A Sunshine for Tristan
There were times when flowers bloomed bright and the light showers filled us with satiety. We walked along the alleys as they rained pleasantly upon us, felt the droplets trickle gracefully along our glistening skins and seep into the core of our souls. We were awash with the bliss we so garnered to the heart and the song that the birds sang in time with the raindrops. We held our arms together in utmost delight and hoped the world was an endless sea of joy.
They were days of youth and vigour. Our veins were full of young blood. The life ahead of us was long and adventurous.
So we set forth to trek the journey of life together, having bound to our breast a hope of a future bright. We carried some baggage with us, added little by little along the way, and slowly, slowly, it began to dawn upon us that the journey would not be as easy as we had determined. But we did have our blessed moments — our highs, our sunshines.
Yet when we started stumbling down, when the sunshine was replaced with a black cloud, we went so sharply off a cliff, and I lost her. She was swallowed by pestilence, lost to the world. Taken away from me, from us, to the world of no return.
On that day when we said our last goodbyes, as I stood at the edge of the tomb, tears stung my eyes. It was a losing battle trying to hold them back. There was a bitter lump in my throat. Our son Tristan was at my side, holding tight to my hand. We looked sadly at her sleeping in the casket, her face stilled in perfect peace, her eyes shut forever.
It was a sullen day of farewell as I took Tristan into my arms and turned away to figure out the rest of the journey. To think how it would be for Tristan now that we had lost she who had once held the light for us — she whose smile had lit our path all along.