I've found happiness.

It has been over half a year since my last post. The man in green I wrote about that day has become my husband.
We had a whirlwind marriage after dating for three months. It has been almost five months since we started living together, and things are going surprisingly well. The days flow by peacefully. It is a gentle and tender daily life.

Green has become a special color for us as a couple. We both had promise diamonds set inside our wedding rings. The color, of course, is green.
It is said that it also carries the meaning, "I want to be your greatest comfort."

Speaking of colors, we have found another favorite color together: Nemophila blue. Actually, we had planned to go on a honeymoon, but my husband caught a bad cold, and we had to cancel it.
We don't have any long breaks coming up, so we don't have time for a trip. Still, wanting to have some kind of memory, we went on a day trip to see the Nemophila flowers.
The contrast between the refreshing blue of the late April sky and the field of blooming Nemophila flowers felt fresh and full of hope. And just like green, the Nemophila color is etched in my heart as a soft memory.

Whenever I have an experience that stays with me, I feel like it remains in my memory along with a color. This might be the influence of growing up watching my father, who was an art teacher, often painting oil paintings in a room at our family home.
I can't say I'm good at painting, but I was a child who loved creating colors. I remember how I used to mix watercolors to make all sorts of different shades.

Both of my parents had mental illnesses, and I grew up as a young carer. Because of their illnesses, I was abused. Desperate to get away from my parents, I studied intensely and moved to Tokyo. Then, burned out from entrance exam studies and caring for my parents, I fell ill myself and spent all of my twenties battling sickness.

In my thirties, I finally got off welfare, started working as a professional, and became independent. Even though I was beaten down by the harshness of working in society, I worked recklessly hard.
I also tried marriage hunting, but the days were not going well at all. My husband was the 30th person I met through matchmaking.

Writing it down, it feels like so much has happened. My mother passed away last autumn. For the month right before she died, I visited my mother, who had developed dementia, frequently. Since I hadn't met my husband yet at that time, I said something like this to her:
"I haven't met anyone I can think about marriage with yet. I'm sorry."
My mother replied:
"Marriage happens in turns. Don't be in a rush. Your turn will definitely come. You will surely meet a good person."

The hatred is slowly melting away. The painful past hasn't disappeared. But for some reason, I found myself thinking, "Well, that's okay."
Young carer, adult child, ADHD gray zone, trauma, mental illness...

My teens, twenties, and early thirties were filled with suffering.
My father and mother, whom I hated so much I thought I would never forgive them even in death.
Yet, as a result of making myself happy to some extent, and as a result of meeting many wonderful people and some mean ones too,
"I forgive you"
I didn't quite reach that point, but
"It's fine now, I don't need to hate them anymore"
I strangely found myself thinking that.

My mother passed away quietly in the middle of the night in a private room in a locked psychiatric ward.
I brought my father, who was living in a facility due to dementia, and held a small funeral.
In front of my mother's coffin, I held hands with my father in his wheelchair and sang "Boku no Mune de Oyasumi" by Kosetsu Minami, which my mother loved.
I will never forget it.
A memory of parting with my mother that was sad and cold, yet a little bit warm.

There are partings, and there are meetings.
Two months later, I met my husband, and now we live together.

Mom, are you watching?
I've found happiness.