The colors of the sky (final)

While reading, listen to:

PRESENT

The memory of the day that started their journey echoed inside Nick's head. His hand gently glided on the North and South engraved on the rock as his misted eyes filled with memories.

I knew that telling me this peace of their history was not easy, that remembering it in detail brought her back, and his hands ached to touch her in the flesh.

Gia made the rock the centerpiece of their garden, and I got teary when Nick confided that this is where he proposed and where they later got married. "It was a small intimate ceremony, only our closest friends that we considered family. But, God, it was beautiful. She looked like a dream, with wildflowers in her hair and a simple dress flowing around her." His eyes sparkled when he continued: "She was the epiphany of the Afrodite, and I just couldn't believe I got to have her for the rest of my life." I could see how bittersweet the memory was, warming the soul but cutting into the heart. It made him miss her more and, simultaneously, be grateful to experience those moments with her.

I learned a lot about grief from Nick in these past months. She showed a lot of faces through his skin. The soul-crushing nights, when the lonesome feeling grew so tight, it was hard to breathe. The tearing feeling in his chest, when a found memory entered his mind but was quickly carried away by the blowing wind, along with her scent and feel. The growing strength to go on without her. The process made him stronger but older, as If Gia was his life force, his fuel to live.

But still, in the last few weeks, I noticed how he became more alive. As If constantly telling me about her brought her back somehow, he felt less alone. The grief was finally loosening its clutches around his heart. His eyes got back some of their shine and his cheeks some of the red color. He felt fresh, and his company became livelier, brighter, and fuller of pigment.

I asked If it was okay If I did some work in the garden. He agreed, and throughout the spring and a good portion of the summer, I spent applying the knowledge that Gia had taught me. The work left my muscles sore, but my head was clear and sharp. Before I just memorized all the theories from books, tips and tricks Gia had shared, but now I had insight into planting. I appreciated the time it took to grow a single flower and the precision each plant species demanded. It felt like this was the last lesson Gia sculpted for me, one piece of knowledge that the garden slowly through the seasons showed me; Good, beautiful things take time, hard work and need a lot of nourishment. I appreciated the lesson, nourished it, and with it, her memory.

At the same time, I felt enormous pride to have grown such a beautiful garden. I proudly showed Nick my new cactuses and how the tomatoes in the greenhouse were finally ripping. We would finish the day by the fire with a glass of wine. This was when I would learn something new about his wife and their relationship. But mostly, I got to know him better. What he liked and didn't like, his view of the world, and how he found and appreciated the beauty around him. He, indeed, was a man with warmth and patience. So I asked him: "How can you find beauty in every person?" Before us, the afternoon proudly boasted in the display of colors that seeped through the clouds. He took a sip of his wine and motioned to the sky before us: "People are just as wonderful as sunset if you let them be. When I look at the sunset, I don't think, 'soften the orange on the right-hand corner '. I don't try to control the sunset. I watch it in awe as it unfolds."

The words struck me. The appreciation that he had for the beauty around him was astonishing. The lesson I had yet to learn was engraved in my mind; let it unfold. Don't mend in life and people too much. Watch them in awe and offer the warmest colors in return.

On a beautiful august afternoon, when I came to check on my freshly planted pot of spices, I found Nick in the library frantically looking through the shelves of books and murmuring: "Where is it? Where is the bloody thing?" He was desperately scanning row after row of books, stacking them on the table and the floor.

"What are you looking for ?" I asked, a little baffled by the whole situation.

"The album, where is it...?" They had a lot of albums made throughout the years they spent travelling and building their life. Putting my bag down by the door, I was ready to jump into the search with him: "Which album are you looking for?" I asked in hopes of getting more description of the lost item. But in the next moment, he already surprised me with a loud: "Aha, found it." And with beaming light, he looked at me and smiled. " I am gonna be in the upstairs bathroom. If you need any help," he clarified and left. I found the whole situation strange but didn't stress further because Nick had a new hobby. I figured it would be good for him. For the following weeks, when I came to the house, I mostly found him in the bathroom, developing films. I gathered they had a lot of pictures from their time together that they never developed, and he was finally getting around to it.

The days gradually became shorter, the mornings fresher. The colors of autumn already decorated the forest and trees in our neighborhood. On the road, you could spot a candy wrap that an excited kid left behind, unable to wait to eat his trick-or-treat gift at home. Walking to Nick's house felt familiar now, comforting. I found my solace there, in the garden, with his company.

A candy bowl and my muddy garden boots welcomed me on the house's front porch. And as I walked into the warm kitchen, I noticed an album on the table. It was bound brown leader, and on the front sat a beautiful picture of Gia. She was laughing, her eyes closed, surrounded by her flowers. She was happy, content, and free.

"O, Hi! I didn't even hear you come in." Nick put the basket of fresh chestnuts and pumpkins right by the album and turned to wash his hands in the sink. "Is this the album you've been creating?" I asked in wonder. Curiosity was already taking hold of me, my fingers aching to flip through the pages and see what was inside.

"Do you mind if I open it?" I asked excitedly. Nick took a knife out of the drawer and become cleaning pumpkins: "No, you can look through it."

Eagerly I washed my hands, dried them, and slid the album before me. Then, taking a deep breath, I flipped the cover and began to scan the pages. They were filled with pictures of the sky. There were pictures of the setting sun and morning sun. There were pictures of cloudy days and the ones that took your breath away because the colors overflew each other in such a beautiful way it hurt.

They were beautiful. Full of color, feeling, and stories. Each one of the pictures showed a different side of the view I could see through the kitchen window. Curiously I flipped page after page and let the picture anchor a deep feeling of warmth and peace within me. "Why have you decided to fill this album with pictures of colors of the sky?" I asked, not entirely understanding why he filled the whole album with this colorful photography. He didn't answer me immediately, and when I looked at him, his face held an expression of peace, love, and gratefulness. His eyes were locked on the view before us when he gently answered: "I took a picture of my wife, every time she looked beautiful these past months."

...the end