Life under the Rainbow

In a study of Genesis, I listened to a pastor taking about rainbows.  He spoke about the scientific definition of the rainbow:  A beautiful multicolored arch in the sky caused by the reflection and refraction of the rays of the sun shining on falling rain.

Then, of course, he spoke of the biblical significance:  The rainbow as a token of the covenant which God made with Noah when he came out of the ark that the waters should no more become a flood to destroy all of humanity.

The rainbow in the sky is the “sun in the storm” AND the “son in the storm.”  The son, my Lord and savior.

Today, more than two years since Ian left us after an eight-month battle with cancer, I live my life under the Rainbow.

The storm, I fear, will never completely blow over.

There will always be clouds in my sky; the unrelenting soul-crushing missing that happens when you lose your child.

But, now and then, when the conditions are just right, the sun shines into my clouds and creates surprising beauty.

At first, it is faint … just a light hue of color as I gaze onto the faces of those I love and a glimmer of hope falls over me. Yet, slowly but surely, over time, I find myself in moments of vibrant colors. I am surprised to find that my smile is real, my laugh is deep and a sense of happiness feels true.

But, there is no weather forecast on this journey.  

Today, it may rain, the sun may come out, or — on the best of days — the rain and the sun may interact to create a rainbow over me.

Those days have tears and pain brought on by bittersweet memories. And, they have hope and love brought on by — those very same memories.

We walk in faith, looking forward to a day of reunion with Ian and all our loved ones who already call Heaven, home. I thank the Lord for his faithfulness to walk with me through this storm and for the rainbows that cover me.

rainbowcrop
A rainbow that formed at one of Ian’s favorite surf spots, Ehukai Beach on the North Shore of Oahu. It appeared to me and Lorna as we sat chatting about our boys.

 

The Signature

There I sat wiping away tears in a crowded restaurant – again.

I gazed down onto the three letters I – A – N … strung together in a manner so that I could pick it out in a line-up of a hundred other “Ian” signatures.  It was his actual signature cast perfectly into a delicate silver ring. The signature looked exactly how I had seen it so very many times before when he signed his name to an important letter, note, and later in life, on a sales contract.

The ring featured the “neat” version, not the signature he used when signing a check or on one of those ridiculous credit card machines. In those cases, you’d only see the “I” and the rest was barely more than a straight line. I remember that I chuckled the first time I saw it. I think he was in middle school and I asked him if he thought he was a doctor or a rock star. Actually, I love that he learned to use the sloppy signature at such a young age, as if he intuitively understood that sometimes it mattered and other times it simply did not. Sometimes you steal away a few seconds to keep for yourself – because seconds add up to minutes, minutes add up to days.

We know — all too well — that every single second matters…

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His Power

thought I knew you,  Lord,

close as could be.

Time spent together,

you held the key.

Promises made,

and promises kept.

Into the future,

walking, lockstep.

Then he was sick,

then he was gone.

Prayers unanswered,

no way to live on.

I  thought I knew you, God. 

ruined in the wake.

Disappointed, let down,

crushing heartbreak.

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#18 Months

Is it strange that I count the months you’ve been gone in the same way that parents count the months of an infant child’s life?  Each month, as time slips by, I can’t believe we’ve made it this far without you here.

Yet, if the pattern holds true, I’ll stop counting the months soon.  Just a few more months and we will likely start referencing your absence in years — should anyone ask how long it’s been.

No matter how or if I express the breadth of your absence on any given day, I always know exactly how long it’s been …

because losing a child is nothing like having a child.

To watch your child grow is the ultimate privilege. Fully in awe of the miracle, you instinctively know that he or she is a gift and you celebrate the milestones, month by month, and then year after year.

When there is life, this formula is sustainable.  It propels you forward.

When there is death, this formula is difficult to sustain.

For 18 months, I have quite literally been walking with my head turned in the opposite direction … looking backwards.

If I continue this formula, I fear it will sink me.

So, where do I go from here?

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Of Butterflies, Black Moths and Angels

I sat with Joy on the back patio on a sunny afternoon in May 2017 as we talked endlessly about our sons. Her son, Kekoa, passed over to heaven in July, while our son Ian passed in October.

We had met each other only weeks prior at Griefshare, a grief support group we attended at a nearby church. Joy is a deeply spiritual woman with a solid footing in her faith. We grieved together with hope, knowing that our sons are now among the Lord’s saints in heaven.

Nonetheless … there were tears and pain.

When two butterflies suddenly started to dance on and around our hedges that afternoon, we chuckled about it. It was tempting to say these two dancing butterflies were our sons visiting us, but we knew better than that. Our children did not turn into butterflies, black moths or angels. They are still the magnificent souls they were here on earth but in a new and improved physical state in heaven.

Yet, as these two butterflies brought smiles to our faces long into the afternoon, Joy suddenly asked, “Do you see two butterflies hanging around like this very often?”

“Not really,” I replied.

We stared at those butterflies in silence for a bit of time, and then we laughed.

It felt good to laugh.

Something felt very special about those butterflies.

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A Smile to Remember

The hospital bed in the middle of our living room was surrounded by sofas that served as seating for those who came to say goodbye. Hospice workers came and went, addressing Ian’s “comfort” needs that changed drastically with each passing day.

Pastor Glenn arrived on Monday to pray with us, again. This time, he gently told Ian that while we continue to pray for a miracle, it was time to consider that God was preparing a place for him.

But, Ian was not ready…

Even Jesus asked God to “let this cup pass from me” before going to the cross.

Pastor Glenn later reassured us that even if Ian wasn’t ready to leave, God had him – his child – by the hand and would not let go.

Six days after returning home from our Hail Mary attempt at the naturopathic treatment center, the good Lord dispatched his Angels for our precious Ian.

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With Hope

If positive vibes and hope could save a life – as so many of us innocently believed during Ian’s cancer trial – then Ian would be alive today. But, sadly, positive vibes and hope did not halt the cancer that continued to advance.

The reality of this relentless cancer came crashing upon us, yet again, when Ian’s mid-section became completely numb, just days after his 23rd birthday . Was it growing tumors pressing on nerve structures within his spinal cord? Or, perhaps a severe case of peripheral neuropathy, a side effect of one of the many harsh chemo drugs that pulsed through Ian’s veins for many months.

Ian was no longer a candidate for chemo trials on the mainland or immunotherapy, an emerging cancer treatment discussed at length with Ian’s oncologist. Ian decided — with our full support — to hang his hope on naturopathic treatment protocols designed to wake up his immune system so it could fight the cancer naturally.

I knew what treatments Ian needed, including the highly touted high-dose intravenous Vitamin C. However, driving him around to various appointments on Oahu was getting more and more difficult as Ian became weaker. In addition to his core being numb, Ian’s hands soon malfunctioned, just as his legs had. In time, he could no longer hold a fork, write with a pen, or text on his phone.

I searched and prayed for a one-stop facility that could care for Ian and provide all of the naturopathic treatments in a concentrated manner. My prayer was answered when I came across a naturopathic treatment center on the Big Island. It sounded perfect.

They could administer all of the treatments we desired and more, all in one place, under the care of an experienced naturopath doctor. They administered the world-renowned Gerson Therapy diet, a strict diet of juicing and specific whole foods – much as we had been doing on our own for the past month. Plus, they could administer progressive protocols commonly used in Europe to treat cancer.

Ian was sitting in the recliner in our living room when I gave him the news about the treatment center and what they could provide. He listened carefully and then a huge smile came over his face. He looked over at Lei and said, “Want to go to the Big Island?” Of course, she did.

We all could feel the extreme urgency of the situation; this was Ian’s final stand.

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