Six years ago today, my mother, my best friend, went home to Heaven. I still feel the ache in my chest from missing her so much. I know I won’t get through this post without tears. But though these years without her, I have been so thankful for the peace God has sent me, knowing I will see her again one day, knowing that unconditional love can never be extinguished by death. I believe that we are on this Earth to either learn lessons or to teach them. My mother was a teacher. She was beautiful, honest, graceful, and loving. Oh, how I miss her.
Many of you who read my blog today didn’t know me when she died. I’ve shared this story with a few along the way, but I thought I’d post it here today, as I sit in stillness remembering her. I hope maybe this story offers someone else out there a little bit of peace and hope for a loved one lost.
My mother died on April 30, 2003 from breast cancer. Soon after she passed, I started seeing butterflies everywhere. At first it was just one or two. I just smiled at the memories they evoked, because Mom loved butterflies. But later I started to wonder if they were messages from her, because I started seeing them more and more often. Sometimes I’d see 30 or 40 in a day! I never remembered seeing so many in my life. It was as if Mom knew she had my attention, so she was bombarding me with signs. I have a strong skeptical and analytical side, and my brain often wrote off the butterflies as pure coincidence.
As the one-year anniversary of her death approached, I found myself in a very dark place. I was so horribly depressed. It was my birthday on April 19 (one of the last times I saw my mother socially), my husband’s birthday on April 24 (the day Mom entered the hospital and we learned her cancer had reached her brain), the anniversary of her death on April 30.
That year, when I was feeling so lost and lonely on my birthday, I sat in a moment of despair and begged my mother for a sign. I wanted to believe she was with me, but the moments of emptiness hit and it was hard to keep that faith. I told my mom that I hoped the butterflies last summer were from her. Then I said out loud, “If they were a sign from you, please, please send me another to know you are here with me now, on my birthday and the anniversary of your death, and on the day soon that we’ll scatter your ashes.” But I added a qualification (I’m sure Mom appreciated that!) – I told her that all the butterflies I’d been seeing were yellow or white, especially because monarchs are so common around here. I asked her to please send me a blue butterfly, because it would be unique and specific, and I would know beyond doubt that it was a sign from her, that she was with me and that she was okay. I needed something that I couldn’t second-guess or write off as my imagination.
We planned to scatter her ashes in the mountains, on the property near Ellijay that she owned with my Dad and my uncle, Phil, and where she’d dreamed of building a cabin for her retirement. On the drive that morning, I told my husband Chris about the blue butterfly request. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone because I felt so silly. But something pushed me to tell him on that drive. I didn’t understand why I felt compelled to tell him.
We arrived to a beautiful mountain day. The sun was glistening on every detail, the mountain flowers were in bloom. The leaves whispered their own words of comfort in the wind. It was lovely. We drove to the mountain top and then hiked our way down to the spot where Mom had planned to build her cabin. She loved the view from there. Dad and I had found a group of three trees, merging at their base. One large, one medium, one small. We felt like the trees represented our family of three, each growing in our own direction over time, but always connected at our foundation. I knew Mom would have liked that symbolism.
Dad had a brass plaque engraved with a poem that he’d read at Mom’s memorial, one that truly described her soul’s essence. Chris opened the box of ashes and handed it to my dad. Dad took some and began scattering them around the tree. Then he threw a few handfuls into the wind. He handed them to me, and I threw a handful and watched them fly. Then as my uncle took his turn, Dad read the poem aloud. He set the plaque against the tree, and I laid next to it the yellow roses I’d brought along, Mom’s favorite flower.
We all stood back in tears, I think relieved that it was finally done. We all needed that closure. Phil said, “I can feel her presence here. She really is here with us right now.”
And in that moment, from high in the trees, as if sent from Heaven itself, down fluttered a bright blue butterfly!! It fluttered in a circle around us and then flew off. Chris and I gasped. He threw his arms around me in a hug and we instantly began crying tears of joy. I could almost hear mom’s voice saying “Hello, my darling. I love you!” I just looked up to Heaven and said “Thank you, Mom!” Thank you, God.
I still see blue butterflies often. I don’t know if they are sent by God, sent by my mother, or just pure coincidence. It doesn’t matter their source. I will always treasure them as messages from Heaven, reminding me that love doesn’t die. Love is eternal.
“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.” – Kahlil Gibran
