Today was the Day: Excitement, Anticipation, Heartbreak, and it closed with a Rainbow

by Jennwren, the Loving Parent With a Calendar Mishap

Today was the day.

One of my three beautiful Daughters was coming to visit. I woke with the familiar excitement. It was as if I was a young child excited to see my Mother after months of separation. I cannot describe it, nor can I ever escape my memories of that level of excitement.

We had been planning for weeks. I cleared my schedule, wrapped up my work, and polished the house until it practically smiled with me. I fluffed pillows as they mattered. I made the bed in the guest room with an extra layer of care. I stocked the fridge with her favorite snacks that taste like home.

This morning, I woke up humming.

Today. Finally. My daughter.

Before picking her up, I had just one thing to handle: a service appointment for my car. I was up early, full of anticipation, practically vibrating with joy. I checked in with the technician, grabbed coffee, and sat in the waiting area.

To kill time, I sent her a quick message:

"Are you on your way yet?"

A few seconds passed. Then came the three dots. You know the ones. The dots that dance like a promise.

Then her reply:

"Haha! "LoL" That's not until next month!"

My stomach dropped to the floor. The coffee soured in my hand.

I frantically opened our message thread, scrolling through weeks of excited planning. And there it was—the itinerary.

And she was right.

Next month.

I'd gotten it wrong. Completely, impossibly, heartbreakingly wrong.

I sat there stunned. Then I cried—quietly but not discreetly—for an hour.

I'd wrapped so much joy and anticipation into today, only to find out it was another Tuesday.

After the crying, I did what any mildly unhinged idealist would do: I grabbed my camera, walked out of the service center, and wandered to a nearby park. I took pictures through red eyes and then cried under a tree.

Eventually, the ache loosened its grip.

I returned and picked up my car. I entered the waiting area and set down my camera bag. I fixed myself a cup of courtesy tea and waited patiently, pondering the day, my mistake, and the photos. The cry had done its job, and I paid my bill, thanked the service team, accepted my keys, and walked out the doors. And what was waiting for me? A giant rainbow over my car. Yeah, that is my white Subaru in that line of vehicles. I paused, soaked in the day and the rainbow. A smile returned to my cheeks.

I then drove to the commissary, where I bought a good dark chocolate bar. I sat on the Lanai, letting each bite of chocolate remind me that sweetness still exists—even on the wrong day. And I felt better—not fixed, but better. Mostly, I felt embarrassed. How could I get the date so wrong?

But if I'm honest—if I really look at it—it just shows how much I love my children.