The Four Rainbow Day

Sometimes, beautiful things happen for no apparent reason.
Sometimes, horrible things happen for no obvious reason.
Sometimes, amazing things happen that make you acknowledge the horrible things, and be thankful for the beautiful things.

The girls and I drove Jack to school this morning, as we do every week day. During our fifteen minute journey, we saw three rainbows. Not one rainbow moving away from us. Three individual rainbows, in different locations, all spanning the sky in a perfect arc. Never before have I seen more than one rainbow in a day. It was (I think, anyway) incredible. It seemed to mark the day somehow.

(By the by, and completely random I might add, when Phoebalina saw the rainbow she exclaimed, "Amazing! Mummy, when I grow up, I'm going to be a doctor and a pony." When I asked how she would grow up to be a pony, she said rather patronisingly, "By using my magic, Mummy." Of course.)

This afternoon, Christian, Phoebalicious, the Mouse and I went to Stan's funeral. It was freezing cold, with grey skies, and hundreds of sombrely-dressed people were entering the church from every direction. It didn't surprise me in the slightest that the funeral was enormous. Stan was loved. Which made the thought of burying a 51 year old man even harder. I have been trying to convince myself that there is a reason for a reasonably young, very active, and happy husband and father to be taken by the heavens above. So far, I have been unsuccessful.

The longer I spent at the funeral, the more convinced I was that Stan was there. Quite apart from the stories swirling around his friends, making people want to laugh despite their grief, one extraordinary thing happened to me today.

Phoebalina behaved absolutely impeccably at the funeral (This was not the extraordinary thing, by the way). There never was a better-behaved three year old than my daughter today. Sitting on my knee before the service, she asked me why all the people were sad. I told her that we had come to say goodbye to Stan. After a few minutes she asked, "Mummy, when is Stan getting here?"

The Mouse, on the other hand, was removed from the church after 15 minutes for being too joyous. I know nobody would have minded the happy chatter bubbling from my smallest daughter's mouth (least of all Stan), but she was interrupting the eulogy. So I tiptoed and sorry-ed my way out through the crowds, put Mais down to have a run on the grass, and walked straight into Jen.

Jen was one of my closest friends. We had taught together, socialised together, and laughed together at Rosebud. She was one of my bridesmaids, and a beloved companion. And somehow, through obstacles thrown at us by life, we had not seen each other since Phoebe was born. We had been in contact, yes, but I had not clapped eyes on her in almost four years. It had reached the point where I was dreaming about her because I missed her so much.


We hugged and cried, and cried and hugged. We talked and giggled and whispered. We held the Mouse's hands and chased her when she got too far away, and shushed her when she swaggered up to the men standing in the doorway of the church and announced, "Dada!" And I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that every time Jen went to go back into the church, she started coughing again. Seriously, she would move out of the freezing cold wind and towards the threshold of the church, and her hacking cough would start again. So we spent the most part of two hours outside, in the oh-sweet-jesus-it's-cold icy wind, just catching up.

I have no doubt that Stan, who we both loved to bits, was behind this little reunion. Knowing him, he was shaking his head and laughing at us, saying, "Go on, girls. Sort yourselves out. Life's too short." And grinning that huge white toothy grin he was famous for.

And after a while, Jen rocked the Mouse to sleep in her arms, and then passed her onto my shoulder. Which is how we were when the procession left the church, and the people who came to celebrate Stan's life, and grieve his loss, came out to wave goodbye. And as the hearse drove away, and friends embraced and cried and laughed, I noticed something in the sky. A fourth, perfect, unbroken, clear as a bell, rainbow.

I know, from the deepest recesses of my heart, that Stan sent those four rainbows today. It was no ordinary day, in more ways than one. Beautiful, horrible and amazing.