Sunrise and Rainbow

You know how they say, "things came to a head when..." ? Well, that's what I'm going to begin with as I tell you this story because it's got a lot of symbolic twists and turns that I don't want to leave out. However, I will try to make it as coherent as possible.
Things came to a head a couple of weeks ago, when I took my painting to be framed. I had it in the car, and suddenly a carpenter's shop appeared, and there was a parking space right there, so I stopped and asked and made the deal and left my painting with him. But let's go back through it in slow motion. I stopped the car, got out and there he was, coming out of his shop. Olive-skinned and beautiful, a young but complete man, with a muscled but not too-muscled, body, a vitality that was apparent in his stance, brilliant green eyes that immediately slit into emerald jewels when he greeted me with a dazzling smile that included even white teeth and a dimple at the right corner of his mouth. He was completely natural, not playing games or acting, yet he had the kind of beauty that you drink in with your eyes. I could appreciate that; and yet, when I left him my painting, I knew it wasn't only because of his physical attributes, but rather his whole way of being, the way he made the deal, which was very honest and economical, the way he showed me other work of his upon request, which proved to me that he knew what he was doing, the respectful way he handled my work as he took it from the trunk of my car.
So I drove away, thinking that I had made a good deal and telling Car in my head to calm down - everything I had just witnessed and thought was simply an objective realization.
Two weeks later, some women teachers at school were talking about beautiful men, and I mentioned the carpenter. I heard myself telling them and thought maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. They might be thinking I was on the prowl... but no, it was just that his whole beauty - inner and outer - had impressed me.
Then, last weekend, I was at the Popo with friends, and I heard myself talking about Car - quoting him on something - just as if he were still here - and I wondered how it sounded to them. Did I sound too light, too blasé, as if I didn't care that he'd died? Is that how the teachers thought of me because I'd mentioned the beauty of a carpenter?
But the thing is, I know Car's gone. I don't think about him or pine for him, or find it hard to get on with my life, or any of that. I go to sleep at night and fling my arm out, knowing he won't be there at the the tips of my fingers, and that one poignant moment is beautiful; it's a lovely sadness; it's memory!! I need that! I like that! It's the moment that makes it possible for me to fall asleep a moment later with a sigh of contentment and a smile on my face. Because those moments make up for all the moments that I don't think about him or feel sad or lost or anything.
And this goes beyond just feelings. Yesterday, I was doing an art assignment which was to draw a face from memory. I knew I shouldn't try to draw his, because it's very hard to pin it down in my mind's eye... you know how they say you can't recall the face of a loved one who died... But I wanted to defy that belief, so I started to draw his face. When I finished, I was amazed. I hadn't drawn his face, but the one I drew strongly resembled Anto's face! And I thought to myself, "how comforting to know that I wasn't too far off! Here's proof that he lives on through his kids!" It made me extremely happy, but I closed my notebook before anyone could see it, because I didn't want them to ruin the mood with an opinion that might contradict what I'd just seen.
So all of the above was just to give some background to what happened this morning.
This morning, I got to take Sam to school. When we got in the car, it was pitch black outside. I settled in with my coffee, my purse, my sunglasses. Sam snorted, "What are you bringing your sunglasses for? It's still dark!" "I know," I answered, "but the sun rises around the time I drop you off and sometimes, it hits you right in the eyes during the drive home."
Sure enough, the sky was beginning to lighten by the time I drove away from his school. Twenty minutes later, as I made the turn off the highway into the entrance of our tiny town, I saw the sun in my rearview mirror. Two thoughts hit me simultaneously. The first was the insignificant observation that the sun is at my back on the way home, so I didn't need my sunglasses after all; the second was the tremendous, knock-the-breath-out-of-you realization that Car was behind this sunrise, which was the most indescribable shade of yellow - somewhere between sunflower egg-yolk and baby blanket pastel, its brilliant rays slashing across the sky, breaking apart in places to accommodate patches of blue and stark white clouds; a stunning display that lit up the whole horizon brighter than a 500+ watt stage-light. As I looked and looked at it in the rearview mirror, driving in second gear, unable to take my eyes away for more than a fraction of a second at a time for as long as it was visible, I saw his smile, I saw/felt his eyes and his smile, and my eyes were full of the whole vision - sunrise and Car - (along with some spontaneous tears of an emotion that has no name) and then, I realized I had to turn again, and I wouldn't have that view anymore, and I didn't want to stop seeing that sun-filled sky, with his face full of benevolent knowledge behind it.
I took the turn, and lo and behold, there was a rainbow outside my window! It was as if he were telling me, "See there? Sunshine or rain, I'm always just around the corner". The rainbow accompanied me up until the final turn into the road that leads up to my house, whereupon it slowly faded away as rainbows do...