Orange isn't the most predominant color in my life, nor is it my favorite color, or a color I often associate with Preston. I do however, am able to find him, and think of him, when I see the hues of orange whether they be as saturated as a pumpkin, or as soft as an peach, pun intended.
Whenever the sun comes up, or goes down, and the sky is filled with bright shades of orange. There is just something about it that brings a smile to my face, and smiling always reminds me of Preston. Sunrises and sunsets are just so peaceful if you take the time to admire them. Of course, it becomes increasingly difficult to appreciate the shifting of the sun as Fall comes to a close. I am always happy when I can catch a glimpse lately. I've certainly learned to have a new appreciation for this majestic star that is our sun.
Illogically, the bright construction signs close to our house remind me of my son. Before he passed away, I seem to recall that there was a huge orange crane just a few blocks down from our house, as construction was starting on the new highway exit which will connect just down the street from our home. I was looking forward to it, as I knew it would shave a good 10 minutes each way on y commute to work, and 20 extra minutes with Preston made me incredibly joyful. I still look forward to it, but for different reasons. I look forward to the day that I don't have to drive by the hospital which is where I found out I was miscarrying baby H and where I found out Preston was gone, even if in my heart, I knew he was gone the second I received the phone call at work telling me that he wasn't breathing. One day, I won't have to drive by that place without being forced to because there's no other way.
Preston had a mirror for tummy time, and the rim was orange, somewhat like a sunflower. His mat for tummy time was a little pond with frogs and butterflies. He didn't love tummy time, but when you caught him in the right moment, he did really good, lifting his head up, trying to roll over and drooling all over the mat and half moon pillow that would help with getting him to lift his head. If he wasn't in the right mood, well he's just lay his head on the pillow, and eventually would start crying.
Lastly, the orange in the two onesies pictured below remind me of Preston. The smaller one, preemie size, is the onesie my sweet P had on when he came home from the hospital, underneath his fleece pyjamas. The bigger one, size 3 months, was probably one of the last things he wore. Ironically, they both say "Pinch me, I'm cute", which he truly was. When Preston didn't fit into preemie clothes anymore, I donated them all to the NICU where he spent his first week or so of his life. They had been good to him and it felt like the right thing to do. Selfishly, part of me regrets it, because it's one more thing of Preston's that I don't have, and I've lost so much already. But, I kept the one onesie he came home with. It's so tiny, as you can tell. And it reminds me of how good it felt to donate those clothes for babies who needed it. No one wishes that their child will be born early and need to stay in the NICU. I would assume that there are rare occasions where you know that it will happen, but in the majority of cases, my guess is that it is unexpected and not something you can prepare for. We didn't have any preemie clothes. We borrowed a lot from the NICU and by the time it was time to go home, we'd bought and been gifted several onesies and pyjamas. I've always enjoyed giving more than receiving, and I think it's still true because, when asked "what do you want for your birthday or Christmas, I never have an answer". So, I did the right thing, even if I miss being able to look at the onesies, and I rarely look at the ones I do have. Little ones are using them every day, and I hope that they all live a long, healthy life. Maybe, just maybe, a little angel is watching over the wee ones that wear his clothes as they fight to grow bigger and stronger whispering gently to them "you can do it".
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