My Rainbows

So this is one of those stories that I had to write and one of those stories where timing is everything.

Dad’s passing has been brutally hard for all of us. But for me, past the grief was fear. Fear of not knowing what heaven is like, or if only certain people get there, and how even though hundreds of people had said how wonderful he was…I didn’t get to decide where he was after death. Or what it had been like for him in the moments before he died. Was he afraid? Did he try to call out? Was he at peace? Was he in heaven? How could I know?  And if so, can he see us? Is he ok? I have come to learn that even people who have always had absolute confidence in their faith, have asked similar questions. And that doesn’t even get me started on the ever-present and unanswered “why”?

Two days after dad passed away, a beautiful rainbow appeared on the lake. A double rainbow I believe… It’s all a bit blurry these days.  I ran to the lake and cried.

It may not line up with what I thought I believed, or maybe even do believe…but I felt my dad in that rainbow. I felt his presence deeply.  My brother’s girlfriend sent us pictures of the rainbow directly over the house on the lake. The house where he had lived, and where he died. As the rainbow started to disappear, I remember yelling “daddy, daddy don’t go”.

I’m a bit embarrassed to share it now. It feels so childlike and doesn’t even line up with what I thought I believed. But I called out because I felt like he was there with me…. and not in the way that people say that his love lives forever in our hearts and whatnot, but tangibly there. So whether there is a way for people to request things of God in heaven, or God knew I needed it – I felt that rainbow was from dad, and that he was a part of it. The rainbow slowly disappeared as the clouds rolled overhead, the darkness feeling like it had stolen him away all over again.

A week later, friends took us out sailing, they thought that it would be a good distraction for us. Turns out they were right. It was a beautiful day on the water and we were having a great time. That is until the swells picked up, and the clouds darkened, and then in the blink of an eye; we ran aground.

We made sure everyone was readied with their lifejackets on and the mammas took the kids below deck while the guys dealt with things above.

We called into the boatyard to ask for help. The rising swells kept picking the boat up and dropping us heavy against the shoal we were on, causing shrieks and tears to come out of my still trauma filled kiddos. We held them tight while they cried, and watched as our friend came at full speed towards us in his whaler.

At no time was I really afraid, disconcerted maybe, anxious for sure. But we could see land on all sides, and even the boatyard was visible in the distance. But I did feel for my kiddos, it was loud and scary for them, as they couldn’t fully assess the situation and know that very worst case we’d be going for a short swim. And it didn’t come anywhere near to that.

Thankfully the whaler arrived at our side within 20 minutes, but the kids didn’t like the solution. They would attach to us and pull us sideways off the shoal. As we braced ourselves below deck the water came up above the windows as we keeled over at the pull of the whaler, the kids asked “why, why did this have to happen to us” and I know their little hearts were not talking about just this situation.

Not long after we straightened up, checked for any water, made sure the engine was working ok, and started our motor back to the dock.

Turns out the other boat’s captain had hit the same shoal this year, and it used to be marked with a buoy…maybe someone should look at that. But as we came towards the boatyard a brilliant rainbow, a small but mighty one, appeared in the distance. I could feel it saying “you’re ok, you’re going to be ok” a guiding beacon, a reminder… of promises for the future.  

And after that I have seen a few more rainbows, I feel this year has had more than any other year I can remember and I cherished every single one. I always have loved rainbows, but the connection to them is new, a gift, a sign, a reminder just for me.

I got to feeling jealous when I would see other people seeing them and posting on Instagram. But the overwhelming feeling I got whenever that happened was that the only way to see them, was to get out and live. To move, to do, to not stay holed up in bed, which to be honest, is all I felt (feel?) like most days…an encouragement to keep living, keep moving, keep trusting.

We had an amazing outpouring of love and support over the last nine months, I don’t know how any of us would have made it without “Croz’s army” as they came to be known. One such member invited us for dinner at their house, and their wife, a beautiful angel ;) who I had only met in passing at the beach offered so much kindness to my hurting mamma heart, while her kids and husband distracted my kids. I was (and still am) thankful for the moments when my kids get to be kids, carefree, playful and happy; and they provided that gift.

While I was there, I also noticed that this beautiful mamma had a bookshelf, with 5 or 6 of one book, and then 5 or 6 of another. When I asked her about it – she mentioned that it was her gift bookshelf. That when a book spoke to her heart, that she loved, she would buy multiples to have on hand, to bless someone with a book, a story that might encourage them. She said that I could pick a book to take home, but I assured her I was only asking out of curiosity. I did however take note of a couple of the titles.

Then winter came. And rainbows slowed. The winter’s cold felt heavier, the loss and weight of uncertainty and grief closing in like the white blanket of winter. In late January mom decided she would go to Florida for a while, it had been two years since she had been there – and winter in Halifax is not her favorite…shortly after we got Covid I booked the kids and I to join her. I would work on fishing lodge stuff, we would do school, but we would be in the warm and we would be with mom.

Here we are in Florida… and I will tell you. Grief hurts wherever. Hard is hard no matter where you are. But making celebration of life plans in the sunshine is easier than in the dreary cold winter days… and we had lots of distractions. Lots of wonderful people to be with. Lots of sunshine. Beach Days, mini golf days, Orlando water park and theme park days… And still lots of tears.

Another distraction we rolled with was lots of pool time, but we also started playing pool in the clubhouse in mom’s community. And if you ever needed an exercise in patience – play pool with an 8 and 10 year old… the games were going FOREVER….

