07/15/2024
Rest in peace little painted lady…
In June, during a hospice butterfly release event, I received this painted lady butterfly. When I opened the paper to set it free, it fell to the ground. It couldn’t fly. It didn’t feel right to leave it to fend for itself, so I decided to take it home and care for it, thinking I’d be able to release it in a day or two. However, it soon became clear that it would never be able to fly at all.
For 24 days, I nurtured this butterfly, feeding it honey and water, and providing it with fresh flowers like bee balm and leaves for its bed every day. I even took it outside to enjoy the fresh air. I understood I was offering it “comfort care,” aware that it wouldn’t live long. Feeding it by hand twice a day, I was always greeted by its flapping wings and extended proboscis, eagerly awaiting its dish of honey water.
On Wednesday, the butterfly showed little interest in food. This surprised me with how much it affected me emotionally. I respected its wishes, offering food but not forcing it, much like the approach I take with my clients as a death doula.
This butterfly taught me many things. As a death doula, I’m accustomed to end-of-life care, but this tiny creature reinforced important lessons. I felt such sorrow knowing it never got to soar in the sky or be able to follow its innate migration pattern. Yet, I kept my heart open and accepted what was in front of me.
The butterfly died sometime in the middle of the night last night. I knew it was gone when it didn’t flap its wings at my presence. While I was sad, I was also relieved that it was no longer a prisoner in its little body.
This butterfly’s brief presence in my life was a profound reminder of the importance of compassion, acceptance, and the gentle care we provide at the end of life. Its spirit, though unable to soar physically, touched the heights and depths of my heart. 💜
Providing compassionate end-of-life guidance and support for people and companion animals.
