I saw a yellow butterfly in our yard the day before we left for Texas. I was trying to work out whatever mathematical equation that needed to be worked out in order to fit all of your stuff in the car for our trip to Texas, and it caught my eye in the distance. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen one in our yard. It’s also been quite a while since I have spent more than a week at home, so perhaps that’s why. Or maybe I just haven’t been watching for them lately. But I definitely think that God sent that butterfly last week to tell me that it was okay to release you.
I don’t want to release you. But I think that this is how it is supposed to be. The yellow butterfly just reminded me that I’ve got this…that you’ve got this….that God has both of us. This is simply another cyle of life that we mothers all have to go through, whether we like it or not. And right now, I do not like it.
It has been quite a summer for the two of us…probably one of my favorites with you ever. Aside from being able to tag along on your fabulous senior trip, our other excursions this summer have been a little less posh, but we have been together. We have toured most of the Southern states of the US from Texas to Tennessee to Florida to North and South Carolina, mostly chasing horses and blue ribbons. What you did not realize, however, was that this was the first time I’ve felt like I was chasing you. And, this was the beginning of my slow release.
As much as I would still love to wrap you in a cocoon and wear you strapped to my chest like I did when you were a baby (mostly because you would not stop screaming), little by little, I have been practicing letting you go all summer. And while I was not ready to allow you to fully spread your wings and fly completely away, you were given many more opportunities to take short flights on your own this summer.
Each time you flew just a little further (i.e., driving solo from Birmingham to Aiken through a torrential downpour or staying behind in Texas without me), I held my breath a little until I knew you had landed safely. I will ALWAYS hold my breath. Each time I gave you a little more room to go out on your own, it was never JUST for your benefit. Simply put, it was probably more for mine. Because moms need to practice these things.
Last week, the car was packed and loaded down, and we made the ten-hour treck to Texas to drop you off at school. I had big plans for our time together – plans of life lessons….of wise conversations we should have about growing up and adulting….of funny recollections of all of the moments we have had together.
But you know what they say about the best laid plans. I listened to my book, while you slept and listened to your own music. Then we fought. And I cried for two straight hours.
I have no idea what we even fought about, but once that dam was breached, the flood of tears that has been threatening to overflow all summer long was enough to flood the Grand Canyon and then some. And to be honest, I am sure they are not the last of my tears.
While I know that a child soiling the nest on the way out is God’s way of helping us moms recognize when it is time to let go, I do not think that was the reason for my tears.
I think that the reason for my tears is that it just hurts to see your beautiful butterfly fly away.
While butterflies teach us about change and metamorphosis, what is even more important is that they make the world even more beautiful by pollinating fuits, vegetables and flowers.
When I can wrap my head around the fact that it is your turn to share your gifts and talents with the world, then it makes it a little easier to allow you to take flight.
There is so much more that I have to say – and trust me, I will say it at some point.
But for now, I will simply say, go fly and make the world a more beautiful place. And when you need a place to rest, or a kiss from a familiar face, you can always fly back home.
Caterpillar in the tree
How you wonder who you’ll be
Can’t go far but you can always dream.
Wish you may and wish you might
Don’t you worry, hold on tight
I promise you, there will come a day
Butterfly, fly away.