Cosima is the fall.
She's the autumnal colours, the yellows and burnt oranges, the deep reds that slowly fade into browns as the days get shorter. She's the crunching of the leaves as she runs through them, kicking them up in flurries like she's five years old again. She's the aroma of pumpkin, combined with the smoky smell of burning that fills Felix's apartment one afternoon when Sarah arrives there to find yet another of her cooking disasters. She's the mess that is left behind, the scraps of fabric, the loose threads, the splashes of paint, when Kira asks her Auntie to help make a Halloween costume.
Yes, Cosima is fall.
…
Cosima is the winter.
She's huge baggy sweaters and thick woollen socks. She's the bright red coat that make her such an easy target against the world of white in snowball fights. She's long conversations into the early hours of the morning about everything and nothing, cuddled up underneath a blanket beside an open fire with steaming mugs of peppermint cocoa. She's the childish excitement on Christmas Day, the tearing of wrapping paper, the ugly Christmas sweaters that nobody wants to wear, yet they all do because she asked them to.
Yes, Cosima is winter.
…
Cosima is the spring.
She's the flowers that bloom all around, vibrant colours that appear in even the most unlikely of places, the lone flower she tucks behind her ear before grinning goofily across at Sarah. She's the smell of freshness, of new life, she's the feeling of hope and happiness. She's unexpected torrential downpours, puddles that are ready to be jumped in, big boots and drenched clothes because the umbrella was accidentally left at home before going out. She's parties and gatherings and all things celebration as birthday after birthday brings them all together for food and drink and family and fun.
Yes, Cosima is spring.
…
Cosima is the summer.
She's the short skirts and the sleeveless tops and that one really tiny tank top that doesn't even try to cover her midriff, the one that Sarah teases her about relentlessly but secretly actually quite likes. She's the barbecues in Alison's back yard, the smell of sausages cooking, the sound of laughter filling the air, she's the bucket of punch that somebody (Felix swears it wasn't him so it has to have been Cosima) has added a splash too much gin to. She's picnics in the park, sunbathing on the blankets with their bellies so full of delicious treats they can hardly move.
Yes, Cosima is summer.
…
Cosima doesn't make it to the next fall.
Sarah closes her eyes when the chilly breeze whips at her unkempt hair, half expecting that when she opens them again, Cosima will be standing before her, dancing around in the coloured leaves. But when Sarah finally lets her eyelids flicker open, the leaves bluster around the cold gray headstones that surround her, swirling through the air because of the wind, not because Cosima has playfully kicked them up.
They go back to Felix's apartment for the wake, and it's a silent affair. Sarah glances over at the kitchen units, wishing to once more be graced with the smell of burnt pumpkin pie filling the air, or any of Cosima's other culinary nightmares. And later that night, when Kira asks her if she'll help make her Halloween costume, Sarah has to fight back the tears, so as to not let her daughter see the pain she's going through.
Fall doesn't have its vibrancy without Cosima.
…
Winter without Cosima ends up not really feeling like winter.
With the grief still fresh in her mind, Sarah keeps herself locked away from the world as often as she can. She doesn't join in with Kira and Felix when they wrap up warm and run out into the street for a snowball fight. Without Cosima and her bright red coat to be the obvious target, somehow it doesn't seem worth braving the cold. And when they return inside, pink faced and smiling, and Mrs S makes them all warm mugs of cocoa, Sarah can't help but notice the lack of peppermint in it, and the way that her blanket feels empty with only one person snuggled up beneath it.
Christmas Day is a week later and Sarah puts on a brave face for Kira, because she doesn't want to ruin the magic for her daughter, but for Sarah, the magic of Christmas died with Cosima. They go to Alison's after a huge Christmas lunch, and it's then that Sarah notices that everybody is wearing their ugly Christmas sweaters, despite Cosima not being there to tell them to wear them.
