A Fresh Yellow Morning

I took a seat, perching carefully next to a bald man in sunglasses. I could feel the early morning dew from the bench seeping its way through my jeans but I didn't really care too much. My focus was solely on my surroundings. The sky was clear and the air was fresh, burning against my cheeks and stinging my eyes. With each blink against the crisp morning came a new tear drop, trickling slowly down my cheek. Ironic really, that I was in the one place where crying was welcomed, yet the only tears present were created by the weather. I stared deeply at the words etched into the concrete before me. They seemed so familiar yet oddly unrecognisable at the same time. Had it really been that long ago now? As I continued to bore into the stone, I let my mind find the familiar memories that I had stored away desperate to never forget them. The sound of her laugh, an innocent cackle that went straight through my ears. I missed her bright white smile from her perfect dentures that gave her so much attention and instantly made her look ten years younger. It was a warm smile, very rare and only saved for special occasions. I could almost smell her Estee Laude perfume that she used to cake herself in and even to this day it made my heart stop and my mind jolted back to her presence. As I sifted through each picture, playing a trailer of her life in the back of my eyes, my fingers tightened around the bunch of daffodils between my palms. Yellow was her favourite colour. Just like the colour of a buttery sun on a fresh spring morning, as she would always say. Just like it was this morning. The mornings were her favourite time of day. I pictured her sat in her favourite armchair back home, the window thrown open to let the fresh air in and her cigarette smoke out. She would sit there quietly with a steaming mug of English tea, watching the world go by outside. 

The birds singing loudly in the tree above me, threw me back into the presence. I could hear their morning song echoing around the park as their friends joined in from the trees opposite. The morning felt much too cheerful to be sad. My favourite time to visit was after the weekend. It was more bearable to visit when it was peaceful and empty and I could witness all the fresh flowers from the weekend blossom in the warm glow of the sun, their colours ablaze. Daffodils were a plenty due to coming into season and it made my heart warm to see so much yellow. Oh, if only you could see it today, I told her in my head.  

I rose slowly from the bench, the cold suddenly attacking my wet bottom and I stepped down the little grass slope to kneel before her mark. There, in front of her grave stood the pretty flower pot I had bought a few years back and in it lay a lifeless bunch of flowers from my last visit. I removed them carefully from the pot and then stared at it realising I had forgot to bring any kind of equipment. I impulsively started raking up the soil using my bare hands in order to plant my fresh bunch of Daffodils, carefully presenting it as best I could for her, but knowing she would be rolling her eyes at me all the same for getting the soil beneath my fingernails. I could almost hear her voice shouting at me "Make sure you wash those hands before you put anything in your mouth" and I smiled at the thought. I took a step back to admire my handy work sensing my face suddenly wet with tears and this time it wasn't due to the crisp morning air. My hand swept across my face to try and catch them before they escaped down my neck and into my warm top. I felt wet soil slide across my cheeks as I did so. My surroundings had become vague and distant as grief suddenly caught a hold of me. It clutched my heart like a pair of gigantic hands and squeezed tight, the way it always did. I could still feel the cold air against my skin yet the back of my head felt warm as the sun gained strength. I wondered if it will ever get any easier.  

A large, strong hand against my shoulder bought me back to the present. I turned to stare into big sad eyes blinking in the sunlight and wondering if I was peering into a mirror. His sorrow seemed to reflect my own. It took a few seconds to realise he was holding out a packet of tissues in his other hand, offering them to me. I registered that he was the bald man I was sat next to a moment ago, his sunglasses suddenly gone. He had veins running through his cheeks, which looked weathered and tired. Purple bags were present under his blue bloodshot eyes and I felt a sudden sympathy for this man.  

"It's too beautiful of a morning to be shedding tears now love," He smiled weakly, "Unless of course those are happy tears," He continued, still clutching my shoulder with one hand and giving it a little squeeze, "I'm sure she wouldn't want you wasting those precious tears on her now," his head nodded towards her gravestone as he spoke. He gave another squeeze of my shoulder before dropping his arm.  

"I'm sorry" I sniffed, tugging a tissue out of the packet, desperate to dry my face, "You're absolutely right. Anyway I - I think I'm more upset about breaking my favourite nail," I laughed with a thick voice, holding up my hand to show him my bent nail covered in mud and trying to lighten the mood. 

"Ah yes," he breathed, "Well I was going to offer you the little spade here," He patted the side pocket of his huge coat and I suddenly wondered if his pockets were full of random things, "however I didn't really get much time. You were straight in there, no messing about. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought you were digging for gold," He raised an eyebrow looking rather amused.  

"Well don't worry. I'm sure she will be cursing at me right now," I replied pointing to her spot. 

We both laughed simultaneously for a moment then fell silent our grief swallowing us up again. 

"Look at all these Daffodils," he said breaking the silence, "It must be spring already." He bounced a little on his feet as if some excited feeling had jolted through him like an electric shock. "Now, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" 

I felt a sudden panic at his question. What are my plans? I was going to go home. It was what I always did on this day every year. I came to pay my respects and then I'd walk home to wallow in my grief for the rest of the day. I would sit in front of the television and watch sad movies or drama's, with a thousand cups of tea and chocolate to make myself feel just a bit worse. 

"I'm going to go home," I shrugged, wondering if this was a trick question.

"Ah, well in that case then," He smiled with relief, "You can accompany me for a coffee, or maybe a decaf in my case as I believe the caffeine is a bit too strong now at my ripe old age," he said looking rather too cheerful before continuing, "If I can no longer treat my late wife to a nice cup of coffee and a piece of cake, then I must treat someone else. I'm sure she wouldn't mind," He grinned holding out his arm for me to link into it.

After a moment's hesitation and seeing the joy on his face at being able to treat a woman again, I reached out my arm and hooked it through into his. As we walked slowly out of the park I looked back towards her spot and said a mental goodbye before casting my eyes across all the yellow Daffodils. It certainly was a beautiful morning and for the first time in a long time, I felt excited for the day ahead.