Page 71 of Starving Butterfly
I held on to the thought as I turned away, blood dripping from the gown in my wake.
62
THIS FUNERAL SHOULD HAVE NEVER HAPPENED
February 4th
The dirt came up in frozen chunks. It didn’t look like it was meant to hold a child. The ground didn’t want to take her. It cracked instead of giving way — hard, frozen and wrong.
I watched them dig away. I thought I would feel something by now. I didn’t.
It wasn’t real until I saw the box. A box that was too small.
No one said anything; I was thankful they let the silence speak for itself. The small silver butterfly pendant swung on the chain, gleaming in the sunlight. Her favorite.
The cold wind whipped around as they lowered the casket into the ground. I stepped forward, my fingers releasing the small butterfly. It clinked once on the casket lid before sliding down the side. I turned away.
We stood by watching as frozen dirt clattered against the lid, heavy, uneven, and loud.
I should have cried; that’s what you did when someone you loved died.
I didn’t.
I should have known her better.
63
WHY?
February 27th
The butterflies came out as the weather gave way to spring; I sat on the bench watching as the mourning cloaks emerged. They gathered on the trees, drinking the sap that leaked out.
It was fitting; the little creatures were maroon with vibrant blue spots. You wouldn’t notice them unless you looked. I’d been coming here since I saw one the other day. Like every butterfly, Gabriella was reaching out to play. So I spent hours watching my little girl play.
“Why did she leave?” I asked, my voice cracking. I hadn’t looked up, but I knew he was there. I felt his presence like a shadow.
“Oh, Summer... she didn’t leave.” Ethan exhaled softly. “She just transformed.”
He held out his hand, and I took it—unsure if I was holding onto him, or the memory of her.
We sat for hours on that park bench, watching the butterflies.
Both of us understanding.
Neither of us letting go.
64
FRIDAYS
March 6th
Ididn’t like leaving her in the park, but I couldn’t stop her from showing up there every morning. Her body had rounded these past two months as the stress of everything settled.
We still weren’t in the best place; I had damaged her in an irreversible way. There was nothing I could do to fix that, but I was trying.
Every Friday. I watched her walk to the park after her appointments, and there she would stay for hours. Sometimes I would catch her talking; other times she just stared.
