Grief in the Crystal Cathedral — Plucking and Planting

A few months ago my mom received an invitation from Meijer Gardens to attend an event honoring the lives of those who had been lost in the past year. The Hospice team that worked with our family, partners with the Botanical Garden to have this memorial event. My mom told me about it several months earlier to try and do a vibe check, if you will, to see if I would be interested in, or, ready to be involved with something like that. I knew I would go but I could barely make the decision for myself let alone figure out if the kids would be ready for something like that, when the time came. Well, months went by and with some last minute wiggling, as far as the number of guests goes, several of us traveled together for what we knew would be a difficult event.

There is something about driving into the gates of Meijer Gardens. The drive to the parking lot is lined with rows of flowers accented by ornamental trees, fruit trees and hanging plants. At the end of the lot, before you make your way inside, the flower beds are filled with the most vibrant dotting of colors in all shades and hues. We reached the entrance and were greeted by more hanging flowers and candle like lights. The second set of greeters were human, though no less inviting and kind. We were lead to the entrance of the butterfly house by what must have been a maybe 10 year old boy who could not have done a better job at putting our anxious minds at ease. Our usher had done his part.

The butterfly house was packed. This normally would have annoyed me to no end but I was constantly being reminded that I was surrounded by others suffering. Everyone in that place had just lost someone. In addition, that loss involved a grief that was extended by a lengthy fight until, cue the hospice teams. I wouldn’t say there were a ton of smiles as we walked the paths surrounded by butterflies, but there was a palpable energy of wonder. Butterflies have a way of clumsily hopping along the air to reach their next location. They seem to change their minds at a moments notice. Come to find out, butterflies are usually flying that way so that it’s harder to be tracked by those who would like to eat them. The beauty is actually a trauma response, ugh. No, but really, there is a message in there somewhere. Not for today.

With my red, wet, eyes, I decided to focus in on getting some pictures. I recently got a new/used camera. Partly because one of my girls is getting into photography and has a new camera and wanted to join the fun, but I also just remember how much I love taking pictures. It’s so rewarding to take a shot and have it express just the right emotion in that moment and an accurate visual representation of what you saw. I think the picture above is my favorite of all of the ones I took that day. I see the butterfly in strength and serenity. The shadow cast, extending three times its size. It reminded me of another important butterfly encounter from early in the grieving process. When we spread Liz’s ashes it was as if a butterfly had come straight from the ground. It was the most yellow, yellow you could yellow. It was the most free thing I had ever seen. My heart was instantly filled with gratitude and throat with rocks. I think about that moment, and am reminded every other time I see a similar butterfly. It gives me peace.

This butterfly was different. I saw Liz, I mean I still see Liz in this image. I just felt this energy from Liz to take another step. The yellow butterfly was my comfort. Liz is free, she doesn’t feel pain, she’s a part of the goodness that surrounds us all. I am thankful for that image and I’m going to keep it. Liz showed me a new reminder of who she was, is and forever will be. She’s a bad ass and she wants us to be bad asses too. The amount of suffering that she endured in so many ways and for so much of her life would have broken the best of us. In the midst of her suffering, she never forgot to reach out to so many others who were alone or suffering too. Liz showed me how she would stand up to bullies through the strength of that little butterfly.

We then went on to the memorial portion of the event. We sat and listened as the hospice workers described ways that their lives had been impacted by the people we love. Stories of worker and power and care, the tears flowed down our cheeks because any person with breath in their lungs could identify with the unifying humanity of it all. Liz's name was finally called and we all stood and were presented with a single white rose. All of the suffering and all of the care seemed to find itself precariously teetering on this moment. We sat back down, we hugged, and I felt lighter. That name should be spoken more. That story is made even more complete in its retelling.

Now is the time to remember that there are people suffering all around us. We have entered a communal space where we have all experienced loss, sadness and pain. We can’t have the impulse to be annoyed by how crowded it is. We must remember that it is our suffering that has brought us together. It will be our patience, kindness, joy, peace and love, that will get us through. Resist the urge to center your existence at the expense of others. Resist the urge to let power and privilege elevate above equity and inclusion. No person in that butterfly house had a title that gave them special access. You can’t buy your way into that room, you have to suffer into it. Suffering, grief and loss are the great equalizers. The people trying to peddle a reality where you can avoid it are definitely making money off of the lie. The people telling you that if you exclude, demonize or villainize the other you will have prominence are also those who benefit from the lie. Stand like that butterfly. In the face of bigotry even when those bigots, especially when, those bigots are family or friends. When your politicians are trying to exclude constitutional protections for the most vulnerable, stand up to that power and shout it down.

The image that comes to me

of you fluttering, finally free

lends me curiosity, could it be

continuous, strenuous, courageous

brave, clever, contagious

I’d say it’s the latter, madder than a hatter

she’ll tell you what’s the matter

but only after you’ve pushed, too many times

the backs of unsuspecting victims of your meaningless crimes

against humanity, a profanity to love, to shove the powerful

you see as weak, and lesser, it’s sorrowful to let her fight this alone

from above and beyond, speaking to the bonds you remember

loving the people who need it most right now will send her that message of love

that you weren’t sure how to send. Do it by treating the other as friend.