5/23/24

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

As the time to write this blog approached, I did my best to talk myself out of writing what I already knew was my Moment this week.

It’s stupid, I said. It’s goopy.

It’s like if the Hallmark Channel married the Lifetime Channel and had a baby.

It’s just…something that from someone else would make me roll my eyes. I’M making me roll my eyes.

I was told, early on, that I am not a deer and flowers writer. I am not about rainbows or daisies or daffodils. I am not about butterflies. Okay, I can get a little crazy over sand dollars, but Disney-esque metaphors and symbols? Cinderella singing with bluebirds?

Ick.

So anyway. This week has been hard. After having an absolutely stellar Friday, complete with walking up to the third floor and sitting on the deck in the sun, and plans to go out to dinner and a movie on Saturday, Michael woke up Saturday morning feeling nauseous and quickly continued on to throwing up blood. By Saturday evening, we were in the ER, and by the time I drove home, I was alone in the car. Michael was (re)admitted.

Today is Thursday, and he’s still there. He’s still throwing up. And no one seems to know why.

On Tuesday, Michael said he just wanted to sit up on the edge of the bed for a while. Not walk to the recliner, not take a walk in the hall. Just sit on the edge of the bed.

I watched as he did. And then I watched as he slowly lowered his head and sighed.

“What are you trying to do?” I asked.

“I’m trying to survive,” he answered.

And that pretty much sums up my week, and how I feel right now.

But.

A couple days ago, I was hustling around, trying to get out of here to see Michael in the limited time that I had. It was nice out, so I had to move my 2018 Chrysler 300S, named Barry (he’s berry-red, and if he could talk, he would sound like Barry White), so I could revel for just a little bit in my convertible, a 2012 Chrysler 200lxi, named Semi. When I bought Semi, I also owned a Chrysler 300C Hemi, who I creatively called Hemi. Michael said, “Huh. A 200 and a 300. The convertible is a semi Hemi.” And so Semi became Semi, though there is no longer a Hemi but a Barry.

So I got ready to drive.

When I opened the garage door, there was immediately, right in my face, a large yellow and black butterfly. I’d never seen one like this before and so I froze. It fluttered all around me, then moved off to settle in the gravel next to Barry. When I got in the car to move him so I could get Semi out of the garage, the butterfly fluttered all around the car. I don’t think I’ve ever backed up so slowly, because I wanted to make sure I didn’t hit it. For a few seconds, it fluttered right above my open sun roof and I thought it was going to join me, sitting in the passenger seat.

I parked the car and watched the butterfly return to the gravel. As I pulled Semi out, it fluttered around me again, then carefully landed in the gravel where it stayed while I drove away.

It was still there a couple hours later when I returned. I thought it was dead, which filled me with sadness, but when I approached it, it fluttered all around me again. (And yes, I can already hear my students saying, “Ohmygod, Kathie, look how many times you’re using the word flutter!” But there is no other word for this.) I stood by the open garage door, watched it fly, and then said, without thinking, “Thank you.” And then I went inside.

The image of the butterfly stuck with me, and as I got ready for bed late that night, I used my phone to Google yellow and black butterflies.

I found it. It was a male tiger swallowtail. I admired the photo, but I admired the real butterfly even more.

As I prepared to click out of Google, I saw another result the search engine brought up, that said, “Yellow and black butterfly meaning.” So I clicked on that. And then I read: “In many cultures, a black and yellow butterfly can be a positive omen that symbolizes hope, transformation, change, and new beginnings. It can also represent rebirth into a higher spiritual or consciousness state.”

Hope. A positive omen.

I tried very hard to roll my eyes, but they wouldn’t go. Instead, I closed my eyes and thought of that completely involuntary, completely intuitive “Thank you.”

I still don’t want anything to do with uicorns. But this butterfly…Hope. Thank you.

And by the way, there was one hell of a rainbow this week too.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.