Follow the Yellow Brickroad

People were amazed to see how seemingly fast I recovered from tragic events, most recently being the death of my significant other. On the night when my husband died, some friends paid their respect at the hospital and said they wanted to cry when they saw how tough I was. The thing is, tragic events are no strangers to me. In a way, I guess I was trained all my life to survive that ultimate day.

But that doesn’t make me invincible. They just don’t witness my sleepless nights, just lying there while my mind keeps playing the dreadful scene. The half asleep/awake moment, wondering what he might have felt at his last breath. Did he just feel like falling asleep and darkness/light surrounded? (I hope he did.) Or did he feel his soul exited his body and see me helplessly cradling him in my arms, calling his name? (Oh, that must have been painful.) Either way, I would be wide awake, heartbeat racing, and involuntarily tears start to roll down my face.

Sometimes on my way to drop my kid at school I spot a yellow motorbike. My breath hitches everytime it happens, despite the fact that at the time I’m riding the yellow motorbike that used to be his. Ours. I usually start to weep inwardly, missing the sight of him coming home from work on that bike. Remembering our ventures together on the tiny vehicle that we had for nearly as long as our marriage life (and now outlive it).

But today something happened. After I spotted a yellow motorbike, I started to see lots of yellows: Yellow uniform worn by the ladies who sweep the roads; yellow folder held by a man crossing the street; yellow cardigan worn by a woman that looked at me strangely (maybe because I was looking at her with utter amazement); yellow safety helmet; yellow cab; yellow roadsigns; yellow walls; all the way to school.

I know, I know. They probably had been there all the time and my eyes just picked that moment and today, of all days, to see them. But that, my friend, is actually what makes me ‘strong’, as my friends put it. It seems that I have the ability to pick myself up. I rarely talk about my feelings outwardly. Instead I like to chew on them, taste and digest them. And when I finally get to the bottom of things, I kick my legs hard and use whatever available within my grasp to get myself back to the surface.

Anyway, we didn’t pick yellow motorbike just because, if you know what I mean. For one, yellow was, and still is, my favorite color. And him, being the practical that he was, thought yellow would enable him to spot the motorbike easily in the crowded parking lot. Yellow was also the main color we used as our wedding theme; we used to call ourselves Honey & Lemon, both yellow in color. We painted our first rented house yellow. Well, you get the idea. So today I choose to believe that seeing yellow everywhere is a sign. A sign that as long as the sun still shines its yellow rays, he’s with me all the way. He’s one with The One so I need not worry about those thoughts I had when lying awake at nights. After all, it was him saying “Why worry about tomorrow when we don’t know what will happen to us the next second?” that made me sure that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

Today I’m glad to find out and be reminded that when he closed his eyes for the very last time, though it may not seem like it, he was ready. And I will try to remember that every time I see yellow. Follow the yellow brickroad and eventually everything is going to be all right.



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