On Sunday I held a stunningly sleepy Monarch butterfly in my hands. I stood in a crowd of hundreds of people who understood what it is like to lose a baby. I stood with my husband in my arms, and we released two beautiful butterflies for the two tiny lives that we never had a chance to know.

I was expecting a large cloud of graceful fluttering when we released our butterflies, but instead, we were all charmed and amazed as our tiny little symbols of ephemeral physical existence danced and drifted merrily around us, some even bravely pausing on a shoulder or in the palm of our hands. As a creature that can be torn apart from a hard rain, their brief lingering felt like an acknowledgement of our loss and understanding of the fragility of life.

As I watched my little butterfly flutter off to destinations unknown, I couldn’t help but wonder if death is not something like the dormant cocoon that a caterpillar makes before emerging as something more beautiful and grand.

I like to think Ava’s spirit is lingering on in a place where we’ll meet again someday.

I like to think that my darling little butterfly is waiting patiently to share with me the joyous wonders and beauty of her transformation into an existence I just can’t even begin to understand.

Labels: Grief and Loss, In Memory of Ava