Hawai'i Ways, Hawai'i Days
I'll always see you reflected in a rainbow
By Kimberly Ann S.L. Watanabe
Special to The Advertiser
We all know rainbows appear every day in Hawai'i. I usually catch a glimpse of them peeking out of a valley or jutting off a mountain and, of course, there are the "mini" rainbows that appear atop oily black asphalt just after a quick downpour. Because I've always lived in Hawai'i, I often take these beautiful moments of nature for granted. That is, until a recent Monday afternoon.
Just one day after Mother's Day, and one day before her 77th birthday, my grandmother passed away. She died peacefully at home after a battle with cancer. She did not want to be hospitalized and did not want any type of cancer treatment like radiation or chemotherapy. She simply wanted to be comfortable, surrounded by her family.
During her illness, my mother and her two sisters, dutifully and without complaint, played the role of Grandma's nurses. Around the clock, they fed, bathed and comforted her. At the same time, they entertained those who stopped by to show their concern, offering gifts of flowers and food.
On the day of her death, all the children and grandchildren, as well as Grandpa and Grandma's sisters were present. The moment was quite emotional, yet peaceful at the same time. Grandma opened her eyes for a brief second as her last breath left her. Then she was gone. We grieved and said goodbye.
Soon after, my husband, who is also a funeral director and mortician, had the task of taking Grandma from her home to the mortuary. As he drove her away in the beautiful white hearse, I stood on the mossy rock wall and waved goodbye. The others, in tears, embraced each other as I stood alone, watching her leave.
People resumed their grieving and went inside to console themselves and others. I, on the other hand, chose to spend a few minutes to myself to take in the sunlight and fresh air. Amazing, such a beautiful day, yet such a sad occasion.
Just as that thought passed through my mind, an enormous double rainbow appeared. I had never seen such a sight. This rainbow arched right through the clear blue sky directly over Grandma's house. It was Grandma.
Aloud, I uttered these words, "You too good, eh, grandma?" I truly believed she created those rainbows just for us. And with a smile, I called the others to come and share in this wondrous sight.
During the days after Grandma's death, my aunty noticed that I seemed kind of "numb" to all of this. Maybe it was because I am married to a person who is exposed to this type of occurrence all the time. Part of me believes so.
Another part of me is torn between happiness and sadness. Happiness, because I know that Grandma is not suffering and I know she spent her last days with those she loved. Sadness, because I will miss her. But I know she is proudly looking down at us in all the colors of the rainbow.
I am sharing this story for many reasons and from many perspectives. Not only did I learn about the dying process, I learned about myself and my family. Grandma's passing is one of the first in our family and it was difficult for all of us. From her diagnosis to the end, we had to deal with our own emotions, as well as each other's. It took a toll on those who physically had to care for her and on those who knew they truly couldn't live without her.
I have a newfound respect and admiration for those who took care of Grandma. To my aunties and to my mother, I thank you for having the hardest task. To Grandpa, you are the most loving man I know. To my husband, thank you for all of your help and for making Grandma look so pretty. To the rest of the family, I'm glad we were all there for Grandma and for each other. I am now convinced this is what family is all about. And most of all, to Grandma, thanks for the rainbow. I knew you could do it.
I'll never look at rainbows in quite the same way. For each beautiful rainbow I see, I'll be sure to look up, smile and tell Grandma how I'm doing. I'll always be looking out for her and looking forward to our encounters.
Kimberly Watanabe lives in Honolulu.
