The Butterfly

It had been months since I had visited. As my car wound it's way through the imposing iron gates and traveled slowly down the symmetrical, tree-lined streets, I felt a sense of peace as I neared the location of my mother's gravesite.

As I pulled off to the side, my heart sank as I discovered a mound of fireants and bugs... its grainy architecture slowly creeping its way up the front of her headstone. Remembering her words, "do not fuss over my grave...I am not there...I am in a better place..." I fought back tears at the sight of how unkempt her resting spot had become. Determined to fuss over it anyway, I raced to the grocery store and picked up a gallon-size bottle of ant-killer which I used up promptly upon my return.

As I sprayed and raked, sprayed and raked, pulled weeds and tossed them into a pile, a monarch butterfly fluttered by and landed squarely on my mother's name on the headstone. The irony of this visitor was not lost on me...my mother ADORED butterflies and this one, out of nowhere, had landed on her name. It seemed to watch me and cheer me on--wings flapping open and shut, open and shut--as I worked to straighten up the mess. I soon realized that my newfound supporter had not moved...even in the face of constant motion on my part. It sat there, perched upon the deeply etched letters in her name, keeping a watchful eye on my progress.

Many will claim coincidence...and I'm sure it was probably so. But to me, that butterfly was much more. It was a reminder of my Mom. It was a peaceful presence that strangely comforted me as I wept for my Mom's absence. But, most of all, it was a sign that life goes on...and that, whatever the circumstance, and when you least expect it, something magical can happen.

As I packed up my tools and turned to walk away, the butterfly slowly danced away into the morning. It had come. It had comforted me. It had flown away.

It will always be a magical encounter to me.