Sunday, August 25, 2013

White Butterflies

I've been seeing them ever since Tami died. I know people are probably tired of hearing about her. But, you see, I can't help talking about her. I've always talked about her to people. I have lots of stories. Lots of pictures. Lots of memories.

I assumed they were moths, I though all the brown, black, and white butterflies were moths. But it's possible they're not. I Googled it, of course. She loved butterflies, which is obvious, I guess considering the tattoo.

It was hers and now it's mine. She loved all things Celtic. I have the most beautiful journal she got me in Scotland. I'm rambling.

Anyway, people keep tell me about all the beautiful blue butterflies they've seen since she died. Honestly, I'm a little jealous. I've only seen one butterfly with color in the past five months. Every single butterfly, save that one, has been white. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. There are several outside my new apartment - front and back. There was one fluttering around the pizza place we found. I want to think they're from her. Or of her. Or something. I don't really think that, but I want to.

Today it's been exactly five months since she died. I still feel lost. Alone. Afraid of the future and what it holds and how to handle it without her. And I feel strong. Determined. Capable. But mostly I feel her loss every minute of every day. I miss my friend.


  1. I understand what you mean about wanting to believe the butterflies are from or of your friend, but not quite really thinking it. I feel the same way about birds (specifically crows) and someone I loved very much. He passed three years ago, and I still struggle with it. Something will happen and I'll still pick up my phone to call him, even after all this time. I try to think about it this way: I wouldn't hurt so badly if I hadn't loved and been loved so much. I think having such a strong love is a rare thing, and we are so lucky to have had it in our lives. It doesn't always help, but sometimes, when I really need it, it's just enough to keep me going. I'm so sorry we have this pain in common. <3

    1. Thank you so much. I'm sorry, too, that you have this pain. I know it's awful, but it's also nice to know that I'm not the only person on the planet who feels it. No one around me understands, and I'm GLAD they don't, I really am...but once in a while it's nice to find someone who DOES understand, even though it means they're suffering, too. I know the pain doesn't ease, but that I'll learn to live with it better. Some day.