Butterflies and Marigolds

In the immortal words of Edgar Allan Poe, “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” Right now, my life feels more like a nightmare. It’s only been ten days, ten of the longest days of my life. I never knew living could hurt this much until I lost one of the dearest lives I knew. Mamá was gone, poof, just like that. I held her hand as she took her last breaths; they never tell you it’s more than one. You imagine that it’ll be quick, a closing of the eyes, a chest that ceases to rise. But there is so much oxygen in a human body that must be expelled, so much life that has to exit so that it may float on the wind to the next plane of existence. When I realized the hand in mine was limp and lifeless, I gripped it tighter trying to will her soul back into that battered body. It was selfish of me, but in those moments, I just wanted her back, if only for a second. I don’t think Mamá knew how much I loved her, how much she meant to me.

That was ten days ago, we held her wake, prayed her way to the pearly gates for the mandatory nine days, and now it’s just me. Mamá was my grandmother, my father’s mother, and the only parent I truly ever knew. She wasn’t a soft woman by any means, she’d been through hell and back and chose to do it all over again for me. My parents weren’t the parenting type, so after one too many nights of partying, my Mamá demanded they hand over the rights to my life and they didn’t think twice. So, for the past 30 years, it’s just been me and my vieja. At least, that’s how it used to be. I keep imagining what she would say to me to get me through this. When I’d ask about my parents, she’d always say the same thing, “Those sinvergüenzas never deserved to have a light like you. You keep shining until you blind them, Chiquita.” But I guess my light isn’t bright enough. They never came to the hospital, didn’t bother to show up at the wake. They did stop by the first day of the hora santa, and my wrath they did not escape. The light my Mamá left behind in me engulfed my heart in flames, and I cursed the day those people bore me, sent them packing back down the way.

The days all seem the same. I sleep, shower and eat just to hold myself together. The home I shared with Mamá is in shambles, I should clean it but keeping it like this is the only way I can hear her voice, “This is how you want to live, Chiquita?! No, no I cannot.” And then she’d start muttering to her saints about what she was supposed to do with me, bending down, dusting and wiping everything in her path. Eventually, I’d begrudgingly slide off the couch to help her, until I realized I’d been cleaning alone and Mamá was back in her rocking chair with her cafecito. I don’t know how she did it, but her little ruse worked every single time. So, keeping her in mind, I rolled off the sofa I’d been living on for the past month, and started cleaning.

By the time I’d finished, I felt better. The curtains are pulled back from the open windows so the afternoon sun streams in, softly lighting up the living room. There’s a warm breeze that plays on the chimes hanging in the window. I’ve made myself a pot of coffee and it smells like Sunday morning; this feels almost normal. Pouring myself a mug of coffee, and sweetening it to the point of madness, I make my way back to the couch. As I walk past Mamá’s chair, I suddenly have the urge to sit there. To smell the blanket resting on its back, to be embraced by Mamá, enveloped in the warmth she left behind. Inhaling deeply, warm mug in hand, I make my way over to the chair, and settle in. It feels just like her. I lean my head back, and rock myself back and forth, sipping the hot coffee slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something floating. Turning my head towards the window, I see it then. A small butterfly with white and black wings has made its way into Mamá’s home.

“Hello, friend” I whisper towards it, not recognizing the sound of my own voice. “Were you sent to keep me company?” I ask. Mamá always said that the butterflies are our dead, they visit us on wings of hope to remind us to keep going. Eventually, I will, but today? Today, I stand up, finish my coffee as I walk the mug over to the kitchen sink, and make my way back to the couch that has been my solace. I lay down and will myself to sleep. Seeing the butterfly made my heart squeeze, and thinking of Mamá, wishing she was here, is a pain too great to feel.

“Despierta mi Chiquita. Ya es hora.” I hear a voice call me out of my sleep, “Come on, little one, it’s time.” I hear again. I bring my hands to my face to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but what I see when I open them knocks the wind out of me in surprise. I’m sure I fell asleep on the couch in a clean apartment, but now I find myself laying in a field of marigolds. A field that stretches as far as the eye can see in every direction. The marigolds are piled on top of one another, reaching out to the sun hanging in the blue sky above us, I want to be afraid, every rational part of my brain is screaming at me that this is insane, but, I feel oddly at peace. Mamá used to say that marigolds pave the way for our souls, we follow those roads back to our loved ones when they need us most. And I’ve needed her so badly since she left me.

