My wife and I were seated in our favorite diner. Regular booth. Regular meal ordered from a regular menu. And though it was a routine that should have left more of an imprint, the only thing I can remember from that evening were the smells of commercial dark roast, the texture of faux geraniums, and the phone call that came over my wife’s cell phone.
The sheriff’s department called. Amidst a slow pour of coffee and asking my children to refrain from pulling on plant stems, an officer provided details, and condolences, for loss. My wife’s mother had passed.
As my wife stepped outside, calm and collected, yet confused, I expedited the dinner for our two children and paid the bill. I met her outside as she hung up, unclear of how to proceed.
You see, there’s love and there’s logic. The two intercede at moments of loss. You need them both to make steps forward, but they’re unable to occupy space at the same time.
After sitting with the news that evening, sharing stories and shedding tears, it was agreed I needed to go to my mother-in-law’s to begin clearing out family heirlooms and belongings. It was a task I divided between family and friends who wished to help: an aunt who filed through paperwork and antiques, and a close friend who volunteered to relocate a beloved mare.
Several hours into a task of packing and loading and filing, I struggled to make sense of a life. The hours compiling materialistic memories would never amount to the woman I knew; a single mother whose priorities were three fold – her daughter, social activism and animal welfare, the latter of which followed her through her years, caring for dogs, cats, horses and the like. The woman exuded compassion, taking in and fostering a menagerie until her death.
It was that day, wondering with questions of the afterlife, that I laid eyes on proof positive there’s something beyond the biological conception and evolution of a single being. At the end of a tedious day organizing personal effects into a short history, I turned to see my closest friend working the stubborn horse that missed its matron. An hour passed, trucks and trailers filled with household wares, and nothing was left but the resistance from the treasured horse.
And then rain. At first a light mist, and then a sudden burst. A downpour.
And as quickly as the sky opened up, so did it let up. But not seconds before the horse whinnied and let out a final sigh of relief. It had understood something. It was ready. My friend stepped forward with a halter and the horse bowed its head in agreement. It was then the mountains in the distance supported two tremendous rainbows directly above.
I took a picture with my phone and sent it immediately to my wife who was grieving with a friend. She later told me seconds before receiving the text she asked one thing aloud.
“I just want to know she’s all right,” she said.
And there’s that space in time that transcends either, exposing the universe as a seminal vessel for understanding. A mystical, physical question and answer, empty of a need to know.
See the rainbow and recognize it as a metaphor for peace.
See the rainbow and acknowledge weather patterns.
See the rainbow and imagine that we’re all interconnected in this quantum storytelling that illuminates possibilities more far reaching than that of any prophesy.
For each members of the party involved there was a different message, be it the mournful drops of tears that fell from the heavens or the hesitant mare unwilling to leave one life to go to the next.
The answer, your answer and every in which we live, is found throughout the universe. Lay witness. You only need to be open to receive.