When she died, my priorities shifted.
August. AWE-gust. I never knew that one word, one month could so intensely impact me. Since 1999, a pebble-sized sensation appears in my throat around late July. By August 15, it’s a rapidly expanding water balloon waiting to burst. I wrote a bit about this last week (click here to read!), and here’s the story behind the story.
I’ve strangely and sadly lost many people I love in August. I walk. I journal. I listen to music. I cry. And I honor all of those who are living while remembering those who are gone.
But the yearning I feel for one soul still surfaces. There’s a heaviness. There’s a hole. As the years pass, the tear in my heart mends a bit, but it is still there. It opens wider with jolts of “I can’t believe she’s not with us” during milestones, life passages, and celebrations. When we bought our first home, I missed her deeply. When we welcomed our children into the world, I longed for her to hold them. I still do.
So who is this larger-than-life, loving woman about whom I speak? Terri. My husband’s mother who left us suddenly twenty three years ago. She was only fifty two. The shock and grief we felt--it was only six months before our wedding—were indescribable. There was no closure. There was no goodbye. There still isn’t. I had to tell my fiancé that his mother was no longer with us. We both grew up quickly. There was no choice.
I only knew Terri eighteen short months, yet it was as if I’d known her my entire life. I could share the details of her passing and the days following. (I will not due to respect for the rest of our family’s privacy.) Today I’ll share about the significance of the rainbow; you may have noticed rainbows on my website and podcast. There is magnificent meaning behind this miracle of nature.
On the way to Terri’s funeral, we all rode together. I don’t remember much about that day (other than the more than eight hundred people in front of whom we all somehow spoke). We were numb. It literally felt like an out of body experience.
As we headed south on I-95 in Miami, I looked to the left. The most vibrant, expansive rainbow I have ever seen colored the sky. At this moment, I told my husband, his brother, and sister that whenever I saw a rainbow I would think of Terri. She lived to make those around her feel beautiful—in their homes and in their hearts. I truly felt her presence and sensed that Terri sent love from above to soothe us.
Every single time since that day, when there’s a birthday, a graduation, a death, or a big life decision, a rainbow has appeared. I could write several essays about each instance; it never ceases to amaze me. I’ve documented these uplifting moments in photos. (Yes, I’ve actually pulled over on the side of the road to jump out and snap a quick picture.)
I could continue to write about Terri’s passing—the how, when, where—and I still do not know the why. Instead, I will celebrate her life. Like a firefly flitting in the night, Terri brightened a room with her effervescent energy and charming smile. She was a successful and talented interior designer—she’s left her mark through her creations in multiple South Florida homes. Her work was often featured in magazines, too. If Terri were physically with us, she’d also leave marks of red-lip sticked kisses on our cheeks. (And there’d also be streaks inside her chic purses and smeared on her car seats.)
With dark, short curly hair, Terri had a childlike purity that was contagious. Her earnest, inquisitive green eyes (much like my daughter’s) and gracious, giving nature made all feel welcome. I remember the first time we met. Within minutes, we were giggling and chattering like two schoolgirls. Terri made me feel as if we’d known each other for years. Anyone who knew her will tell you they felt the same.
We talked about our mutual love for antiques and jewelry. Terri asked me about my style—I had no idea. I was twenty three years old. I remember being so nervous about what to wear for my first meeting with this Betty Boop fan who was reportedly a fashionista. I’d settled on black pants and a plain, silk shirt that thankfully didn’t show the sweat stains from the nerves of meeting the love of my life’s mother!
Terri lived in the moment. Not in the yogi, spiritual sense. Quite the opposite. If she wanted an outfit or a new rug, she’d impulsively purchase it regardless of the cost. Beauty trumped all. But not in a materialistic, self serving way. Orchids lived in all corners of her home. We’d frequently gather around a lace cloth covered wood table. Even condiments like ketchup filled dainty, often pink and white, fine china bowls. (Plastic bottles stayed in the fridge.)
Terri loved making others happy whether it was a gift of her tight embrace, as if she knew she wouldn’t live until an older age. Or the gift of her time, creativity, cooking, or flowers.
This passionate woman insisted on hosting (what we felt at the time) an extravagant engagement party for us. We repeatedly told Terri we didn’t need or want this but thank you. Stunning bouquets adorned the tables. The food was plentiful and those closest to us gathered to celebrate. When my husband and I reflect on that unforgettable day, we are profoundly grateful. This was her wedding. She didn’t make it to ours.
Terri was an incredible mother, a loyal friend, sister, wife, and aunt. No matter what her connection was to a person, she loved fiercely and unconditionally. I adored her from the moment we met. Terri taught me how to live.
When she died, my priorities shifted dramatically. We didn’t have children yet. Years later, I remembered a brief, powerful comment. I told my now husband that “I hope we have a baby in August so it could become a happy month.”
Well. We did. My daughter, who turns eighteen this week, brought light to our lives with her arrival. She brightened this formerly dreary, dreadful month. She is our rainbow. In the Hebrew language, the number 18 is laden with meaning. It represents “CHAI,” and the translation of this word is “LIFE.” I want you to get to know Terri. I want to honor a woman who has forever impacted how I choose to live.
My son is named after Terri; he, too, carries her heart within him. I also birthed EVERY SOUL HAS A STORY and launched my website in August 2017. That was intentional. And our Auggie, short for August, arrived this month two years ago. Going forward, August will be for me—for all of us—a month of rebirth and renewal. Rather than Awwwwwwgust, a shift has transpired. It is now AWE-gust.
I have been quietly hoping for a visit. She shows up in the sky, coloring it amongst the clouds, during my birthday, the kids’ birthdays, and every major milestone. I haven’t seen a rainbow yet this month, and I’ve shared this story with friends over the years. Again and again I receive texts/photos of rainbows from people across the globe. The one of Auggie (above) was sent to me this week from Karen, the wonderful woman who watches our pups when we travel.
Terri would want her grandkids, family, friends, and others to remember her. She’d love that her story is being told. So L’chaim! To life. I hope to honor how Terri lived by connecting souls and celebrating all lives. She was and continues to be my inspiration for love, beauty, and living for today. That is her legacy. She lives on in the rainbow.
As always, I would love if you'd answer these questions.
💜 Do you believe in signs?
💜 How do you feel when you say goodbye to a season or a soul?
💜 Does a certain image hold meaning for you and why?