I want to believe in something. Anything.
This morning my grandmother died. It is sad. I have cried my mascara off more times than I can count today, but I also know it's okay. My grandfather's birthday is July 12th. Of course she wanted to be with him! The one thing she wanted to do before she died, was see her grandson get married. Dan was married on July 1. (Oh, and she wanted to drive an eighteen wheeler.)
Now she can be up in Heaven and tell Grandpa and Uncle Stephen all about the wedding. She can tell them how beautiful Allie looked, how happy everyone was, and how she danced. Then she and Grandpa can drink their Dewar's and never worry about another person taking the glass of "seasoned ice."
But I have a hard time really believing the whole Heaven thing. At this point, I don't really believe in anything. But I want to. I want to believe that I will have a place to go someday. And I want to believe that my place will be the same as everyone else that I love.
When I was five years old my grandfather and my cousin on my mom's side of the family died. I didn't really comprehend it, but I remember the butterflies. Aunt Patty, my godmother, became very interested in butterflies. She had butterfly everything. Now, keep in mind, I was five, so I could be exaggerating. I remember butterfly t- shirts, prints, clippings, books, and pillows. I remember everything having butterflies. I don't know who explained it to me, but I was told that Aunt Patty believed that the butterflies were the people who had died, and she wanted to remember them. Well, that was crazy to me. I have always been more of a mathematical and scientific person, and even at five years old, I knew that butterflies weren't people. And I knew that butterflies were not Papa and Mary Ellen.
We went to a Catholic church regularly, but what does that really mean as a kid? For me, it meant that in second grade I had to confess my sins. So, I cried. And then I told the priest that I had hit my brother and fought with him after I was told not to. He was nice. He told me to say a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers, and that I could receive my first communion.
At this point, I was in an elementary school that had a butterfly house. Now I knew for sure, one hundred percent, that butterflies were not Papa and Mary Ellen. I had seen them hatch from their cocoons. So, I still thought Aunt Patty was crazy.
When we moved to New York, to different churches and religions, and took part in the "Church of the Month Club" I questioned more and believed less.
My senior year in high school my Uncle Stephen died. I didn't understand. He was so young. He was leaving behind a family. If God really existed, how could he let this happen? I had to force myself to believe he was no longer in pain, in a better place. What that better place was, I didn't know. But he had very strong faith, and I knew he was in that better place.
Exactly three months later, my grandmother, Gigi, died. I was even more confused. She had a new hip. She was perfectly healthy. While she was 87 years old, it wasn't her time. My mom told me "times like these are when we need to believe in something." Instead of listening to her, I just became angry and upset. It didn't make sense, and how could I have faith in something greater that would allow this to happen?
My mom told me to explore religion in college. She knew I would have plenty of options and opportunities, and I should take advantage. I did just the opposite. Tulsa was overwhelming and only turned me off from religion even more. My friends told me stories about the materialistic things they had prayed for and received. These people who were, in my eyes, very religious, were praying for cars? And getting them? That wasn't the type of religion I was looking for. Then there were people waiting for their first kiss until their wedding day for God. Wrong again.
One day, out of the blue, a butterfly landed on my hand as I hung onto my oar handle. It was a beautiful butterfly, and I was sitting in bowseat in the middle of the water in Catoosa. I was having a challenging time with rowing, school and everything else, and I knew, at that very moment, that it was Gigi. I began to believe in butterflies. Even in Thailand, there are butterflies. They are never here when I ask for them, but they always show up when they know I need them. They have landed on my feet, my hands, my arms, or just nearby to let me know they are there. I believe.
Maybe Aunt Patty and I are both crazy, but I truly believe in butterflies. The problem is, "Butterflies" isn't an option in the Religious Views category of a match.com profile. I need something more. I believe I was in my motorcycle accident to go home early and see Grandpa before he died, but why am I not home now? Why didn't I get to see Grandma? I need more than a hope that Gigi will pull some strings for me, and let me come hang out with her wherever she is. I don't know what, where, or when I will find it, but gosh, I really want it.
