before she could fully bloom.” Michael closed his eyes, paused, and heard sniffles around the room as tears burned down his cheeks. He pulled the cards from his pocket and turned them around a few times in his hands before he continued. “So to send her off properly, I want to recite one of her favorite poems to her, it seems fitting that we send a Flower off with The Reaper and the Flowers by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.” Michael passed the stack of the poems to Elizabeth. Fresh tears trickled down her face, she took the top card, and passed the stack along. When everyone had received a card, Michael continued. He choked through the poem, but made it to the end, and took a seat. Adam gave Michael’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but Michael could no longer feel. The rest of the ceremony passed by him unnoticed. Mourner after mourner stood to remember his beloved, share stories, express grief, but he heard none of it.

When everyone had said their peace, it was time to tuck Hannah in. Michael stood over her, and bent to place a kiss on her cheek before the lid was closed. Michael and Adam took the front huckles of the woven casket, Hannah’s uncle and cousin took the rear huckles. Michael had never felt such weight in his life. The whole universe seemed to push in around him as the men rested the willow into a brightly decorated and flower adorned hearse. Adam led Michael and Elizabeth to his car, then opened the door for Mrs. Bradshaw to take the front passenger seat. Belts were fastened, the ignition turned over. The trio headed towards the cemetery behind Hannah in the funeral procession. They passed by the child’s birthday party again, but this time, Michael barely noticed the balloons, or bright packages. The pastel flowers passed by invisibly.

After they arrived, mourners gathered at a fresh plot. Elizabeth clung to Michael during the final goodbyes, and sobbed into his shoulder. He held her tight as the casket was lowered into the earth, and let her hold onto his hand when they one by one approached to lay flowers and dirt into the grave. 

The crowd dwindled down until it was eventually just Michael, Elizabeth, and Adam left. Adam offered his arm to Elizabeth, red eyed and sniffling. “Let’s get you home.” Michael absently waved them on to go ahead without him. “I’m going to stay here with Hannah for a bit.” Adam started to protest, but Mrs. Bradshaw gently pulled Adam towards the car to leave Michael some space. “I’d like to go home Adam, Michael is a grown man.” She gave Michael a sad smile. Michael nodded. When the pair was out of sight, he took slow steps towards the grave, then bent to press his forehead to the earth. Tears streamed freely now that he was alone. “How could you do this to me?” Michael whispered into the dirt. “How could you take every beautiful thing I’ve ever known?” He looked towards the sky. The late afternoon sun had painted the scenery all shades of yellow, pink, and orange with splashes of purple and blue. Vibrant flowers painted the green and grey backdrop of the cemetery. Michael took in the beauty of the afternoon, feeling nothing. He would never see her beam at the discovery of a cute bug again. He would never hear her melodic giggle about the silly names of flowers again. He would never watch another sunset with her wrapped up in his arms. 

It was the prettiest day of the summer so far. 

It might as well have all been grey.