Butterflies


(There is a connection here that I may not be able to make, but know that I am coming back to practice here so that my writing can once more become fluid.)

First Son is a remarkable young boy. I say this despite the fact that many may feel this about their young people, despite the fact that he sometimes greets me “What’s the problem, bro,” despite that he recently said to me “you are the worst mom ever.” (To which, I said, “you’re welcome,” because really, what else can one say to this ABSOLUTELY TRUE statement?) His teacher asked that we ask the kids about their research topics. His happens to be about butterflies.

Me: So are we going to see any butterflies today?
First Son: No silly, they’re all in Mexico and California.
Me: Is that right.
First Son: Yeah, they migrate to warmer weather, lay their eggs and die. They live one year and the babies are like orphans because they don’t have a mom and dad.

For some reason, I was just bowled over about this. I don’t think I ever knew this about butterflies, and it was a nice conversation to have. Earlier that week, my mother had stated: “You don’t help me. I only help you. You didn’t even help me when I was sick. You are just pinned down by your three babies.” Since I’m always plagued with the feeling that I’m not doing enough for all the people in my life, just got my gilded guilt going. It was just a nice moment of emoting – her consistent feelings of abandonment, and mine of guilt, because it’s true. I would help her more if I could, but I truly have moments where there is nothing left to give. It was funny to hear First Son story, which on that day I spoke to my mom, I heard as a tale of giving everything up for your kids.

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