Hello,
This is Jacob Watson.
I am reading from my book,
Gifts of Grief,
A Man's Revelations After Sudden Loss.
Chapter Two,
Monarch Butterflies.
I offer a period of reflection about three minutes long for your own recollections and reflections during the quiet time.
It was a gift that my sister drove me back to Maine after Christine's death,
But I wondered,
Where was Christine?
It was a gift,
Certainly,
That we had talked about what to do with our bodies after we died,
And she and I had decided to donate our organs.
So that was taking place at a facility in the Boston area,
And then Christine's body was moved to Maine.
But I still wondered,
Where was she?
We arrived home,
And I walked across the deck and entered the back door.
The house was full of her,
But her body was somewhere else.
Yet,
Indeed,
The house was full of her.
Yes,
I was alone,
And yet I didn't feel alone.
I walked in,
There were her flowers,
The red and the gold and the yellow and the green leaves,
Flowers that she had planted.
Her spirit was everywhere.
A few days later,
A small group of family and a couple of friends gathered at a local funeral home.
Again,
A gift,
Because we had talked about it and chosen one a few blocks from our house.
Together,
We walked down the aisle and entered a small room with Christine's body in it.
We watched apprehensively as our family dog sniffed around and then,
To our surprise,
Turned around and left.
There was nothing there,
But we humans needed to stay.
There were no chairs,
So we found some and gathered around.
We sat there in silence.
Well,
Not in silence,
Because we were crying.
Christine lay there lifeless,
Though she wore the necklace that her granddaughter,
Addie,
Had given her,
And she was covered by the hospice quilt that was given to her when she retired.
It was certainly a gift that we were together.
Then,
A few days later,
Because Christine had made the arrangements months ago and we felt duty-bound and family-bound to honor what she had done,
We set out.
We drove out to a camp that we had rented in Buxton nearby,
And there we were,
All of us,
The family,
Except without Christine.
We knew that we needed and wanted to be together,
And we were.
All we had to do was cook for ourselves and hang out together and go out on the quiet lake.
I had a long solo kayak trip,
Paddling across the lake to the other shore,
Just staying there for a while and paddling back by myself.
A single kayak,
No welcome home from Christine.
A couple of days later,
Christine's dear friend,
Who had finally agreed to facilitate the service,
Showed up for supper.
We all knew that he was grieving,
Too,
And yet he listened with an open heart and took into consideration what we wanted for the service.
We had agreed that the service would be held at Portland Headlight,
A place much revered by Christine,
And a place where she had brought her family from Michigan.
A week or so later,
I drove out by myself to Portland Headlight to look at the place where we were going to have Christine's memorial service.
I parked in the small lot and tried to pay for my parking,
But the sun was so bright I couldn't figure out the machine.
I left it,
Another gift,
And walked up the hill.
Memories flooded back of when Christine and I had hostess hospice fundraising events,
But this was for her.
I walked around and eventually out into the meadow,
Green grass under my feet,
And suddenly there was a monarch butterfly,
And then another,
And then another,
Until a swarm of butterflies surrounded me as I walked slowly through the field.
I felt held by these black and orange creatures fluttering all around me.
Now,
Here is some quiet time for your own meditation and reflection.
Please come slowly and gently out of this quiet time and reflect on what came up for you,
Perhaps some images from nature.
Whatever came up is yours.
