Butterfly Crossing

Yellow and white butterflies wove and fluttered amongst the flowers left at the end of the alley. Bunches of flowers, left there over the last week to pay tribute to the loss of a young life.

I didn’t plan to pass this way on my walk today. I am not an ambulance chaser and don’t slow down to gaze at highway accidents. But I am a Mom.

The tragedy of a longboarder in a neighbouring community has drawn much attention as the opening of schools is upon us. As I neared the impromptu altar, strewn with notes in childish handwriting, of teddy bears, and shared mementos, cars pulled up endlessly. Parents hugging their child, grieving together and wiping tears.

I cross an intersection shortly after and see the butterflies still dancing uninterrupted. Although I am always cautious crossing, I realize today in the moment as my foot leaves the curb how one misstep can affect so many lives.

Turning Back the Pages of Time - 10

If you’ve ever been in a situation where someone so distantly from your past emerges into your present, you will understand the shock that she felt as she approached Oliver.

Quick as her brain could go, her mind picked up the buried scent of wet, as she reached him. It had been a day of pouring rain when they had sat down over a hot chocolate in the Student Centre all those years ago. He had been wearing a heavy (wet) knit sweater, similar to a style that she had seen recently again on some young people. Everything old is new again.

As he stood, they embraced with the familiarity of a time when your friends were your family as you grew into adulthood. Ironically, they had lived in oblivion of personal pain and family struggles. Only many years later had she heard through the grapevine called Internet that Oliver’s father had died, estranged from his family and a

Her - 7

We all know her. She just has different names.

She walked into the coffee shop on a whim. She usually worked night shift and had the advantage of being anonymous. With the promotion she would have to step into the daylight and her face would become known. She needed to process how this change was going to disrupt her life.

Too many changes, coming too quickly did not work well for her. They scared her. She had survived the death of her child, you would think that nothing further could have the potential to shake her.

She drifted to a corner table (her back not exposed to the room) and settled in. Two tables over, Ollie and Merrick were in the midst of an animated discussion. Father and son, both speaking and waving their arms in grandiose movements. They formed boxes with their hands and drew a curving shape on the top. They laughed, the older man slapped the younger on the back and they both slid in unison down their respective chairs.

She found something vaguely familiar about him. Where had she seen him? Why did that smile ring bells in her head?

She drummed her finger on the tabletop.

She usually worked night shift and had the advantage of being anonymous. (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.  

Blown in Glass - 4

She carried the weight of her sadness around with her every moment.

The pain of her loss, disguised her true self and could only be understood by a mother who had also lost a child. On the rare occasion that she smiled or laughed, it was startling to those around her. They feared the demonstration of emotion could cause her to implode. That eventually, she would shatter. 

Traversing the present must surely be a chore for her. Because why would someone in such pain choose to be present? The past although fraught with memories of happiness also brought the pain of the loss; the future, a blank, empty, endless slate of darkness and the unknown.

Blown in Glass, Seattle WA

Where did she stand each morning, how did she place her feet to keep her balance, in which place could she stand comfortably? Or did she only appear to be standing but every moment her soul was searching for a place to lay her weary mind, in the cavern of the safety of the day…before it all happened. 

How could she have not known what was coming? (Click to Tweet)

For the rest of The Little Story, read here.