Monarchs

I believe in the divine force between all of us, us meaning creatures and the earth and the universe. All of these serve as reminders; the reminders whisper and scream that we are not all that important or significant in size or matter, but they also holler and sing out that we are very influential and connected.

While I don't believe in the same forces governing all of this that Dad believed in, I keep coming across monarch butterflies. Or maybe they come across me. In the past month, I've seen more monarchs than I had seen in the past ten years. Perhaps there is scientific reason for this, but some of the monarchs have been painted onto wood or created out of metal. They have shown up:

• At the hospital, in the parking lot, when I didn't know which way Dad would turn.


• Along my running path in the woods this summer in Vermont.


• On the Jersey shore, from the deck, on one of the happiest days of my life.


• At a highway rest stop in Atlanta this month, on my way to a fantastic musical event.


• A parking lot in Asheville, NC: the mural on the wall of the business that bordered a parking lot we happened to park in because there were no free street spots: painted monarchs.


• On my walk to a job interview yesterday in Attleboro, MA, on a fence, made out of metal (in the photo above).

While I'm not sure where humans go when they die, I see that the connections we make while alive survive death, especially the way we have touched our loved ones. Now, I'm not sure any sane deity would give each life passed the ability to directly send signs. I'd guess Dad's funny choice would be to send a moose to many random places, but that would be too obvious. Perhaps because Roy means King and Dad thought Monarch was as close as he could come, these butterflies make sense. No matter the facts behind it, whenever I see a monarch butterfly, the coincidence reminds me of the way life moves along, from the dead to the living. They remind me to smile at Dad, because even if no such place as the afterlife exists, his life still exists in me. It's as plain as the nose on my face.