I am the Butterfly

I am becoming the butterfly. My body feels more and more like my mother’s looked to me when I was a kid. As I bend over to take bowls out of the bottom cupboard, and as I wash my hands, as my chin falls to my chest and I catch myself falling while drifting off to sleep; in those moments I feel like a living, walking memory of what my childhood looked like from three, four, fiver year-old me.

There was this one time when I was about 2 or 3 and I cut my lip and as I was crying on her shoulder, I got a spot of blood on her full-piece jean jump suit. I remember that jump suit so well and the way she held me. And the way I’d left that mark there on her shoulder. I felt bad about it but i know now that we leave our marks on our parents and that is just part of life. It falls nowhere close to good or bad it’s just about being here and how that changes the world.

When I’m rocking my kid or chasing after them, it’s like a deja vu; I’ve been there before but instead of looking up I’m looking down. This is the gift. I am becoming the butterfly.