Red. You were too young to have a favourite colour, but I imagine red would have been it when you got older. It was the colour of the plaid fleece blanket we bundled you in when we brought you home from the hospital. Of one of the nursing bras I wore when breastfeeding you, your tiny body curled against mine. Of the stuffed apple that hung from your activity gym as we practiced tummy time. Of the blood they drew from your arm when you went for your first round of tests. Red was the colour I saw when I closed my eyes and blinked hard when the doctors spoke the cruel words “he has a rare form of soft tissue cancer”, trying to will the words back into their mouths. It was the colour the vile chemo drugs would have turned in your miniscule veins when they mixed with your blood. It was the colour of your fresh scar after they amputated your foot- a foot I memorized every detail of lying beside you in the weeks before. Red was the colour of the sweater you wore when we had our Christmas photos taken, when we thought we were in the clear and that we would have you for all of the Christmases to come. It was the colour of your first birthday decorations we hung four days before you died. Of the valentine’s day shirt you never got to wear. For me, red is the colour of joy and hope and future and love but also of pain and anger and loss and devastation. Only I know it would have been your favourite colour. So we will celebrate it always. 

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