Scott would get a kick out of this: Call me crazy but what do the two bars at the end of this graph resemble? They represent the amount of viewer hits this blog received on 9/11 and the next day. Until this year “9/11” has had a rather different significance and this graph reminds me of the World Trade Towers. Both days this blog received an equal amount of viewer hits (1310 on Wednesday and Thursday) and that is why the bars are so perfectly aligned. 9/11 will never be forgotten. It’s oddly apt that Scott chose a day of fallen heroes to leave us. Please forgive me as I search for meaning anywhere and everywhere. Synchromystic moments. . .
Butterflies © Scott Morgan 2013
In the days leading up to Wednesday Scott and I frequently brought up the idea of flying. His counselor had suggested that he do some visualization techniques to reduce his anxiety and pain. Knowing Scott had such a vivid imagination and a hunger to be free of his bedridden body, I gently reminded him that he remember we can fly. Like Peter Pan. Like shooting stars. Like butterflies! See your painting of butterflies on the wall right by your bed, Scott? Close your eyes and step into the painting and see what happens. I can fly! Yep.
Within minutes of Scott’s death I opened the glass door to the patio next to his bed so his spirit could get out of the room he had been confined to for so long. I focused on the painting shown here that hung nearby on the wall. I shouted out Scott! Remember your butterflies! You can FLY! No sooner did I say this than a HUGE butterfly–I think it was black color–flew directly across the windows as I looked out the open door. Within a short while I was sitting out on a bench by the beach overlooking the confluence of the Mandovi River and the Arabian Sea just outside our hotel. From this perch I made the phone calls to Scott’s family. His sister was the first to receive the news from me that our beloved was no longer with us. Or was he? A bright yellow butterfly flew past me at the exact time I told Lindy about the earlier butterfly story! A little while later when I told Scott’s mother the same thing happened, only this time the butterfly was orange (Scott’s and my shared favorite color). I was going through many mood swings by the time I talked with Scott’s brother Robert and I can’t remember if any butteflies appeared then. But when I spoke with his father, a gigantic swarm of a hundred or more large darning needle dragonflies gathered immediately in front of me, spiralling into a vortex right over the ocean the entire time we were talking. . . and then poof they were gone once I lost the connection to Dad.
But wait. There’s more. One more butterfly appeared that morning. My younger brother and I were on the phone. I was sitting outside the room on the patio. Matt always felt close to Scott. During an emotional moment I recalled that Scott had woken up from a dream over the last weekend. I asked Scott where were you just now? He replied, I was with Matt. My brother Matt? Yes. In retelling this anecdote to my brother my head was down. A black butterfly flew directly at me swooped up under my chin and up the building to the sky. I laughed. Scott was just here. Scott is still here. WE CAN FLY!!!
PS: Thank you for the overwhelming outpouring of love and sympathy coming my way from family, friends, facebook and this blog during this lonely time. The room is so quiet. My heart is so loud. I will be home soon.