Valentine’s Day. Sugar-fueled teenagers. Weird weather. Construction delays. Formal evaluation. Rehearsal. Equipment scavenger hunt. Rush, rush, rush.
Adulting seems extreme, doesn’t it? I left rehearsal as soon as notes finished, and hustled (as much as Tonya hustles) through the hallways and back to my classroom to collect what I needed to bring home and leave what I didn’t need. Somewhere along that hustle-walk through the school, I caught a glimpse of the fattest, stubbiest piece of rainbow I’ve ever seen.
That rainbow hit like a deep breath for my eyes, my nerves, my soul.
I was more stressed than usual; the day had not been smooth. There were some unpleasant (and thoroughly unwelcome) surprises. Even 20 years into this teaching gig, I still get nervous when it’s formal eval day (that part of the day was fine). After rehearsal, I was on my way to a meeting and didn’t feel as prepared as I like. So, I was stressed.
But then I saw that rainbow and started hoping it would still be visible when I left the building a few minutes later. It was, sort of, but I was still hustling. I kept track of the rainbow stub, though, and by the time I’d settled into my northern trajectory home, the rainbow remnant was visible. It occupied a corner of my windshield all the way home.
It was sunset. The sky was weird—clear to the west, but kind of orange and purple and swoopy to the east, with a chunk of rainbow hanging out the bottom of those strange clouds.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rainbow at sunset. Now hours later, in my end-of-the-day unwinding time, I’m seeing photo after photo of a vibrant double rainbow. Beautiful. Bright. Sunny. The promise after the storm. I’m okay with my stubby sunset rainbow, though. It suited my day and maybe my unrequested life.
The meeting tonight was a Compassionate Friends meeting—our eleventh meeting—and it ended up being the stubby rainbow at the end of my weird-sky day.
What happens at those meetings is sacred, existing in a Vegas-worthy bubble; what happens at the meetings stays at the meetings, but I left the meeting with a calm soul and full heart. That probably sounds impossible, since the meeting is comprised solely of bereaved parents and we talk about our lives after, but it’s true. The atmosphere is unique and the group is a little different each month, but it is an immensely safe space with people who understand. No masks. No filters. Everyone there lives an unrequested life, and we are all doing our best to survive and maybe, eventually, thrive. It’s a monthly reset.
I love the pictures of the bright shiny double rainbow. I wish I’d been able to see it for myself, but I couldn’t. Instead, I saw a wider-than-it-was-tall rainbow chunk trailing behind swoopy clouds, a rainbow that refused to disappear, even as the sun met the horizon. I believe I’ll treasure that rainbow in today’s confused sky for the rest of my days.
I mean, seriously—a rainbow at sunset?
Woods Writes 