The Butterfly collection

The butterfly collection

Mary had known that today was going to be a difficult day. She had woken up with a feeling of sadness that almost paralyzed her. As she struggled out of bed and slipping her feet in her fluffy pink slippers, she remembered that today was their anniversary. As the day dragged she tried desperately to postpone the trip that she knew she would eventually have to make.

Mary pottered around the garden, trimming here and weeding there, until she realized that she was pulling out flowers instead of weeds. She had gone into the house and looked for something to clean, the problem was that her house was already clean and there was nothing more she could do. Mary tried to read, but the words on the page seemed to swim before her eyes. She switched on the T.V and tried to lose herself in a nameless movie, but the only face she saw on the screen was Mathew’s.

Today they would have celebrated 28 beautiful years of happy marriage. How could she celebrate with Matthew gone, her heart throbbed in her chest, she missed him so very much. Her eye fell on the carved wooden box lying on the coffee table. Her butterfly collection. As if watching in a dream Mary reached out and picked up the box. She could feel the intricate carving of the lid under her hands. Without giving herself time to think, Mary sprang to her feet, grabbed her purse and rushed out of the house, clutching the wooden box to her heart as if it were an infant.
Mary made her way down the street, walking much faster than she normally would have. To the casual passer-by, Mary looked like a woman on her way to a necessary but extremely unpleasant appointment. All too soon Mary found herself at her destination, the cemetery.

Mary paused at the heavy gates, in happier times the intricate metal work decorating the gates had fascinated her, now it reminded her of the kind of bars that you saw on Jail house windows in old movies. She hesitated, summoned up all of her will and stepped through the forbidding gates. Slowly Mary made her way along the path. The sun shone softly between the almost bare branches of the trees casting a moving kaleidoscope of light and shadow on the grass around on the path around her. The autumn leaves that littered the path crunched underfoot and the noise echoed through the grave yard. Mary wondered why it was always so much quieter walking through a grave yard. Every step seemed unbearably loud, as if she were an unwelcome intruder. In Mary’s ears the serenade of the birds perched on the stripped branches had changed to funeral hymns. She shivered and pulled her light sweater more snugly around her and clutched the wooden box closer to her heart. Not only were cemeteries unnaturally quiet, they were also always so cold. Mary finally stopped walking and looked down, she had reached her destination. The moment that Mary had been trying to put off all day was finally upon her. There was no turning back.

Mary stood in front of the tombstone that she had chosen for her beloved husband. The rosebush that she had planted on his grave and water with her tears only a few short months ago, was flourishing. Matthew had loved roses, especially the white ones. Mary remembered how she would find the beautiful creamy flowers hidden away, for her to find as she went through her day. A rose tucked under her pillow, one mixed in with the dirty laundry, a rose in the grocery cupboard, the thorns always removed so the discovery was not accompanied by a cut on the hand.

After the funeral Mary had discovered a large rock beside Mathew’s grave, a little chair that she could rest on. Mary sat down on the rock and finally looked down at the wooden box she was still cradling in her arms. She reluctantly let go of the box, resting it in her lap and slowly she opened it. The box was filled with brightly colored paper butterflies. Gently she took one out of the box and held it in her trembling hand.

Her marriage to Mathew had been blessed by butterflies. Butterflies had been a symbol of the special love between them that had grown from the physical desire of youth to the richness of the spiritual over time. Butterflies represented every wonderful thing that had happened to Mary and Mathew over the past 27 years. The hated tears welled up in her eyes as she gazed at the delicate, vivid wings that meant so much to her.

Her mind slid down the curving path of the past, to a day where two children not even ten years old had wondered away from a Sunday school picnic into a meadow full of flowers and butterflies. Mathew had placed a small home-made paper butterfly in her clammy hand. The world around the two children had been a magical world of colorful wings, reflecting the one that Mary had held, her fluttering in her chest. Mathew had taken her hand and planted a delicate kiss on her shy lips. It was in that sweet butterfly blessed moment that she knew that she was destined to be Mrs Mathew Connor. Mary smiled at the memory; her first kiss had been in a field of flowers and butterflies, and that precious moment had set the tone for their entire life together.

That very first beautiful butterfly was in the wooden box, yellowed and faded with the passing of the years. The first of what would become the collection that lay on her knee. Every occasion in Matthew and Mary’s joined life had been celebrated with butterflies. There had been pieces of jewellery depicting the fragile creatures, but it was the butterflies drawn by Mathews own hand, each one intricately drawn and painstakingly colored in that had meant the most to Mary, and she had treasured each and every one. One left on her pillow on their wedding night, one to celebrate the birth of each of their four children. A butterfly for each of the 27 Christmases, 27 birthdays, 27 valentine’s days and 27 Anniversaries. Each butterfly representing a glorious moment in the lives of two people. As Mary looked at the box that overflowed with color, she wept as she realized how many wonderful moments she had shared with the only man that she had ever loved.
Mary’s sobbed as she thought of those last precious butterflies that Mathew had given her. While Mathew had bravely fought against the cancer that was devouring him, he had not forgotten the butterflies. After he had passed away she had found the brightly colored treasures tucked away in drawers and cupboards, hidden in the pockets of clothes, even in her little telephone book. Each hidden butterfly was an affirmation that Mathew was still with her.

Sadly the stash of treasured butterflies had run out and the loss of Mathew had overwhelmed Mary. She missed him more than she had ever imagined that a person could miss someone, in the darkest hours of the night, when sleep had been replaced by bitter tears, she would have given anything to be with him. Every day was a struggle and as she sat on the rock beside Mathew’s grave she wondered for how long she could carry on the fight. If only I could die she thought to herself at least I wouldn’t have to go back to that empty house that holds so many wonderful memories.

“Oh Mathew, why did you leave me,” she cried out loud. “I miss you so much.” Mary sat beside the grave of her husband on the day that they should have celebrated their 28th wedding anniversary and cried until her tears were gone and she could cry no more. When her tears were cried out she dried her eyes and stood up. It was time to go home. She knelt down beside her husband’s grave, gently kissed the smooth cold tombstone and gently placed the box, holding her butterfly collection, under the rose tree that decorated Mathew’s grave.

“I love you Mathew,” she whispered and as she stood up a butterfly fluttered out of the sky. Mary looked up at it and a sense of wonder and delight filled her tired heart. Following the first butterfly was another and another and another and another. The cemetery was full of fluttering, dancing butterflies. Mary gazed at the dancing butterflies in disbelief, for the first time the last few terrible months she laughed, her heart leapt and the sadness that had covered her like a fog lifted. One of the dancing butterflies brushed her cheek as soft as Mathew’s first kiss and her heart was full of joy.

Mathew had remembered their anniversary and just like he always had, he had given her a butterfly. Only on this special occasion Mathew had sent her enough butterflies’ to celebrate several lifetimes’ worth of special moments. Mary knew that Mathew was still with her and that he would not leave her until it was time for him to take her to their new home.

Word count: 1554

The end