Of Cardinals, Butterflies, and Mary Jo

Living gratefully today, I honor the process of grieving and the lessons only learned through loss. Those lessons make all the difference in how I live day to day. 

Yesterday would have been my sister Mary Jo's 63rd birthday. She didn't make it to 62, dying of metastatic  breast cancer last June. In recent days, she has been on my mind and heart more than usual. And I was given many reminders of her continued presence, her spirit living on.

There were several cardinal sightings, including a female cardinal that landed in our yard briefly, then sat on our fence for a bit too. It was less than 20 feet away. I think of loved ones when I see cardinals, and it is Mary Jo and Dad that come to mind first. 

Butterflies are more numerous in our yard this time of the year, but pausing to notice them and watch their activity for a short while brings a smile and some clarity. Life and death are our biggest transformations. 

I don't know fully what I believe about where we go and what we become after we breathe our last breath, but I do believe this: The spirit and energy of our loved ones, of the people who made a difference in our lives during their lives, finds us and reminds us of what really matters. Reminds us of the treasures that come from the connections we shared and share. 

I miss my sister. Picking up the phone for a catch-up call. Walking into her house and seeing her in her kitchen. Watching her with her family, her grandkids. Seeing her latest project or great thrift store find. I miss her, but she is still with me.

The wind chime in the picture below is in our front yard, near the patio I enjoy sitting at in the early mornings especially. I bought it earlier this year, with memorial money from friends who wanted me to use it for something that would remind me of her. There is plenty that reminds me of her. The butterfly chime and the sounds it makes in a gentle breeze warm my heart. 

Some days that heart aches at the pain and suffering cancer caused Mary Jo, and that she died early, before she could experience more of the things she most enjoyed. Before she could see her grandchildren grow into adulthood. On other days, I am at peace because I believe she knows peace. 

Thinking of her husband, daughters, sons-in-law, and seven children who knew her as "Nana."  Thinking of my sisters and brothers, our mom, Jo's friends and co-workers. She made a difference. A big difference to so many of us in so many ways. She continues to make a difference.