My husband's family also sent us live butterflies to release in memory of our little butterfly girl. They came "chilled" in a box - the darkness and cold puts them in a natural hibernation state.
The day of release, we set them in the shade for a while to warm up and wake up.
This area is the new butterfly garden we are planting in memory of our baby girl.
I had plans to create the garden last year, but grief really wears a person out, and I didn't have the energy to do it until this year. Anyway, after just a few minutes in the warm daylight, the butterflies started wiggling in their little box.
My husband wanted to be the one to release them, and I got camera duty. It was a precarious task as they were in between the accordian folds of this lightweight paper.
Slowly, one by one, the butterflies emerged and took flight.
It was actually pretty amazing that most of them survived the trip to our house.
We lost count, but there were probably 10 or 12 butterflies. Only one of them didn't make it, and one had a broken wing, but the rest of them quickly found the rhodedendron bush nearby and had a nice snack before moving on to other flowers in our neighborhood.
Some were a little slow to get moving, and I figured maybe they needed some encouragement, so I lifted them from the ground to help them find the flowers.
The little guy in the picture above was the one with the broken wing -- he wasn't doing too well. This brought back memories of when our daughter was so sick and there was very little I could do to help. It is a frustrating feeling as a mother.
I've grown used to those sudden painful memories that are triggered by little things and have learned to allow myself to remember the pain, to remember the love I had and still have for her, and then to take a deep breath and look forward.
At some point in the grief process, I realized that life is going to keep going, and I have to keep surviving. It is by finding the joy and the blessings in the every day things that I'm able to go on as a participant in life.
1 comment:
Mandy,
I am so glad your parents took you and Luke out for Mother’s Day and created that much needed space for you both to share your memories of Liza Jane.
So sorry one of the butterflies didn’t make it. This was a risk that almost changed my mind about suggesting the butterfly gift idea. Even that possibility of losing one of the delicate butterflies reminded me of Liza – how she was fortunate to make it to delivery, even though many other babies with heart problems don’t have a chance to be born. I remember how hard we were all hoping and praying for her to make it and how you were doing everything within your power to help her. I am so thankful we were able to meet Liza, to hold her, and to love her face-to-face. So beautiful and delicate your little butterfly girl was. I remember how great my joy was that day she arrived safely and how very happy I was for you and Luke. I remember how proud I was (and am) to be Liza's Auntie. I will always remember that day.
Watching one's child who is so sick, when there is very little one can do to help, must be such a difficult thing to feel as a mother. I cannot imagine what that is like. You are so courageous to let your self feel that pain, to remember your love, to embrace beautiful things in life, and continue to walk forward in this journey. I admire your strength, Mandy.
I look forward to seeing your butterfly garden! What a lovely way to create something beautiful in Liza’s memory.
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