My mother passed-away in 2006,  sitting in my home, listening to Glenn Miller playing on satellite radio; she loved the 40’s Channel on XM and knew every song without missing a beat.

Some things, she remembered.

We were her family aside from her two remaining brothers who managed to hide in the shadows after taking a few material advantages during her deteriorating mental state; both have now gone on to their greater reward which, I hope, has been a heavenly confrontation with their sister, or…the devil himself.

Mom had wanted to be cremated and I had her wishes carried out; services were private and unconventional.  My oldest daughter flew up from Florida with her little son and together we went to the funeral home to pick up my mother’s ashes.  Along with my middle daughter and two other grandchildren, we tucked my mother into a colorful tote bag and all went shopping…to Trader Joe’s.  My mother’s favorite pastime was going into a store, any store, for hours on end.

That excursion was followed by a trip to the beach, mother included.  She just loved the beach.

                                                   

There, on that warm July day, the kids played, we laughed and suddenly…one solitary butterfly hovered around us for what seemed hours.  As we looked, there were no other delicate painted creatures flying around… except for this one.

                                                                
                                        
Butterflies were another of my mother’s favorites; she had butterfly earrings, pins, necklaces and knick-knacks everywhere when she was alive.
                                                                      
                                                  
We smiled and enjoyed the visitor who periodically landed on top of the tote bag where Mom rested.  Very late that afternoon, when it came time to pack up and head home, the butterfly slowly flew away, stopping now and then as if to look back and say good-bye.

And we said ours.