I lost my father to cancer not too long ago.

Unknown to many, he was the reason I uprooted myself and my small family and moved back home last year. Dad and I initially talked of trying alternative remedies to treat his illness and I thought it best to take care of him in his final years.

He never made it back home alive.

And we never got the chance to try natural or alternative forms of treatment that we both had planned.

Dad passed away in the United States– far away from where I moved to be with him.

It took months before Dad finally lost his cancer battle and in the meantime, I worked in his law firm assuming some of the cases he had left behind.

Death not only took away my precious and most-loved father– it also took away a group of people who I believed were family and a job that partly sustained my children.

Estate“, “heirs“, “properties“, and “sue” were used frequently even before my father’s funeral.

But uglier than impatience were the schemes hatched even before a tombstone could mark Dad’s fresh grave. To be told by my own mother that my Dad never wanted me here… To be called an ‘ingrate‘ in front of others only because I stood my ground in the face of greed… To be called a ‘traitor’ when I refused to disobey Dad’s final instructions…

All I have now are not money or properties inherited from Dad– with the number of children Dad left behind, I stand to gain what may be considered ‘loose change’ to some. Instead of tangible things, I carefully guard text messages from Dad that I have saved all these years– messages that remind me to pray always and remain strong.

Now, you must be wondering why this post is entitled ‘Butterflies’…here’s why.

On the day I was removed from Dad’s office, I went home and retreated into my room, silently weeping over the combined pain of losing a father, people who I regarded as family, and the only legacy that Dad left behind. Like a little lost child, I called out to Dad: I always wish you were here, Dad. But the thought that you are in a better place now consoles me. 

As I dried my tears and blew my nose, a large brown butterfly flew into my room, hovered around my shoulders and settled on the wall directly above my head. Instantly, I thought of Dad. It was the 32nd day after his death. People say the spirit of the dead move on to the next realm after the 40th day since their passing. Whether or not this is true, that butterfly visit and the subsequent butterfly visits will always remain in my heart and mind.  Until we meet again, Dad.


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