Butterfly, For Mom

Daily Note

Every day, a photograph, a poem.

Today is my mom’s birthday. She’d be 105, though she only lived to be 73. As I’ve mentioned before, my mom lived her life knowing that behind every face and action were reasons, and so we forgive and go on.

She acknowledged the actions, good or bad, but also knew we cannot judge, and reasons unknown to us affect the choices others make.

Just like each of us: we all act and live in the experiences of our lives. Rather than judge or react, breathe in and move on. Step aside and let live. Move that spider outdoors. Do no harm.

She did not tell me these things; she lived this way in her quiet way, her “live the best as you can” way, no matter what those around you do.

I could guess that her own experiences informed her– that her mother left five kids with a hard working father. Perhaps living poor, mostly with siblings in a time in which such things were looked down upon– perhaps that gave her an inner strength and knowledge that reasons matter and people matter– no matter who they are, the ones being looked down upon and the ones doing the looking down.

This was an acceptance of others whoever they are that I saw.

And I’m so glad, because I learned to support the underdog like she did and be one with those standing in their spot, without violence, but with understanding that this too shall pass, that we will still be here no matter what those looking down in judgment do.

Live your best each day as the morning sun greets us and nightfall tucks us to sleep. Say your prayers. You did what you could. You chose to understand. You chose compassion. It is the way.

Our daily walk takes us by the bank with a row of lavender. We were delighted by the whimsy in the fairy-like butterflies flittering and fluttering with the bees amongst the stems of the lavender.

My mom would have probably known, having gardened for food as she grew up, that this butterfly is a Cabbage White Butterfly that leaves a larva that will eat your cabbage-type plants. But rather than destroy them, she would have enjoyed their beauty and lovely whimsical flight and watched for the pests to remove them. Because that is the way.

For Mom

As we see in butterfly
a whimsy of delight
in everyone you met
you acknowledged their delight
and understood behind
whatever actions might befall
was a reason for their being
perhaps a need for love to call.

Sheri Edwards
071822 200.365.22
Poetry/Photography

1236 days of posts in a row