Big, Blue, Friendly Butterflies
Reconnecting with my son, the sunrise
The first time I connected with my son after he died was on a road trip to New York from DC. I like to start this drive early in the morning to beat DC and NY’s awful traffic. I’m usually in my car, ready to pull off at 4:30. 5am at the latest. I was on the New Jersey turnpike, my wife was driving. I was sitting silently with his remains in my lap. I snapped out of my blank stare and saw it for the first time: the sunrise. It was the most breathtaking thing I had taken in since his death. I don’t remember the sensation in my body at the time but I remember feeling him. I put his urn on the dashboard and took a picture. My son, the sunrise.
For the first time since that drive in 2022, I saw the sunrise again today.
I do this thing where even though I really want to do something, I convince myself that I don’t have the energy to do it.
I really want to spend time outside more. Nope, too tired. I really want to watch the sunrise. Nope, you'll be too tired. I want to get up and write when I have an idea. Nope, its 4am, you're too tired.
This morning, at 4:21am, when I couldn’t fall back asleep, I reminded myself that someone once told me these are witching hours. I’ve recently set up my altar and have been spending quality time talking to my people so when I couldn’t fall back asleep, I challenged myself to embrace the witching hour. I read a few of my saved posts and decided I would get up and finish my piece about grieving Andrea Gibson. I grabbed a blanket, a glass of water, and snuggled up on the couch with my laptop. That’s when I saw them: my son, the sunrise.
I felt a wave of tingles wash over my entire body. Butterflies filled my belly. Not the nervous ones- the big, blue, friendly welcoming ones. The ones you get when someone says hello for the first time. The kind you get when just you and your son connect again after 3 years. The ones you get when you told your son you missed him and wanted to connect with him, woke up at 4:21am, didn’t convince yourself you were too tired to write, sat on your couch to write, and ran into your son, the sunrise.
Hello son.
Hello sunrise.
Hello butterflies.
Let’s not go this long before we meet again.
