White Rainbow
Blessings
It was a horrible, beautiful Sunday morning. We left the house early to be sure we arrived at the mermaid statue at Marina Park beach before anyone else. The perfect location to hold the unimaginable: the Celebration of Life for our son. The beach was his favorite place. So much so, that he had a tattoo of a mermaid on his arm. He was a water baby from infancy and could swim before he could walk. Honestly.
A day earlier, Madison, his wife, had asked the boys in our family if they wanted any of Garrett’s shirts. Garrett had his trademark skater style. I suggested all of us pick a shirt to wear at the beach, so we looked like a gang of twenty-something boys, dressed in our black or white Vans shirts and shoes. I didn’t wash mine. I liked wearing Garrett’s scent that morning.
We arrived at 7:30 am and lugged our collapsible tables, memory books, posters, easels, food, and other paraphernalia in wagons and a dolly, along the 150-yard meandering cement sidewalk. The jetty walkway ran parallel to the beach and ended at the mermaid. We set up his memorial posters on the bench by the statue. It was a serene space for anyone to commune with their memories of Garrett. On the other side of the jetty, the harbor side, were several shade trees, and six tables with benches. It was a nice area to set up the food table and photos. The beach was serenely quiet, sunny and warm, with no wind and a bank of fog way out on the horizon. It felt sacred. Just Garrett’s wife, Madison, their two-month-old daughter, Madison’s parents, Garrett’s ten-year-old son, Jim, and me. We were still raw and numb from his sudden, unexpected passing just six days earlier, but we kept trudging back and forth, along this path, readying everything for the 11:00 am public gathering that was posted on Facebook.
Madison was expecting around 30 people. I knew she was underestimating Garrett’s charisma, so we planned for twice that many. Ultimately, over a hundred people attended this impromptu invitation, announced on Facebook only three days earlier. We were looking forward to hearing stories about our son. Somehow, those stories kept him alive for us, just a little while longer, and learning more stories about him gave us new memories to cling to, perhaps the last we would hear from his friends.
Our hearts grieved for his beautiful wife, who held their baby and watched over his son, putting their needs before her own during this tragic and difficult time. We mourned for the boy who had lost his father way too soon, and a baby who would never know him. I mourned for my baby, who would never see them grow up.
Other people, locals, started trickling onto our path, walking dogs, jogging, or walking with friends or partners. We were expecting this, and Madison was holding our spot at the picnic tables. People understood what was happening, and they were respectful.
I was thirty yards or so ahead of Jim and the others when suddenly, there was a bolt of light on the shoreline to my right. I stopped abruptly and stared in amazement at something I had never seen or heard of before. This partial arc slowly formed into a perfect, colorless, 180-degree white rainbow! I whipped out my phone to get some pictures, then ran to tell Madison to come quickly, before it vanished. She made it in time, as did the rest of the family, to see this phenomenon, this miracle. Madison was blissful, as she knew it was the answer to the prayer she had said aloud, a minute before I retrieved her, asking Garrett for a sign that he was there with us. It held, right before us, as we watched for several more minutes in gratitude and amazement. It disappeared as the sun moved one degree around our orbit.
Everyone on that path stopped to stare, then turned to talk with each other as it evaporated. Many had lived in the area and walked that path daily, but never had they seen anything like it. I looked it up, and they can’t be predicted. It is called a fogbow. It requires the perfect temperature, dew point, location of fog and sun, and other factors. One landscape photographer wrote that when he stumbled upon and caught a photo of one, it was the pinnacle of his career! But it was there, that early Sunday morning, for us!
I don’t expect to see one again, as I don’t expect to see my son again in this lifetime, but it gave us all great reassurance, fully aware that he was letting us know he was there and all right. He blessed us with a heavenly rainbow to remember and treasure.
Click here for a curious look at how a FOGBOW is formed, by Julie Cantrell.
Have you received any signs of reassurance after a loss? Let’s talk about it…
“Each day holds a surprise. But only if we expect it can we see, hear, or feel it when it comes to us. Let’s not be afraid to receive each day’s surprise, whether it comes to us as sorrow or as joy. It will open a new place in our hearts, a place where we can welcome new friends and celebrate more fully our shared humanity.” - Henri Nouwen, priest, professor, writer
This was so poignant. And the rainbow was so beautiful. The signs we get are so very special, and needed, I’m glad yours came at a time that was so helpful ❤️
Oh, Nikki! What a beautiful miracle. I'm so happy you were able to experience it. I'm learning to expect miracles (surprises) everywhere, and hearing of others' never fails to give me the chills. This world is so much more than people say it is. Here's our proof! Sending much love and light to your family.