Phyllis was like a mother to me and my husband. She filled a void in our life. We filled one for her too: Phyllis and her husband, Ray, never had children. When Ray died we took Phyllis on as an official family member. She was a grandmother to our children, “Mumsie” to theirs.
My husband and I even took her on an Alaskan cruise. “We couldn’t leave you behind,” I told her as we all stood on deck. “It would feel like something was missing!”
On one of our last visits to Phyllis’ retirement home, we brought my 10-year-old granddaughter, Abby. “I’ll always be watching over you,” Phyllis told her. “I’ll send butterflies to remind you.”
But when Phyllis died all I felt was the loss. That void in my life was back. And now it seemed that it was here to stay.
Months after the funeral, I was still bereft. Abby called up and caught me at a tearful moment.
“Grandma!” she said. “At soccer today, our team was behind and we had one last chance to make a goal. The ball came to me!” My granddaughter was so excited all her words ran together. I knew the story would end happily. Not like life, though, I couldn’t help thinking.
“I was about to kick,” Abby went on, “when a big yellow butterfly landed right on my shoulder. I made the goal and we won the game! All because of Mumsie!”
I wiped away my tears. When I thought losing Phyllis had left a void in my life, a big yellow butterfly came all the way from heaven to fill it.
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