Honoring the Past with Butterflies and Family

There’s a twelve day period in April where my birthday, my husband’s birthday, our anniversary, the interment of Don’s ashes and the sadiversary of my mother’s death all fall. Early on in my widowhood I decided to roll all those somber days into one outing to honor them with something life affirming to look forward to doing and planning. That something turned into an annual pilgrimage to a Butterflies Are Blooming exhibit. Friday was warm and sunny, a perfect day for my forth outing to the sculpture park’s conservatory where the exhibit is held---6,000 butterflies (60 exotic varieties) in various stages from cocoons to flying free. What could be more life affirming and symbolic of the cycle of all living things than that? I found an answer to that question: It’s mixing butterflies with three generations of my family. My two nieces and their three grand babies plus a daughter-in-law met me at the sculpture park for the toddlers’ first exposure to butterflies. The oldest boy just turned two, another boy is a few months younger and our little girl will be one at the end of the month.

As I was waiting for my family to meet me at the park, I watched eight busloads of children unload and their excited voices filled the long glass entryway. It was a prelude to the fun I'd have watching our three little ones in conservatory react to the butterflies flying all over the place or landing near-by to drink flower nectar, pollen, fruit or tree sap. The butterflies are also attracted to sodium which is why, at exhibits, they’ll often land on sweaty people (or those wearing bright colors). Sodium is one of the minerals they need to reproduce. I wasn’t sweaty but I had on a magenta sweater and a butterfly landed on my chest and lots of them would get within a foot away before abruptly changing their flight pattern when they figured out I wasn't a flower.

My favorite of the butterflies at the exhibit are the Common Morpho from the Rain Forrest, brilliant blue insects with five-six inch wing spreads. Their undersides are black so when they fly they look like flashes of blue light and their 115 day life span from eggs to larvae to caterpillars to their metamorphosis into such beautiful creatures is fascinating. At the sculpture park’s conservatory they fly low in pairs around and around following the brick paths. Supposedly they think the bricks are rivers beds and following rivers is what they’d be doing in the wild. From my first pilgrimage on I’ve personified a pair of Common Morpho as Don’s and my soul linked forever and I’ve loved them ever since. It's symbolic, of course. I really don't believe that but I do wonder if a human soul goes through a metamorphosis and while housed inside our bodies on earth maybe that's their caterpillar stage and when our souls mature and our bodies die our souls soar like invisible butterflies?

But I don't love the Common Morphos enough to buy one of the dead ones in the gift shop that are preserved and framed between two pieces of glass for $45.00. Preserved butterflies remind me of the first psychological thriller I ever saw, a 1965 movie called The Collector. It was about a sicko who kidnapped and imprisoned a young art student and the walls in the cellar where he kept her were lined with specimen boxes with row after row of preserved butterflies. But I digress. Back to what I was going to say about what happens to the butterflies in conservatory exhibits when they die and I wish I didn’t know this. Their little bodies have to be treated like hazardous waste. The butterflies come from all over the world and could introduce diseases into our ecosystem. It’s a shame that something so beautiful that gives so much pleasure to people of all ages should end up so unceremoniously. We romantics-by-nature like to think that a life lived well is remembered and honored with dignity. 

When my nieces were growing up I spent a lot of time with them and in lots of “playtime” situations like we did on Friday. It was a wonderful treat to have quality time with them again doing something that seemed to bring joy to all of us. The youngest boy was fascinated with the water falls at the park and his older cousin kept saying “Wow!” on the tram ride when one of the many sculptures came into view. I was surprised that someone so young could take an interest in art. The little girl---what can I say about a baby that lets me hold her without crying? She is so petite and sweet and she reminds me of her grandmother (my youngest niece) when she was that age. She was a good-natured baby, too, and never lost that sunny disposition in all these years. My oldest niece, a recently retired teacher, was the bookworm in the family and was famous for trying to teach her dolls to “read" when she was barely in kindergarten. On the tram today I saw that same quest for learning in her grandson who was working on his letters with a “No Smoking” sign posted in front of him. Even my mom’s classic prompt---may I have a cookie Grandmother dear?---found its way to our lunch table. The cycle of life. I highly recommend that other widows plan something special and life-affirming for their hard-to-get-through calendar dates. I am still wearing the smile I acquired from my day with the butterflies and family. ©