I’ve gotten comfortable now in telling the story of all this pink around me. Pink car. T@b trailer with pink trim. Pink insides on both. Mostly pink fashions (if what I wear can be named such-I tend to shop at thrift stores). I have a pink straw cowboy hat and pink cowboy boots. Pink jewelry. I also have bling wherever possible. My motto is too much is never too much. Go big or go home.
Pink, pink, pink. Raspberry pink, soft pink, shimmer pink, pink in all shades and patterns.
So, the thing is, none of this is just because I like the color pink. Which I do, but not because its the thing. I hate to do anything because it’s the thing. Trendy, you know. Who cares about trendy?
Before I start: 2 things to mention as back story.
I told Handsome Husband, before he died, that I was going to paint my car pink so that he could find me out here on the road. He smiled and said he’d be looking for me.
He said to me, before he died “Don’t mourn for me in black. It isn’t your color. Mourn for me in pink”.
I took him very seriously. Can you tell?
None of this is done lightly. Pink is, at this time in my life, a deadly serious color.
I wake in the morning and sheath myself in pink to give myself courage. It’s always been a color of strength and joy to me. I need strength and I want to find joy again someday. So pink is my armor. On days when I’m feeling particularly needful, I wear all pink. I can never wear too much of it. Yes, it’s armor but it isn’t armor that protects me from anything. It’s armor that reminds me to keep my heart open to the love coming my way. It reminds me that Handsome Husband loved me deeply and that the love he and I shared is still with me. Pink is my love armor.
PinkMagic. Yes, my car and my T@b, both in their glorious “Chuck’s Watchin’ Over Me” pink-they’re my magic ride. PinkMagic takes me out on the road to connect with Handsome Husband again, to connect with friends not yet met, to meet people I need to meet. I drive east and west and north and south and that one honk from someone passing by, drawn to the color, usually accompanied by a thumbs up, takes me out of my grief and makes me look up and over and smile in return. It draws fellow campers to me at the camp sites. We share stories, we exchange phone numbers, we stay connected.
Pink is the color of my grief and it’s the color of my re-entry to life. It’s my heart wide-open, no matter how much it hurts. It’s the color of all the love that is lifting me and carrying me through this devastation. Pink is the solemn promise that there is life again, whether I feel it now or not, whether I want it or not.
Pink. Love. Life. Promise.