Somewhere Over the Rainbow

"Someday I'll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me.
Where trouble melts like lemon drops,
High above the chimney top,
That's where you'll find me."

--"Somewhere Over the Rainbow," Israel Kamakawiwoʻole

Dear Thi,

 I see you in rainbows. In the land of Aloha, where the water laps the shore, I hear your strength in the ocean's roar.

You are the fine sand that meets the ocean, past coarse pebbles and driftwood, softened and refined across hundreds of years.

I feel you in my heart at Byodo-In, where the green hills stand, misted by a veil of fog. 

 

There, I rang the brass bell to cleanse the mind and calm the spirit. 

When Luc peered over the bridge to feed a school of koi aglow with the bright colors of the sun, your spirit circled up to meet us and filled him with gleeful giggles.  I hear you in him. I see what you could have been.

Perhaps you heard my secret wish as I lit incense before the towering Amida Buddha.

You perfume the air with lavender and plumeria blossoms--soft, cream-colored petals swirling in a perfect array of symmetry.

You are the thrill of being up-close with nature's animals; you are the carefree shrieks of running through a grassy field, sea-salt-tinged and sun-kissed. How I had wished that you can experience these life joys, and yet I believe you are in a realm that makes these wonders happen, that you are the very essence of these things.

You are the magic of sunrises and sunsets, painting the sky a magnificent array of red and gold.

Your adventurous and fearless spirit is with me when I feel the urge to explore an off-the-path trail to a secluded stream. You propel our family forward, up and across slippery, muddy paths, under the airborne roots of hundred-year-old trees.

 

You are the reward of the 100+feet Manoa Waterfall, flowing strongly with the unstoppable force of love.

You manifest your rainbow colors in the earth's abundance.

You are the jeweled colors of the sea, bright turquoise lit against white sand.

You are the warm tropical breezes that play with my tousled hair.

Dear Thi, grief is a strange creature. In the beginning upon first contact, it rears its ugly head and roars like a tempest so that you cower in fear, riveted by its force coursing through you as you curl up, inept. But with time it mutates, becoming smaller. If you are lucky, you can shape it, molding it into a hard ball that you can contemplate as you pass it back and forth between your raw palms. You can't ever get rid of it, can't throw it away, for it bounces back. If you don't keep close guard, it once again becomes a creature beyond your control. With experience, courage, and strength, you can learn how to rein it in.

Sometimes, it is as if I am walking along the shore, comfortable and dry, and then suddenly a tidal wave washes in and beats me over the head. I stand sodden, shocked from cold, reeling from what just hit me. This is the memory my grief over you, catching me by surprise. But for the first time in a long time--having seen you in the beauty that I am privileged to experience in the Land of Aloha, knowing that you are in nature's fine touches that caress me, comfort me, and soothe me--I feel a sense of peace that was missing for a long time. I am no longer so lost, indecisive, and afraid. I feel your love; I feel your strength. You are not here, but everywhere.

"It'll be alright, Mama," I can hear you say. For you are around me, bigger than me, even as I hold you safely nestled in my heart.