October 30, 2017: This morning I opened the curtains in my bedroom to find the hint of a rainbow in the sky on the other side of the lake. It was barely discernible.
For the next couple of hours the promise of the rainbow drew me to the west-facing windows in the house as it faded and reappeared in bits and pieces on the horizon. Finally, in the middle of my tea, toast and honey, it stretched seemingly solid, absolutely brilliant, and truly magnificent across the high morning mist from the rolling southwest hills to the river valley below my neighbours’ house. It seemed close enough, and solid enough, to touch.
I took a picture of the end where I thought the pot of gold might be — on the riverside path where I walk and cycle. By the time I thought to capture the full span of the stunning arc on video, it had all but melted into the morning cloud. I was reminded of how everything can be gone in the matter of a few moments:
This afternoon I remembered it is was six years ago today that I walked back into Mom’s big brick house on the hill (to the delight of some, and the dismay of others), having gone back to Dubai only a month and a half earlier after my usual summer visit with no intention of returning to Canada until my regular Christmas holiday.
I also remembered that Mom and I had spotted a rainbow across the road in the summer of 2011, and I revisited that memory out of curiosity:
Mom and I sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow so many time together in the ensuing years that I couldn’t help but wonder if the rainbow this morning had anything to do with the anniversary of my return.
I was left thinking that perhaps what they say about rainbows is true.
My Alzheimer's Story 