Desperation, when met with the possibility of hope, pushes people to do incredible things. Move cars with their bare hands, swim miles to get to shore, survive for days underneath earthquake rubble without food or water.

I’ve learned there’s a desperation that follows grief in a way like no other. So desperate are you, so hopeful for a snatch of the person you have lost, there are endless tricks your mind will play on you.

We wonder where they are. We wonder if they are the clouds smeared against the sky, the edge of birdsong filling the trees, in the radio waves that make a song they loved burst into sound.

On the day we buried Rob, when our eyes couldn’t quite believe he was lying still and silent on sheepskin, we said the rain was him causing mischief, the sun was him giving us lightness when we felt so dark.

In the back and forth of rain and sun, double rainbows lit the sky, arcs of fire sweeping across the broad Auckland blue. Back in England, a different continent, a different hemisphere and season, rainbows soared as well, the sky tracing a fingertip from its mouth to the earth.

In so many cultures and religions, a rainbow is the sign of the earth and sky connecting, otherworldliness meeting humanity.

In Greek mythology, it is the goddess Iris delivering messages between the gods and mortals.

In Maori culture, it is the god Uenuku, who fell in love with the mist-maiden Hinewai – a beautiful woman who would disappear in the morning dawn and who asked him to keep their relationship a secret but he broke his promise.

In Hinduism, it can represent several things. One is that it is the bow of Indra, the mighty god of thunder and war, and from it he shoots arrows formed from lightning. But the one I love the most is the ‘rainbow body’ that comes from Buddhism and Hinduism – a person who has died but achieved ultimate oneness and peace, and resides in the motes of colour straddling the atmosphere.

Rainbows may seem to come from the realm of unicorns and sparkles, but there is a metaphor more poignant, more truthful than any of those things.

A rainbow only ever appears after the rain, after the clouds have gathered. It is only ever called into being when darkness arrives and then departs. It is hope that the storm will pass; it is wonder in its simplest form.

We wish we could look at it forever, but its beauty exists because of its transience.

On that day it wasn’t physics. Indra laid down his bow, Uenuku had seen our pain and desperation. Iris stayed silent to allow Rob the chance to ease our misery. And for a brief moment, as we lifted our heads to the sky searching for the light in a storm of such sadness, he did.