“I wish for one moment, a thousand orange butterflies would fly around my home, my gardens and reflect the love of the morning’s light; embracing all that I am and all that I will become…dancing with me in wonderment, smiling with me in connection, singing with me in laughter. I wish for one moment, a thousand orange butterflies would fly around my home, my gardens and still my heart when it beats too fast, catch my breath when it’s taken away, sit by me when I can no longer stand. I wish for one moment, a thousand orange butterflies would bring me to you or you to me…just for one moment…and touch that part of my heart that aches, that cries, that smiles for you. I wish for one moment, a thousand orange butterflies would fly around my home, my gardens and when they know they’ve calmed my heart, I trust they will make their journey to you.”
Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived an old beautiful tree whose branches were strong and sturdy and full of blooming life. Children climbed and played and giggled on the tree’s branches, and lovers sat underneath the shelter of the tree and laughed and smiled and ate fancy foods. Thinkers and poets walked by the tree for inspiration, and heavy-hearted grievers took refuge in the tree’s shade when they could no longer stand.
One day, during a tragic, destructive storm, a beautiful, healthy, full of life branch was struck by lightening and fell to his death, shaking the ground in a loud crash as he landed. For that very moment, the earth’s axis slightly moved, animals came running and scurrying about, and the people who loved the tree felt very sad. To show their love and support to the tree, people placed flowers around its base. Some helped fix the tree by trimming the excess debris and brushing on a healing salve to help prevent further destruction or decay.
The tree, in all her grief of losing her branch, sought counsel and comfort from the wise old owl who would frequently visit. The tree tried to cope with her sorrow in the sun’s bright rays, blending-in her beautiful blooms and greenery from season to season. Sometimes at night, when the forest was quiet and people were asleep, the tree would shake and cry. She couldn’t understand why one of her vibrant branches was no longer a part of her and was no longer there for others to enjoy.
Many years passed and the tree transformed, although she never returned to who she was. You see, trees do not heal from tragic injury – they seal. Tree experts explain that injured trees form specialized tissue around the edges of their wounds called callus. Then, trees respond to wounds and injury by a process called compartmentalizing, where they isolate older, injured tissue with gradual growth of new healthy tissue. Sometimes people think dressing the tree’s wound with paint or tar is helpful, but research indicates it is not. This can interfere with healing and wound closure. Isn’t it ironic we as people parallel our wounds to trees? We attempt to dress our wounds – food, alcohol, drugs, staying busy, and not setting healthy boundaries for ourselves at times. Sometimes these coping mechanisms help numb the pain and may even be necessary. But, all of these methods over time interfere with our healing and our wound closures too.
In one of her visits to the grieving tree, years later, the wise old owl perched on another solid branch and listened to the tree’s lamenting - graciously attending to the tree’s deep loss, providing emotional care, solace, reassurance – even deep laughter. Another beautiful bird who the tree knew forever, sang this message: “It’s anniversary death week. Remember how exhausting this week is and how next week you must recover your body, your heart and soul. This week is for grieving, screaming, ugly tears. Next week, you find your center, smile when you see a butterfly, walk barefoot on Mother Earth.” The tree kept listening to those who loved her and remembered her fallen branch – his shade, his beauty, the silly way he danced in the wind. Some shared a fond memory, sent words of love, and prayed. Some told the tree funny jokes that had her laughing so hard that even nearby trees started laughing. Some simply couldn’t reach out, but the tree still knew they loved that branch and that tree.
In a quiet moment when the tree stood tall, stretching to soak-in the sun’s warmth, a beautiful orange butterfly circled around the tree. “Oh, you are the butterfly who fluttered and flew around me after my loss so long ago,” the tree exclaimed in delight. The butterfly explained he was several generations away from the original butterfly who frequently visited and that his great-great grandfather shared the story of the fallen branch. During each butterfly’s chrysalis ceremony, the great-great grandfather entrusted his kin to carry-on the “calming of the heart” tradition for the tree during periods of especially difficult grief. So, the butterfly opened his wings even more, taking flight in and among the tree’s branches, flitting and floating all around the tree’s crown and trunk; soaring and dancing in pure joy. The tree was so overcome with emotion, all of her joy and all of her sadness connected, and she cried, and she cried, and she cried.
Once the tree’s heart was calmed, she trusted that the butterflies would make their journey to you, attending to your loss and change and transition.
If you find yourself navigating through any type of loss and you are vulnerable enough to walk with grief, don’t forget the gut-wrenching, fall to your knees, I can’t handle this, tears-flowing part of the cycle. This is a necessary part of the grief process. This is a necessary part of your story. There will be a time, whether ebbing or flowing, that you will befriend your grief – eventually telling your story with courage and learning to walk through your grief with all your tears and all your laughter; with your array of emotions and thoughts – hating it, yet holding it close to your heart; standing tall with courage and collapsing in devastation.
Loss does not destroy what has ended, what is missing, what is still waiting for an answer, or what has died. Loss is acute – it’s what we’ve endured. Grief is the continuance of loss. Keep your heart open like a blooming flower because we are all part of the life and death cycle. We are all connected in some cosmic, spiritual, ancient way. May the orange butterflies find you. Peace to you always.