Last Saturday, I waited with my neighbor as the ambulance came to pick her up and start more agressive treatments to help her breathe at the hospital. I knew then that she wouldn’t be returning home.

She was diagnosed a couple of years ago and told she had about 6 months to live before her lungs would give out. She’d been on oxygen since then, breathing became her biggest effort and took every ounce of strength she had in the end.

Mid week last week, I received a call from her daughter that she had decided to stop treatments and signed a DNR, and that she’d be transferred to the hospice care floor in the hospital. On Friday night, I returned home to a message that my neighbor was not doing well in hospice care.

Saturday morning, I called to find out how she was doing. Her daughter said they didn’t expect her to make it through the morning. They had given her pain medication and she still had oxygen feeding into her nose, and that was it. I went out and cut several of my irises for her and left for the hospital. When I got there, I touched her face and said hello, and tears filled my eyes.

I’ve known her for 11 years. I enjoyed long talks with her, bickered with her over property lines, did some gardening for and with her, shoveled her walks in the winter and helped her lift up her husband when his health was failing. My girls would run over there over the summer months just to go visit. They’d carry stuffed animals back and forth, showing her their favorite things, and she’d spoil them with attention and questions and stories. In the end, I helped her with breathing treatments and talked with her about whether or not she wanted to keep fighting for her life on medications or if she was ready to die. She was a sweet, caring woman who loved my girls and treated them like her own grandchildren. She was information central for our neighborhood. She was a bit of a pistol, always said what was on her mind and stood up for herself. I admired her strength and her faith.

I wanted to say goodbye out loud, but I couldn’t do it. I knew she knew what I was thinking, she knew what was in my heart, and that was enough.

I visited with her family for a while and came home, then went to another neighbor’s to let them know what was going on. We chatted for a while. When I finally returned home we decided to go out for dinner – and then we headed over to Home Depot. We were there for a while, browsing gym sets and then hanging out into the garden center. It had rained a little, and the smell of fresh rain mixed with plants and humidity was refreshing to me. We went outside and kept browsing, it started to drizzle again and I looked up to see where the storm was and saw a rainbow. I showed the girls, and then we headed into the greenhouse.

They’re magical things, rainbows. Catybug shared her wisdom about how they were named and when they first appeared, after the Great Flood. They’re a sign of hope and promise. Cleansing. Replenishment. Peace.

The rain stopped, and we browsed around the garden center for a little while longer. When it started again, we were headed for the car. Once we were settled in the car and ready to go, I looked for the rainbow. It was gone.

I looked at Mark and said “she’s gone.” He asked why I thought that, and I told him the rainbow was gone, and I just had a feeling. I was sad. I didn’t know for sure, of course, but I was sad.

On the way home, we saw another rainbow spanning the Mississippi River. It was beautiful, and I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe that was the same rainbow. Maybe I just read into it.

Yesterday afternoon, I left a message to find out how my neighbor was doing. Her daughter called me back and said they had just finished making arrangements, her services are on Wednesday. I asked when she passed, and she said it was about 7:30 Saturday night.

The same time that rainbow disappeared.

She left in peace, her daughter said. Her heart slowed and when she was given that last bit of love and permission from her family to go, she did. It was her time, and I’m glad that she slipped away gracefully with her family around her.

Thank you all for lifting her up in your thoughts and prayers.