Rainbow

If Heaven could be found on earth, where would you find it? Is it a place? A sense? A feeling? Is it dusk, sundown or midnight?  I believe the only place heaven can be found on earth is in unconditional love. The kind of love that sees through scars, flaws and and glaring imperfections. The kind of love that knows no boundaries and bridges two people together under any circumstance. But if Heaven could be found geographically, the first place I would think of is Queenstown, New Zealand. With immense, jutting mountains, shimmering turquoise lakes and ethereal mist, it’s not difficult to see why it’s been used for Tolkien’s Middle Earth in the movies.  It has a slightly surreal feeling; you are there but you are not. You have transported to a place of mythology and legend.

I am in Queenstown and I so desperately wanted to surrender to it’s beauty. I wanted to allow it to carry me to places of hope and beauty. Not only is it wildly beautiful but it's a place Hamish has been. He was only ten weeks old, but safely ensconced in my Baby Bjorn pouch, he walked the length and width of it with me. I hope even in his infancy, he absorbed its magic and Queenstown absorbed his.

It’s spectacular landscape is not lost on me this time, to be sure. It’s jaw-dropping and inspiring.  Unfortunately my heart is unable to be romanced by its ruggedness or swept away by its angelic features.  I guess that’s where unconditional love comes in. I loved Hamish unconditionally. He made my heart soar daily with his gorgeous humanness. He made me alive in a way no landscape ever could. Now that he’s gone. What am I to do? Is every beautiful God-created space forever to disappoint?  Is every beautiful image to be tarred by the huge gaping hole my son has left. 

For the foreseeable future, yes. I think it is.

Because the pain is soaring to new levels every day. There isn’t an hour in my day where I don’t yearn for his face, pine for his presence or feel broken-hearted. 

I just don’t know what to do with it. It just hurts so much.

I’m trying to run it off. I think it may help. Pounding the pavement and chanting his name under my breath, seems to be small therapy. But his absence is permanent. It lurks around every hour, taunting me, calling me, desperately pulling me down. On Wednesday, the second day of our break here I felt particularly despondent. I was jogging slowly in drizzly rain and thinking to myself, “what’s the point?”  I then asked Heaven to send me a sign. “Give me a reason to carry on,” was the thought. I continued up the sharp ascent to our hotel and had to stop at the top to take lungfuls of air. I turned back and faced my sign. 

A  rainbow. 

Could there be a more powerful sign from a child who loved nothing more than to use every crayon in the box?  From a child who covered every blank canvas in our house with colour?

Despite this symbol of hope, once again I was forced to scrape myself off the pavement the very next day. It’s like the as darkness descends, my soul slate is wiped clean and I am forced to summon new strength every morning, as certain as the sun will rise.

My children, although missing their brother, look at it differently. They see a new day with endless possibilities. Their resilience and optimism astounds me, inspires me, depresses me. Because I just don’t understand it. I guess that’s because I’m Hamish’s mother. Only Hami and I have that permanent bond that stretches beyond the land of the living and into the life beyond. But I’m grateful for it. 

My husband and our two munchkins Miss M and Little F

My little boy would have been 2 tomorrow.  Such a beautiful, big age. He would’ve been a beautiful two.  My angel would’ve been filled with love, excitement and joy and as usual, it would have latched onto my other 3 kids. He had that way about him. They all picked up on his endless humour and sweet manner and ran with it. Tomorrow I will miss the laughter. The Remarkables of Queenstown will echo with the silence of Hami’s sweet laughter.

Two. 

I can’t go on. Eloquence is useless at a time when my heart feels too broken. It’s too hard, too torturous. 

Someone told me that God only gives the biggest fights to his strongest warriors. I think He may’ve misjudged me. I’m not sure I have the capacity endure this. Some days I think I think I’ve got it in me, I’m calm, hopeful and confident I’m walking this path the very best I can. Other days I want to give up. I feel alone, disheartened, broken. Forever broken. 

How do you get past this level of pain? I’m not sure. But I will grasp onto my rainbow whenever darkness threatens to prevail.  And I hope that if you are on this same torturous journey that you will hang on with me.

Thanks for listening.