There is a Celtic legend that the earth knew no yellow butterflies until Easter morning when the the first one flew out of the tomb at the Resurrection. I love this legend and at some point in my life, I shared it with my mother.
My mother died on April 12, 2006. She was 86 years old, and the last years of her life had been challenging due to Parkinson's disease and a stroke that disabled her in 1999. Yet through all of this, she had an incredible spirit and met all of the adversities with wonderful courage and faith.
When she comes to visit me now in my dreams, she is not elderly nor crippled. Rather, she is my young, vibrant mother of the age she was in this picture of her and my father.
This picture was taken many years ago when my parents were dressed up for the Cherokee Strip rodeo held every September in Ponca City, Oklahoma.
Although her death freed her from the sufferings of human existence, I continue to miss my mother because she was so important to me. Yet I also believe she continues to watch over me. In June following her death in April, I was with some friends hiking in the Teton Mountains in Wyoming. I was not in any shape for mountain hiking! At some point, I stopped with one of my friends to rest and found a good rock to perch myself on. I hadn't been there for long before a yellow butterfly flew up and landed on my right hand that was resting on my thigh. I sat quietly as it walked across the back of my hand - as if inspecting it or looking for some lost treasure. It finally stopped and was still, seemingly content to rest with me. It remained on the back of my hand for 4 to 5 minutes and didn't fly off until the other hikers caught up with us along the trail. My friend remarked how odd it was to see a butterfly stay as long as it did on my hand, and I told her of the legend from Ireland. I also thought of my mom.
In October of the same year, I was speeding along I-40 in the back of a convertible when I looked down and saw a yellow butterfly resting on my thigh. I don't know how long it had been resting there, don't know how it could have flown into the car that was going so fast, and still don't know how it could have found itself on my lap. But it was there and stayed there for almost half an hour.
I certainly don't know what awaits us after this life. But I do believe that in a mysterious way, love is the bridge between this life and what awaits each one of us after we pass from this existence. And I have come to believe that at times, messages of love can break into this existence - carried on the wings of yellow butterflies.