Pots of Gold

A double rainbow spanned the sky at 7AM Labor day..  I'd railed at God on my way to work the night before.  A rare overnight shift with good timing,  relieving the heaviness that had crept back in for a visit.  It's always worse at night, when the stillness echoes the emptiness inside.
The six week walk kicks off now, towards that day nearly three years ago.  The start of school reminds me of then, and I remember the vivid moments of life with Phoebe in those last weeks, the conversations, the arguments, the laughter ...the moments, the popcorn, the coffee, the sneakers and jeans, the laundry, the blankets, the rides.  It all comes back, as easy to access as though she were right here with me.  The reminder burns.  She's not here.  Every now and then, it's too much. I welcomed the wee hours of checking wounds and vital sounds, changing dressings and repositioning ...medicating away the pain for others.
Outside, my work done, the rainbow greeted me, a color swipe of promise. But I knew it was not meant for me.  And I've heard enough stories to know lots of people are in need of a rainbow.
I'd never seen the beginning and end of a rainbow until that morning.  As I drove home, bending towards our side of the harbor, the brilliant pots of gold shimmered on the water.  Dense clouds of gold rested on the marina while at the other end, on a little spit of land, more dense clouds.  The beginning and end of the rainbow right there in Hingham Harbor. It wasn't for me though, I knew. Still, I'd thought there was someone who needed Noah's sign, probably watching nearby.  And maybe that's true.  The early morning usually brings promise after the long dark of night.
There was peace in knowing God had heard someone's begging, had offered a hint of His presence.
I remembered years ago, living in a different house that overlooked the ocean, Stephen, Phoebe and their friend Keleigh awed as the rainbow broke over our house, heading towards the ocean.  A summer afternoon of rain had broken open wide with a rainbow. Phoebe had yelled with all seriousness "The pot of gold! Can we go find it?"  I'd said no.  Thinking practically, the road twisted and turned, they were young, I had a baby on my hip and didn't want to lose sight of them. It wasn't safe.   But my husband had responded louder "Yeah! Go find it and bring it back, let me know if you need help lifting it!".  And they ran, laughing and screaming, barefoot and in bathing suits.  They'd returned tired from the long walk up the steep hill from the water, smiling, laughing still.  No gold in their hands, but they'd chased it anyway" Its too far out in the ocean."  But it was there, they saw it,  and brought it back in their togetherness, sharing popsicles in the waning summer afternoon.
I tell my husband about the rainbow, he asks for details of the beginning and end, the pots of gold..  I hold the story of long ago on Allerton Hill with the kids to myself.  He looks at me "I've only seen the pot of gold once.  A long time ago when Phoebe, Stephen and Keleigh chased it to the bottom of the hill.  It blazed in the ocean.  They'd wanted to find the gold so badly, and they did, but it was too far out in the ocean.  It was fun anyway." He tells me its a gift I saw what I did.  "What a consolation." He tells me.  Maybe that rainbow was for me afterall.
That rainbow the other morning wasn't a promise that all would be well, but more a sign that all is well.  If anyone on this earth could find a pot of gold, it would be Phoebe.  And she'd share it.
Phoebe and I did not have a pollyanna mom/daughter relationship.  We butted heads a lot.  Our dynamic included two very strong willed, mission driven females, passionate about life and truth.  Her teenage years had tough moments ...of attitude, push back, defiance. I look back now and see the goodness, rightness of all that, the raw revelations of who we were to each other.  What I thought distance, was intimacy, a closeness that tugged at the very core of each of us.  I miss that now, see the gift.  Not every close relationship between a mom and her teenage daughter has to be complicated, dynamic ...but many, many are.  And for those of us who have those particular kinds, we tend to be very hard on ourselves and our child. We look to other moms and daughters who seem to smoothly walk through the teen years.  But often, its not as it appears. Lots of conversations reveal kids often tell their parent what they think they want to hear. Phoebe scoffed at that ...I'm glad now.  I don't have all the answers to why she died, but I do know who she was, what she did, what she thought and believed.  Mistaken at times, especially that last day, she lived with passion and conviction.  She believed. 
That rainbow wasn't for me alone, it was for us.  A mom and her girl, chasing the pots of gold, often not realizing we had them all along.
When the nights are long, and the heaviness of gloom knocks on my soul, I might remember the blazing pots of gold that speak of God's promise.