(Photo ©Donna Lee, Littleton, CO)
Two years ago this evening, my younger brother’s soul left his pain-ravaged body, and soared into eternity. I went outside to water my garden. I cried like the wounded spirit I was.
I no sooner began both, when a white butterfly landed on my arm. It remained while I worked my way around the yard. If a movement caused it to pull away, it reattached itself immediately.
As I stood in the very back of my yard, mourning and talking to Mark, I thought of that belief some people have about God sending a butterfly after someone dies, or loved ones taking the form of a butterfly to let us know they are aware of our deep sadness at their passing.
I continued talking and crying out to Mark, to God, to the universe. The butterfly stayed.
When I finished my task, and released all those initial heavy feelings of anguish, I wiped my eyes, and turned to head back inside. It was then that the butterfly flitted away into the open space behind my house.
I miss my baby brother. And I miss the rest of my family who have left indelible imprints on my life.