February 10, 2010 - Everywhere I Look

One of the last times I saw my mother before she passed away, she told me lately she'd been seeing butterflies everywhere she looked. With a crack in her voice, she haltingly said my late grandmother had loved butterflies. My mother also liked them. She'd worn a butterfly necklace since before I had memories. Now the lithe and lacy-winged creatures filled the air and gardens all around her. Maybe it was a sign she said, but her voice trailed off before she could explain the meaning. But I knew what was flying through her mind - a sign it was time to come home.

Today as Georgia rocked back and forth in her swing, mesmerized by its rhythmic lull, I looked above her and there were butterflies on the swing's mobile. I looked below her and noticed the butterflies on the swing's seat. I looked on her and there were butterflies on her onsie. She was surrounded by butterflies, they were everywhere I looked. Her nursery is filled with them too. Butterflies fill Georgia's home and surround her with winged memories of a woman she never met, but a woman whose spirit I will do my best to fill Georgia's life with every day.