“Mamá? Are you out there?” I whisper, afraid to break the spell of peace with the rasp in my throat. “Mamá, te quiero, okay? If you’re here, please – just let me see you.” I sob silently, closing my eyes and bringing a bouquet of the marigolds to my chest. I plead with fate to let this seed of hope come to fruition. Feeling a fluttering at my cheek, I open my eyes to see the same white and black butterfly that visited me earlier. Flapping against my eyelashes, each swipe of its wings wiping the tears from my face. All of a sudden it flies away, “No, wait!” I cry out, but it stops a few feet in front of me, it flirts with each marigold before finally landing on the tallest one in the bunch. As soon as it lands, the brightest light appears, as if the sun’s rays existed in its petals. I squint against the brightness, wondering in awe about what I’ve done to witness the miracle happening before me. Once the light fades enough for me to see, my eyes are engrossed with the figure before me.

“Mi Chiquita” Mamá says as her hands reach out to cup my face. “Please, no more crying, okay?” I clasp the hands that are on my face, unaware of the tears streaming from my eyes, I take in all of her features. The black hair streaked with white, the honey brown eyes surrounded by too many laugh lines, and her smile. A mouth she’d proudly tell everyone held all her real teeth, “I never had braces, Chiqui, never, these pearls are homemade.” She’d always say.

I take her hands from my face and wrap them around my waist as I wrap my own around her neck, pulling her to me and inhaling her scent. Mints, Mamá always smelled like mints and jasmine, she always felt soft like velvet but “Strong like bull” she’d counter when I’d tell her of her softness. “I’ve missed you, Mamá. I’m sorry, I know I should be strong but I miss you so much. Qué hago?” I cry in her arms. She strokes my hair, rubs my back and slowly moves her hands to my shoulders, separating us by a mere fraction. Already, the space is too much.

“You keep going. I taught you the things you need to know, Chiqui, so you keep going. You live for me, yes. But most importantly, mi amorcito, live for you. I will always be here.” She says and she places her hand on my chest, right over my heart. The touch burns a little but I don’t pull back because this may be the last time that I ever feel Mamá. She smiles at me warmly, her eyes wrinkling with the motion, “It’s time, you have to go back and I have other places to see.” She says sadly. I’m not ready, but I know that look in her eyes, when she says ya, es ya.

I pull her to me one last time, savoring the feel of her. “You’re okay, yes? Wherever it is that you are?” I ask her.

“I already told you where I am, Chiquita, and I am more than okay, better than you I’d say.” She giggles, and I squeeze her more. “Okay, okay. I love you cariño, and remember that I am with you always.” She whispers to me as the bright light appears again. I don’t let go until I have to, until she fades in my arms and is replaced by the small white and black butterfly that brought me to this field of dreams. I am alone amongst the marigolds, but somehow, I know that I’m not. The butterfly kisses my cheek with its wings, finally setting on my shoulder. I glance down, “Hold on tight.” I say as I lay back down on the bed of golden flowers. Enjoying the sun on my skin, I close my eyes and allow the warmth my Mamá left me with to spread through me; knowing now a peace I could not have imagined, and slowly allow myself to drift to sleep.

Upon waking from the dream, I see that I am back in the clean apartment. The house still smells like coffee, moonlight streams in through the window. It’s time, I’ve decided to sleep in my bed for the first time in a month. I walk to the back, past the altar where Mamá’s picture now lives, past the room she’d once inhabited, and open the door to my space. I cross the room to open the window by my bed, allowing the wind to carry away the staleness of this barely used area. I turn away from the window towards the adjoining bathroom, walking past a mirror, when something catches my eye. I walk up to the mirror and pull my shirt down, revealing the left side of my chest, just a little. Where there used to be clean skin is now the image of a white and black butterfly, perched on a marigold. I pull my shirt down further to reveal all of it, the tattoo that now rests just over my heart. Right where Mamá said she’d be. “Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?” I don’t know the answer to that, but I do know that dream or no dream, Mamá is always with me.

Translations

Mamá: Mother/Grandmother

Chiquita/Chiqui: Little One (Feminine)

Te Quiero: I love you

Que hago: What do I do?

Cariño: Affectionate pet name

Ya, es Ya: Now is now

Sinvergüenza: Shameless

Amorcito: Little love

Despierta: Wake up

Ya es hora: It’s time

Hora Santa: Holy Hour