Stop the Storm

The girl squinted at the dust devil coming toward her from the west. It was December 22nd and Bing Crosby was playing in the kitchen on Echo. Typical Phoenix Christmas. You dream about snow, and you get nothing but dirt.

But she would much rather get a face full of dirt than stay inside and think about what had happened exactly four years ago. No, better to keep away, away from that carpet in the living room she'd stared at for what seemed like eternity, away from anything that reminded her; because if she thought about that then she'd think about everything that ever went wrong in her life. And she'd really rather not.

But she would. Stupid! She knew she would. So weak. Pathetic. The thing she hated most about herself was her inability to stop herself from sinking into this depression. You know better than that, for heaven's sake! Oops. Poor choice of words. Thanks a lot for reminding me.

She certainly hoped the ones she grieved for were in heaven, but the thought also provided a closet full of dark, painful memories and ideas she had tried to lock up.

And those thoughts also reminded her of her fears. Fears that Dad would die from AFib, that Papa would from heartbreak. Or falling. Again. Or her other Grandpa, who had already had a heart attack. And that one time her youngest sister came this close to being run over by the car... She wasn't sure if it was normal for a fourteen-year-old to worry this much, but she couldn't help it. Weak.

A monarch butterfly glided gently over toward where she stood, fists clenched, glaring at the storm. The girl noticed it, and her hazel eyes moistened.

************************************************************

5 years ago

During Christmas of 2019, the girls and their cousins were at Papa's house, having a jolly good time. One of their cousins, (age 24) had heard of some disease called covid. Everyone was joking and nobody even had the slightest thought that they might be hearing a lot more about it.

4 years ago

That same cousin was hospitalized for a brain tumor. It had caused a seizure while he was driving, and after the car accident they realized the tumor's growth had increased after he had had covid 19. There was a 1% chance that he would live. The now ten-year-old girl stared numbly a flower carpet while Mom explained what had happened.

An hour later he was a vegetable.

A few weeks later she was climbing a tree to be by herself and make sense of it all, and thought she saw a monarch butterfly. She never told anyone why she jumped out of that tree fast enough to tear one of her crocs, but it nearly scared her out of her wits sneaking up on her like that.

*************************************************************

6 years ago

The girl is eight now. When her father comes to pick up her and her sister, he brings them to Cookies N Creme. They get their ice cream. It is a Tuesday.

Dad breaks the news, "Girls, do you remember when we visited Grandpa and Grandma last week?"

Of course they remembered. Whenever they went to see Mom's parents, they would hug Papa and kiss Grandma's cheek. Then they would do the same to say goodbye. Grandma had M.S. and was bedridden. She did everything by moving one hand and her head. Nothing else worked. She always got the girls matching outfits. Papa grew up on a ranch and would tell them stories about cattle, or random ones from history.

"Remember how we thought Joy was carsick?"

Another affirmative.

"Your grandmother caught the flu and...well, she passed away."

At the funeral, she could have sworn she saw a butterfly with orange wings that had white-spotted black edges.

*************************************************************

10 years ago

A funeral. Everything is dark toned, and a four-year-old child is finding her way through a maze of grownups to where a small coffin rests for the viewing. In the coffin lays an infant. A baby girl with dark hair. Her tiny body is reddish-blue and ice cold.

The child walks up to the coffin, not understanding. 'What happened to her little sister that was in Mommy's tummy? Why was Hannah so cold and red? Could she see her eyes? What color were the baby's eyes?'

Soon the body was lowered into the grave and a short speech was said. A lady played on the piano.

But the child wouldn't remember this. What she remembered was that after Hannah was buried, an orange and black butterfly flitted around the grave and then up out of sight.

When they got home, her mother cried for a long time. A very long time.

*************************************************************

Present

I watched as the butterfly came closer to me, then closer, until it almost rested on the back of my hand. I hadn't cried in front of people for seven years, but I cried now. In front of a butterfly.

"Do you know Hannah?" I asked the butterfly gently. Great! Now I'm talking to insects.

The butterfly tilted its small head, playing with its feelers. For a moment I forgot my troubles. Then it decided it spent enough time there and fluttered off. Saddened by the loss of company, I looked up and saw the storm was seconds away.

Turning for the door, I found it locked. Gritting my teeth, I stood my ground.

The wind tore at me, biting and snapping, throwing stinging sand and whirling in confusion. I stood there, almost numb and thinking that now I felt nearly the same outside as inside.

The tears threatened again, ripped away by the wind. Thunder rolled. In a sudden surge of grief, I fell to my knees, and cried out, "God, how many pieces will my heart be torn in?! And why have you abandoned me?!!"

A flash of lightning lit the sky. The wind stopped. The butterfly came out of nowhere and landed on my wrist. And suddenly, I wasn't there.

Instead of dust everywhere I looked, I was blinded by the whiteness of my surroundings.

The butterfly appeared in front of me, but this time, she was my size. Then she became a lovely young woman, with dark, wavy hair and beautiful eyes. I don't know what color they were. She looked like a blend of me and my sisters, and suddenly I knew this was the infant I had buried ten years ago. Perfect and healthy and alive. Maybe.

It's okay, it's me. I'm in better place now. We're waiting for when you join us. Please don't be sad.

I blinked and the young woman was gone. A small butterfly fluttered away.

I was about to follow it, when a voice stopped me in my tracks. The Voice was as deep as thunder, and as gentle as birds chirping in the trees. I knew I had never heard it before, but the Voice was somehow familiar.

My precious child, I was always prepared to stop the storm had you asked. The 'heartbreak' was and is necessary for your growth, but I would have and will help you through it if you would let me. I have never abandoned you. I have walked (and crawled) with you every step of the way, ready to catch you if you fell, offering to carry you. But you refused. My child, why won't you let me stop the storm?