The Little White Butterflies...

Shortly after Zach passed, I started seeing little white butterflies. In my yard, playfully flitting around and letting Porter chase after them with curiosity. At the river where we take Porter to play, skimming the water, dancing among the foliage on shore. At my cousin’s house where I went to find refuge and warmth when Chris was out of the house, and I felt alone. They flittered about while we chatted, commiserated about grief and the losses we’ve suffered, and drank coffee on her patio. I noticed, but in an organic way. Not excitable, not intentional, almost apathetically. But I knew, I knew why they were there.

Let’s rewind to 2004. My grandpa Bud died. At 65. I was 29. Just the year before that we’d lost his mom, so this seemed inconceivable. He had a brain bleed that was misdiagnosed and mistreated. I’ve written about this many times in Post form. Although I’d lost my great grandparents (his parents) who I adored, this was different. He was too young. We weren’t ready. He died December 29th. He became ill just before Thanksgiving and went on hospice just before Christmas. Every winter Holiday since has been, at first tainted, but now just tinged, with pain. On a cold day that winter, just after he passed, I was out in the back yard (which I rarely went to because there was a small side yard for the dogs to do their business in) I think we may have been fostering a sweet, large, husky mix puppy named Holly. That would be the only reason it would make sense for me to be out back. It was freezing, I was in a robe and slippers, it was early morning. As I stood there, a red bird (yes, a cardinal, which we call red birds) came into the yard. It landed so close to me…just maybe a foot from me. It hopped from one leg to the other, looked at me and cocked its head, side to side. Instantly, with no forethought, a voice in my head said, “hi grandpa”. I was shocked myself. I watched the red bird It danced around a little…not excitedly, just enough to draw attention. It looked at me. I knew it was a male by its coloring…bright red. And just like that, organically, I knew my grandpa was with me and always would be. It took some of the sting out. I started telling all my family about it. And I still believe they only took me seriously because the bird was…RED. Just like my grandpa’s hair, his truck, his nickname…Big Red. After that, red birds appeared at every Christmas in the form of gifts. I have an entire tree with redbird ornaments, red berries, red and white ribbons. My grandma has a Christmas tree covered in red ornaments with a large red bird for the topper. We got the message Big Red, you are here…you only left in body but your spirit lives on and lives with us.

Now back to the white butterflies. What I am about to say is a little controversial because I think anyone reading this is thinking they are a symbol of Zach being with me. They are not. Zach and I cared about one another; I think it could be called love. I loved Zach, he was my child in my heart. Zach struggled with drawing close to me and I understood that. No kid really wants a stepparent. We come along after the worst thing that can happen to a kid has happened…divorce. I’m going to let the world in on a secret. I would say the largest of majority of kids whose parents are divorced want them back together. They want their nuclear family intact. I did. Most of us do. Zach took his parents divorce VERY badly. And because of that, we struggled to grow close. If I am being honest with you, it was true of most of the kids. We became closer as they grew into adulthood. It’s been my greatest gift. The gift of a lifetime. The gift I treasure most. Zach lived with us for close to a year in 2021. He and I got a better sense of each other at that time. I think he grew to trust me. We talked about his interests. He loved all things spiritual and clung to them as he navigated recovery. I listened to him as he explained how crystals are charged by the moon. How water is charged by the moon. I reminded him to set out his crystal charger we got him to celebrate a milestone when the moon was full. We talked about tarot cards and his love for doing readings for his friends. I felt it was a way for him to express who he was, what he valued. It’s the reason I wear a small; sliver; stamped Star Tarot Card on a necklace now. He was a bright, shining star to us. But the butterflies are not Zach. The butterflies are a symbol from God. Have hope, they say. All is not lost. Hope remains. Hope.

I’ve never lost it. But I’m not good at leaving it be. Hope to me is an invitation to intentionality…what now? Hope is here, all is not lost…what now? And I get busy, there it is again; that busy-ness. That ACTION. It’s ingrained in me so deeply. You know what I can’t do? Meditate. I can’t do it…I can’t sit still that long. I can’t let my mind go that long. Or at all. Really. So, what now? What to do? Good question. I wish I knew. I previously wrote about doing nothing and here I still am…with nothing to do. There just isn’t any action, any activity, anyTHING that can be done. Hope and time need their space to heal us. Previously, I’ve lacked patience for this. I’ve blown open doors. Bullied my way through. Insisted it be my way. But those white butterflies, flitting in and out of my life as they please, they are demonstrating to me the peace I need to apply to my current circumstances. “Do not rush, do not force, do not push your way through” they say to me. For the first, and so far, only, time in my life…I’m listening. Recently, over lunch at a swanky little place on Mass. Ave Chris and I confided in one another that losing Zach is changing us. We both acknowledged it. We also acknowledged that if we chose it, it could change us for the better. And then, we committed to allow the change to do just that, make us better. As we left…walking in the sunshine hand in hand…a little white butterfly floated past. I see you, my heart whispered.