But the billiard room also seconds as the library. People leave books, and you can borrow them or take them, and leave books for others when you’re done. As I sat in the corner next to the books, I saw a bright yellow spine, and I noticed it was one of the same books that had sat on the “gifting books” shelf at our friends home. It’s titled “Heaven is for Real” I grabbed it to bring back to mom’s house. Not knowing if I would have time to read it.

But as the trip began to wind down, thoughts of going home to Halifax, and dad not being there…they seemed to hit us all around the same day.

It’s easier to pretend in Florida. Dad might come and go for a week while we were there over the years, but for all of us, it was much more “normal” to be there without him, than with him. Though nothing feels very normal at all.

Addy and I cried through church Sunday, and Finn cried through the evening. In an attempt to distract us all I decided to pack us up for the beach Monday morning. It served as a good distraction for the kids, and I tried playing in the water, playing catch, going for a swim, but I couldn’t shake the sad that day. I let the kids play while I sat down and picked up “Heaven is for Real”

The book is about a Pastors account of his 4 years old son’s brush with death and stories of heaven. The boys account of going to heaven line up so well with verses in the bible, and are so accurate to biblical descriptions, it’s hard to not to believe it.

As I was sitting on the beach, I read the part of the book where they talk about rainbows. How after his experience the little boy was obsessed with rainbows. How he described God’s throne being surrounded by a rainbow, and the Pastor’s references to the bible verses that describe the colours surrounding God’s throne being similar to those of what one might call a rainbow (referenced below).

And I sat there, feet in the sand, sun on my face, tears streaming down.

And I thought to myself “it’s been too long since I have seen a rainbow. Maybe I could ask God to show me a rainbow here in Florida. A reminder that dad is ok. A reminder that we’re going to be ok.”

But then I thought better of it… thinking about how in the 37 times that I have been to Florida, I don’t remember ever seeing a rainbow. The clouds come in dark and heavy, the rain dumps down, and that is it, and there isn’t even a raincloud around. I know that rainbows have to happen in Florida – but in my recollection – never had I seen one myself.

I didn’t want to ask God because I didn’t want to be disappointed. I didn’t want to then question whether God cared enough to show me and then I would worry dad ISN’T ok because I didn’t see a rainbow in Florida. So I made sure NOT to ask for a rainbow.

We stayed at the beach for a few hours, packed up and headed home. We did some packing and tidying and called our up-the-street-neighbours to see if they wanted to take some of the things that Addy and Finn had grown out of, some things that had been left since 2020. And as we sat in the garage together with the door wide open, the thunder stared to roar. Bolts of lightning shone through the sky and the water began to DUMP down. The kids put on their bathing suits so they could play in the warm water.

The thunder was shaking the house and the power started to flicker so I made the kids come off of the sidewalk. I started hearing the TINK TINK of what I thought was debris hitting the windows – but it was hail! Big hailstone, some as wide as a nickle….tink tinking off of the car and sidewalk and bouncing sideways into the garage.

The rain slowed and picked up many times, the whole storm lasting about an hour, but when I looked out and saw the sun shining across the road – and rain still falling a the end of the street….I thought that there HAD to be a rainbow. I looked high, and low, I stood on my tiptoes looking around the buildings and palm trees.

No rainbow, my shoulders slumped as I went back inside to get my camera to take pictures of the kids biking in their bathing suits through the roads filled with water.  

On the way back to the house, I looked up to my left and saw a glimmer of colour. One small stripe of a rainbow. Barely an arch, something I could have easily missed,  something that hadn’t been there just moments before.

But here it was. What I had been afraid to ask for, what I thought was too big to hope for.

My Florida Rainbow.

A promise of peace. Of hope. A reminder to trust.

Nothing is too big for Him.

So I am choosing to believe that dad is ok. That the rainbows are God’s message to me to trust that. I now see rainbows everywhere, on the walls in the house, reflected in water falling from a hose, or when Finn makes a cannonball into the lake.

I told the kids the story and they show me rainbows all the time now. Rainbows in reflections, in pictures, the rainbows in bubbles, and from the light shining through our water glasses.

I told the kids I wasn’t going to ask for rainbows anymore. That I don’t need to test, that I need to trust, and received the reminders when they come.

And come they did – one on our drive home from delivering supplies and visiting one of dad’s best friends in Newfoundland, dad’s second home. It was brief and beautiful and we were driving through a crazy windstorm so I didn’t even get to snap a picture…

But then, on the last night of our trip to Crooks Lake a miracle rainbow appeared. This was a trip dad had booked for us, for us all to go together. A trip filled with highs and lows. The heaviness of knowing he wouldn’t ever get to take us on another trip, that he would never get to see the kids so excited about catching beautiful trout on dry flies, but knowing that their excitement was exactly what he wanted…. Goodness, he wanted the best for all of us.

I was putting the kids to bed, and Alex called in “Heather – you’re going to want to come out here” and he wasn’t wrong. The most beautiful sunset rainbow (I’ve never seen anything like this before) showed up at like 9pm.

I say all of this to say that nine months later, the grief is still hard. Harder than anything I have faced before. And the tired that sets in after months of sad, and taking on new things, and trying to survive “normal things”… its next level. My faith has been tested and challenged in ways I never expected…. BUT I truly believe my rainbows are a gift from God, and I will hold onto that promise, and that promise gives me a small piece of hope, and hope blooms.

Romans 15:13

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”