The White Butterfly

On a Saturday in late November 2001, we gathered to celebrate the life of an incredible mother, grandmother, wife, frankly I think, a saint. Grandma left us too soon, though in a small, yet significant, way, she's still with me. You see, on that Saturday, with Fr. Eder celebrating the Mass of Christian Burial, a white butterfly dipped and darted its way through the church, up the main aisle, and settled on the draped casket. Mind you, this is November in Indiana, not exactly prime butterfly time. So, our grieving hearts took it as a sign from Grandma that she was okay, wouldn't surprise me if she were already in heaven at that moment, God being outside time and all.

Since then, Grandma's white butterfly (for I don't remember ever seeing one before that, and I have always associated it with her since) has accompanied me on many adventures. When I started biking and hiking in college, a white butterfly would often show up, even on the top of mountains. I remember even saying out loud sometimes, "Hi, Grandma!" A white butterfly was with us on Kilimanjaro, and on the Camino in Spain, and I see them often up at Camp Wojtyla. It's funny that I often don't expect it, but even when I do, when I almost need it, there she is. Reminding me that she is proud of me, praying for me, watching over me. I try not to be a superstitious person (unless I'm watching the Broncos), and I know she's not actually present in the butterfly, reincarnation being not real and all, yet I also know that God delights in delighting us, and that's what the white butterfly is for me.