God Exists.
There’s a rainbow to prove it
On Friday, September 14, 2018, at 9:08 p.m. my grandmother died with my mom holding her hand. She lived for 89 long years, about 9 more than she ever wanted to. She was plagued with back and stomach issues most of her life. The last decade had been especially brutal for her, with trips to and from the hospital with severe stomach pain, enduring a battery of tests, and dealing with doctors who had long since given up on her. She never said it to me, but I know she prayed for the end every day because I could see it on her wrinkled worn-out face. It was a face that begged to be released from the prison of life, saying “I’ve done my time, now let me go”.
Just hours before her passing I was laying in bed when I felt a strange, warm sensation creep over my abdomen. My first thought was that my Grandmother had just passed and I’d get that call any minute. We knew her time was coming, it was just a matter of running out the clock now. She was already on hospice. She hadn’t been coherent for days. In hindsight, I believe I was either reacting to her impending death or given a sign that it was coming because a few hours later, after forgetting all about that sensation, I got the call that God had taken her home. My grandmother was finally freed from the cruel handcuffs of time, age, and pain.
On Tuesday, September 18, the day before her funeral I wrote a letter to place in her casket. In the letter, I wrote, “I wonder what you see now. I wonder what it’s like. I know I’ll find out soon enough but if you ever want to send me a sign, I’d be ok with that too.”
I finished the letter around 4:00 in the afternoon right before dinner with my family at 6:00. After dinner I was driving home lost in thought when right off the highway in my direct line of sight was a rainbow. I took out my phone and snapped the picture; one hand on the wheel, the other on the shutter. It wasn’t until later when I looked through my pictures that I saw the ‘Exit’ sign pointing to the rainbow. Here was the sign I asked for in my letter earlier that day, being delivered to me on a rainbow platter with a personal note. My grandmother was telling me it was a beautiful ride home. So exquisite and serendipitously constructed was her message that I had no choice but to believe she was communicating with me. She was letting me know she was happy, she was free, and heaven was more beautiful than words could describe.
The funeral was the following day on Wednesday, September 19. It was like any other funeral, flowers were delivered, relatives shared favorite memories, I shared a poem I wrote, and everyone went home. A few days later, I was alone on my balcony, ruminating over all that I had lost. I was still recovering from my divorce. I lost my father just 6 months earlier, and now my grandmother was gone. My family seemed to be shrinking by the day.
It happened to be a grey and cloudy outside, perfect for the black hole that I decided to crawl in and I remember thinking if I looked up, the sky would swallow me and I wouldn’t be able to find my way out. Watching the sky on my balcony had always been a place of solace for me. I could easily track my moods with the mood of the sky. It always had a say in the way I went about my day. This day was no different. My despair was getting the better of me, so much so that I didn’t think there was any way I could survive this moment without my children, who happened to be with their dad that week. The loneliness and grief were too much to bear. I knew my children were the only two people in the world who could pull me out of the abyss I was about to dive into. Enter my grandmother and God. As I was praying and looking down at the concrete below me, the sky lit up so bright I had no choice but to look up. The spiritual phone was ringing again.
It went from a sad, resigned sky to this big beautiful ball of fire. The clouds broke apart and the sun decided to say hello, warming my cold, wet face and drying my tears. At that moment my grandmother pushed her way through my thoughts and I could hear her so clearly say, “Oh no you don’t.”
She knew what I was thinking without me even having to speak it out loud. Suddenly I was looking at heaven and heaven was looking at me. I ran through my apartment to my bedroom and grabbed my phone from my nightstand to take as many pictures as I could. I wanted to capture those few minutes to have something tangible to hold onto when the memory of that moment that I knew over time, would inevitably fail me. While I was lost in the wonder of what I was witnessing, my ex-husband called. I ignored it because I was already on a pretty important call, and everyone knows you don’t hang up on God, or your grandmother. When I called him back he asked if I could keep our children the next day so that he could work a side job he’d just been asked to do. I couldn’t believe it. My prayers were being answered as I was thinking them. My children were on their way to pull their mother from the dark and murky water of loneliness and loss. They were coming to remind me our lives go on even when others end.
I wasn’t particularly close to my grandmother. She was a typical southern woman; sweet as honey to everyone, her voice always dripping with that smooth southern charm. Being her granddaughter was a little different. It could be painful and daunting at times, but I knew she loved me. She was a devout Methodist, judgmental at times, rigid and cold other times, which is the main reason why I’ve always had my doubts about organized religion. I’ve made struggling with my own beliefs about God a favorite pastime, obsessing over any excuse to believe there is no God, yet wanting to believe so badly that there was. I just couldn’t reconcile how God could accept and tolerate the evil and injustice here on earth. How could He witness the decay and destruction of our planet and humanity and stand idly by while our earth is burning? I didn’t want to believe in that kind of God. So if I was going to receive a sign from anywhere, my grandmother was the last person I expected to receive it from. I had been searching for a message from my father for the last six months, but that message never came. Yet here I was anyway, certainly not getting what I wanted, but getting what I needed, and just when I needed it most.
My Grandmother believed in God with her whole heart. I believe that’s why she was able to communicate with me that day. She wasn’t afraid to die, she had waited years for the moment that her soul would be free of the shackles of her mortality. She was 100% sure she was going to see God, and now I believe and trust that she has. Not only has she gone home to God, but they seem to be buddies; sharing with me a few of their secrets.
There are depths in mankind that go to the lowest hell, and reach the highest heaven, for are not both heaven and hell made out of him, everlasting miracle and mystery that he is? -Thomas Carlyle
I believe in signs. I believe in God. I believe there is something more out there, and when it’s my time to go home, I hope I get to take the same exit that my grandmother did, riding up that perfect rainbow to grab my spiritual pot of gold. Per her instructions though, I will make the most of the time I have here on earth until it’s my turn to run out the clock.
