Morphing \ˈmȯrf-ing \ to be transformed.
Soon after Tommy passed, I was seeing butterflies, everywhere! On the dashboard of my car, in the streets, in the fields. Everywhere. I thought I was going mad.
Isaiah -my first son- would come to me holding a dead butterfly. ‘Look mummy! look!’
I told my very matter-of-fact husband about the madness and he kindly listened.
That same day- he called me out to the front door. Underneath him he noticed that our doormat was.... can you guess? Yes! A BUTTERFLY!! We laughed. We hugged.
Butterflies carry the meaning of 'released soul'. They are a symbol of death, but most importantly rebirth.
rebirth /rēˈbərTH/ the process of being reincarnated or born again:
Has I understood it, Tommy was in my life but in a different form. What’s more- he was teaching me that I was my own butterfly- rising in grief the best I knew how.
The perfect metaphor. Coming out of the cocoon - taking flight.
We glamorize this symbolism too. Like it was an easy thing to change from caterpillar to butterfly. Not so.
The wize Maya Angelous wrote: “We delight in the beauty of the butterfly but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty.
Yeah. Recalibrate to my new life without Tommy required a beautifully painful. Morphing.
Welcoming what’s heavy is revealing. It’s a risk to show up, to flirt daily with the unknown and uncertainty of where it may lead me.
But welcoming grief is an invitation to unfold.
unfold /ˌənˈfōld/ to open or spread out from a folded position:
To let go what i think is me and move where life leads me.
Yours in continual morphing, always.
E. ⭐️ #tommytinkerforever 📷: @jessieredmondphoto