Pink

All my life I’ve hated pink. You know the colour — the pale, gushy, “it’s a girl” pink by which we are inundated in baby stores, the “girls” section of toy stores, and on February 14th every year.

At some point in my early years, I made a conscious decision to ban pale pink from my life. No way, no how was I going to fall for that misogynistic “girls must be girls” culture. I embraced football, rugby and racing cars and I filled my world with bright colours (bright pink is acceptable). I vetoed all girly pastels. Especially pink.

It seemed appropriate therefore that I gave birth to two children with xy chromosomes. We lived in a blue world (my favourite colour) and I was happy that way.

All that changed on December 30th 2020. That’s when I learned that one of those “y” chromosomes was a mistake. One that would shatter my family completely. It was also when I learned that my daughter’s absolute favourite colour was the very one I had shunned all those years.

It has been three months and three days since my daughter died. I keep seeking ways to fill the void she left behind, an impossible task but one I will continue to pursue for the rest of my days. One of those ways is to celebrate pink. The “Charlie skies" that we like to think she is up there painting it for us, the blush pink ranunculus my sister sent me to brighten a dark day, and rose gold jewelry with pink stones that speaks to me like never before. I will never again shun pink. To me, it will always be a manifestation of my Charlie. Today, I love pink.