I had visions of you releasing these butterflies. Your butterflies. Your tiny hands holding them, one lighting on your wiggling chubby finger just like it did all those years ago when we first did this butterfly project together.
I wanted to take pictures of you and Eleanora enjoying this together. I wondered what they would do around her strong baby hands. I knew you would be watching carefully with your big knowing eyes, encouraging her to be gentle, as they flew up into the blue sky.
But yesterday we released these butterflies without you. The ones you watched grow into fat caterpillars. The ones that became a chrysalis last Friday. Your last day alive. You were so fascinated looking at them and told me exactly where to put them in the butterfly net so we could watch them hatch. Together. It was supposed to be together.
Your butterflies have been hatching all week. The last one Daddy and I watched emerging from its cocoon on Sunday. The day we celebrated your life. Your beautiful life. It was early in the morning and we sat at the foot of your bed missing you. Daddy had just stood up to go get a newly woken Eleanora when I noticed the last cocoon moving. We stayed transfixed as tiny feet pulled themselves into the world, wings crumpled and not yet their vibrant hue. We watched and watched and saw all the changes right before us. That gave us courage to face the day. To face all those who love you. To remember you and celebrate your life.
Yesterday, for the first time, the butterflies were restless. They were ready to spread their wings beyond the small net. We decided to release just one at home before taking the rest to release at your gravesite. I chose the one feeding in a little bowl of sugar water. She flapped her wings as I carefully pulled her out. Eleanora watched eagerly in Daddy’s arms, just as you had been all those years ago, both confused and curious. We talked about you.
But the butterfly didn’t fly into the sky the way I imagined. She fell to the floor and it was then I saw her damaged wing. I put my hand down to help her, allow her to rest, move her to a safer area. She struggled at first but then let me take her, placing her gently on some leaves. She pumped her bubbled wing and kept pumping, pushing blood toward its tips, attempting to fly, before falling once again. But always starting over. She kept starting over.
We talked about you as we watched her. I couldn’t help but see your fragile body in hers. Your determination in each of her steady wing thrusts, each new attempt to soar.
And soar she did. Up, up, up into the blue sky. Just like you.
We continued looking up all day yesterday, searching for you, as we laid you to rest. We will always be searching for you. And, last night, you painted the sky.
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