Sometimes you hear something and it really sticks with you. Awhile back, my kids told me that they thought their Grandma had turned into a butterfly when she died. It was a comment made out of the blue. There were no butterflies around and we weren't talking about her at the time. When they said this, it was completely unexpected. And very sweet.
My kids will often mention my Mom out of nowhere. And, to be honest, it makes me feel good and sad at the same time. I miss my parents. Immensely. So to hear my kids talk about my mom sometimes makes me melancholy. Especially on those days when I'm already missing her to begin with.
But at the same time, it warms my heart to know that my children remember her so fondly and with such love. Chris was only 3 when she died. I'm sure his memories of her are more feelings than events. Keara, on the other hand, remembers specifics about my Mom. Either way, I'm so glad they got to know her. I have always wished they could have known my Dad...
In the way that only children can, they remember my Mom with an innocence that refuses to see anything but the good about her. I love that about little children: they focus on the good in people. They really don't remember that you yelled at them for notting getting ready in the morning before school or that you thereatened to swat their butts in the store for throwing a fit about the 5,000 toys they wanted that you wouldn't buy. They really focus on the positive things and don't hold the negative against you. It's a skill most adults could stand to take a refresher course in. :)
So, in their wonderful childish way, they have decided to equate my Mom's soul with a butterfly. And I love that! It's one of the most beautiful things I have heard in a long time. And it has really stuck with me. Not long after they said it, I was working on some projects outside my house and was visited, time and again throughout the day, by a butterfly. I just kept thinking about what the kids had said and I couldn't get it out of my head how odd it was that this butterfly kept returning and landing on my projects. It was so strange that I got my camera out and snapped a few photos.
Yesterday, at work, I saw this gorgeous butterfly and it reminded me of that incident. In fact, every time I see a butterfly anymore, which has been often this summer, I'm reminded of what my kids said to me. And it's such a peacfeul feeling...
I'm not saying that I believe my Mom is now a butterfly. I don't buy into that kind of stuff really. But part of me wishes I did. And, maybe, a part of me does. Just a little. It's really such a beautiful thought. And why shouldn't we allow ourselves to believe in beautiful thoughts such as that? I like to think that my parents are watching over me. I'm sure of it, really. So couldn't their souls visit me every now and again on the delicate wings of a butterfly? The more I think about it, the more it seems within the realm of possibility after all...
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Hamlet Act 1, scene 5 159-167