When they get home from Alison's house, Kira presents Sarah with another gift. Nestled among the tissue paper is a doll, a small felt angel with dreadlocks made from tiny strands of wool. When Sarah's eyes begin to brim with tears, Kira says simply, "It's so she can watch down on us every year from the top of the tree."
Winter doesn't have its festivity without Cosima.
…
The flowers bloom in spring without Cosima.
It doesn't seem to stop raining this spring. When the heavens haven't completely opened then it's more than likely drizzling anyway. The cold gray skies and general aura of sogginess just makes Sarah feel miserable. Not even the colourful flowers, glimpses of yellow and red and purple in the gloom, can cheer her up, not when they aren't tucked in amongst the dreads behind Cosima's right ear.
Birthdays happen and each of them ages to a year that Cosima will never see with a series of meticulously planned parties at the hand of Felix. Sarah throws her into the celebrations completely, drinking more than her share and waking up with a hangover on more than one occasion. Only on Cosima's birthday are things different. There isn't a party, though Alison invites them all around for a quiet dinner. Nobody openly says why they're gathered, but that doesn't mean they don't all know. Sarah volunteers to help Alison with the washing up after dinner and finds herself wrapped in an unexpected hug from the suburban housewife in the middle of the kitchen, then two weeks later on what would have been Beth's birthday, when Sarah recognises the look on Alison's face as the one that has been staring back at her in the mirror for six months, she returns the favour. Their birthdays end up being not so much a celebration of life, as a reminder that they are dying out.
Spring doesn't have its life without Cosima.
…
Without Cosima, the summer seems to last a lifetime.
Sarah finds Cosima's tiny patterned tank top hidden at the bottom of her closet early in the summer, but she does nothing more with it than hold it to her face for a few seconds, inhaling Cosima's distantly familiar scent, then leaves it on top of her dresser for the duration of the summer, a reminder of what summer could have been.
When Alison hosts her first barbecue of the summer, it promises to be full of the same fun and laughter as usual. Though Cosima isn't forgotten, Sarah thinks she might be the only one who noticeably still feels her absence. She misses the tones of Cosima laughter in amongst that of the others that fill the air. When Sarah goes to refill her cup from the bucket of punch and tastes the unmistakeable hint of that extra splash of gin cutting through the other flavours, she looks up to find Felix standing a short distance away. He nods his head at her. There's no point in him pretending that it wasn't him this year.
They go for a picnic as a big group towards the end of the summer, when the air is slightly cooler, even if the sun is no less bright. If Sarah lies on her back and closes her eyes, soaking up the late summer sun, she almost can't tell what is missing. Talking and laughter surrounds her, Kira's laugh at a joke Cal has told her, Alison scolding Donnie for eating too many treats. It's only when Sarah notices that there's no warm body pressed into her side, no faint smell of pot filling the air, that she notices what is missing. And then not even the sun shining brightly above her can stop the chill that spreads down her spine.
Summer doesn't have its fun without Cosima.
…
Sarah stands before the familiar headstone, one year on, surrounded once more by the crunch of golden leaves and the wind that blows her hair into an unruly mess. A year ago she had been mournful, desperate, and full of regret that death had taken wonderful, bubbly Cosima in its grip before it had taken her. Today she just feels empty.
Tonight Sarah will go home to Mrs S's and while she won't get to taste Cosima's god-awful charred mess masquerading as a pumpkin pie, Felix will make them both coffee laced with pumpkin spices and liquor. This year, Sarah will ask Kira, not the other way around, if she wants help making her Halloween costume, and Kira will decline, because at ten, she claims to be old enough to no longer need any help making costumes.
But for now, Sarah stands alone in the cemetery, opposite a plain slab of stone bearing the name of a woman that was far more brilliant that any headstone could ever do justice to. And she reflects. And it is in her reflection of the past year, of how far things have come, yet how little it all has changed, that she realises this; time may continue to pass without Cosima, but life as Sarah knew it stopped with Cosima's beating heart.