Tuesday, July 31, 2012
July 31st is the 1 year anniversary of Susan Liddell's death.
I had been thinking of her more than I usually do, and I think of her pretty often.
This time of year reminds me of when she was still here and I would visit her in her lovely home and give her Reiki.
I miss her.
This week, I had a labor patient at work who wasn't doing well. The baby's heart rate was dropping and we were starting to think about an emergency c-section.
The patient's father, an expectant grandpa, was standing sort of uselessly in the hall getting in the way and not seeming to grab the gravity of the situation. He said cheerfully, "I know everything is going to be OK because I saw a butterfly today."
I was stunned.
Partly because he did not look the type to say such a thing. I'm not sure what that type would say that; but not this friendly, but a bit bedraggled, toothless, reek-of-cigarette-smoke sort of fellow.
And partly because I had recently been thinking of Susan and butterflies.
And how her daughter said at the funeral that she had put a tattoo of a butterfly on her leg because her mother, Susan, was going to come back as a butterfly. And how after Susan's death, we nurses all put butterfly stickers on our badges to remember her.
So, I wondered about this butterfly and the reassurance it had given this man.
And I let it give me some comfort.
And, it turned out he was right.
Everything was fine.
Beautiful baby. Mom was well.
I said a thank you to Susan.
Her grave is beautiful.
I went and sat there with my girls on the anniversary of her death.
Such a bright sunny day. Such a peaceful place.
They found an empty bird's nest and tucked it under the black-eyed-Susan.
You are missed. In so many places and in so many ways.
(I just saw a monarch butterfly on the backporch right after I wrote this!)