It’s been two weeks since my grandmother passed away and the hurt is still here, the sudden flash of memory – and then the flood of hot tears in the eyes.
Butterflies have been appearing ever since. Dad told me about two strange occurrences, one on the day when she was cremated and another on the seventh day of her death. My aunt who had been her caregiver encountered a white butterfly who followed her everywhere she went. When she left the house, the butterfly flew away. Then, on the seventh day, a colorful butterfly fluttered in and lingered on my grandmother’s cupboard until night.
We would like to think that it was my grandmother who had visited us.
Me? A blue butterfly appeared on the day before the cremation. I saw it. My older girl saw it. The blue was dazzling, like shimmering velvet skies. Vivid eye-spots too. But my dad said that grandma had never been to where I live now.
Few hours left for Easter Sunday and soon, it would be April.
I miss ah-ma.
