[stylist] Gratitude, a Reflection

Mon Nov 12 03:46:01 UTC 2012

I'm wondering if you actually meant to use semicolons in the first 
paragraph--and maybe others too--instead of using commas?

I see why this is definitely a very precious memory for you, not only 
because of your daughter, but because the butterflies seem to be a precious 
insect to you.  (I love them, too.)

Barbara

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance. -- Carl Sandburg
-----Original Message----- 
From: Lynda Lambert
Sent: Saturday, November 10, 2012 10:44 AM
To: Writer's Division Mailing List
Subject: Re: [stylist] Gratitude, a Reflection

Here is my contribution to the writing prompt recently handed down by Chris. 
I will attach a copy of the Word document and I will copy/paste it below 
this message as well.

"Butterflies Bring Healing" by Lynda Lambert

    In the spring time a  myriad of flowers begin to scatter themselves over 
the acres of wild meadows and fields; along the rural roadsides; in  meadows 
overlooking swiftly moving waters of the creeks.   This is our annual dance 
of life forces, when the earth becomes warm and every living thing bursts 
forth in celebration.  The movement of this dance comes forth in living 
color;  in Western Pennsylvania.

    Months later, the dance of the butterflies and flowers comes to an end. 
The days will once again   bring in the crisp mornings; the clocks will be 
turned back; the grass grows slick and cold; there eventually will be no 
more flowers or butterflies. There was one exception to this though, as I 
think about it today.  I remember one miraculous afternoon in January, 2008. 
On that day, I watched quietly while two butterflies played together in the 
air; it was perfectly normal.

    When I see a butterfly it brings back a specific memory for me.

    It was over five years ago. I  had just lost most of my sight. I had not 
yet had any help, and did not yet know about technologies that would help 
me, nor did I yet know of rehabilitation for the blind. I had no white cane; 
no way of doing  anything I had done just a couple months before. Overnight, 
my entire life was transformed into something that was new and unexpected. I 
could not use the elevator;  could not see the buttons to press; didn't know 
on what floor it had landed. Simple things like that, we took for granted, 
but those simple things were now a mystery to me.

    It was at this very time that my second daughter, Heidi Melinda, was 
diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Now, I stood at her bedside in the IC unit in 
a Pittsburgh, PA hospital. Her surgery to remove the tumor that had spread 
to a stage 3C cancer was completed a few days before. But nothing had gone 
well, and within a couple of days she was near death. They had put her in an 
induced coma to try to give her sick lungs the opportunity to begin to heal.

Day after day, it was one step down after another.

    Even though I could not see very much, I was staying at the hospital day 
and night. I could find my way from the waiting room, to the bathroom, and 
to my daughter's room. I slept for short periods during the night, sitting 
in a chair in the waiting room of the IC unit. Then, I would walk back to 
her room, to sit by her bedside.

    She was kept in a coma for over 2 weeks. Nurses and doctors were at her 
side or directly outside her room working on the monitors and computers 
continuously, monitoring her, searching for the right mix of drugs to help 
her. We waited there in limbo as  each day flowed into the next in this 
netherworld existence. There was nothing we could do but pray and wait. 
Family members came and went, all helpless.

    One afternoon I sat in the chair at the bottom of her bed with my eyes 
focused on her laying there with tubes and apparatus all over her body. The 
hospital staff had named Heidi, The Sleeping Princess. On this afternoon, 
the Sleeping Princess had two unexpected visitors. They did not come in 
through the door.

    As I watched Heidi, two enormous butterflies were there. They emerged 
from the base of her feet and they flew back and forth, playing with each 
other as butterflies do when you see them in a field. The two butterflies 
were a deep red crimson and they were the size of my hand. They were bright 
and very large. As I watched them, it was the most normal scene I could ever 
have seen. Heidi's body was the field over which they were zig-zagging back 
and forth over as they moved towards her head. It felt like I watched them 
for quite awhile. I believe it was probably only seconds. It was like an 
eternal moment, when time did not exist, and I had been a witness to 
timelessness.

    The butterflies had emerged from another dimension, it seemed. The two 
had made themselves visible to me. They gave me new hope for my daughter. I 
knew they were a pictorial symbol of the Holy Spirit. A Spirit made visible. 
I recognized that the Holy Spirit had come to visit the Sleeping Princess 
that afternoon and that this would be the afternoon when Heidi would begin 
to recover. I was assured at that moment when I saw this vision that my 
daughter would heal and that she had experienced a miracle.

    Today, after five years following surgery, Heidi remains free of ovarian 
cancer.  This, in spite of the   tests done in surgery that had shown the 
cancer cells were throughout her entire body. She undergoes tests and scans 
all the time in Pittsburgh. She has an entourage of doctors who are keeping 
a close watch on her.

    Heidi has lasting side effects from her surgery and her long recovery 
time. Her body remembers the trauma;  is still responding to it. It is clear 
to me that our bodies do carry memories. Those memories in the entire body 
continue to have a response to the trauma it went through.

    Heidi is an artist.  She has a studio in the woods,  on  a mountain top. 
She actively works at her art, and is in exhibitions including an 
international invitation one that her work is in right now.

    Shortly after she recovered, she organized The Sleeping Princess Team 
with her friends. The team raises money for the Ovarian Cancer Coalition of 
Pittsburgh. Last fall was the fifth year that the team and her family walked 
with her in the sunshine at the "Walk to Break the Silence." Our little team 
has been able to raise over $20,000. in funds to contribute to the cause.

    Yes, butterflies are harbingers;  of renewal; transformation; healing; 
Divine presence; gratitude.

This joyous dancing dyad of large crimson red butterflies,  were a 
reflection of the Creator who sent them to me on a bleak winter day. It was 
a message that came at the darkest moment of my life;  right on time!

(the end)

Posted on blog, June 1, 2012:  Walking By Inner Vision

http://www.walkingbyinnervision.blogspot.com

Revised: 10 November, 2012.

Lynda Lambert,MFA
My Blog:  http://www.walkingbyinnervision.blogspot.com
My Website:  http://lyndalambert.com

_______________________________________________
Writers Division web site
http://www.writers-division.net/
stylist mailing list
stylist at nfbnet.org
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/listinfo/stylist_nfbnet.org
To unsubscribe, change your list options or get your account info for 
stylist:
http://nfbnet.org/mailman/options/stylist_nfbnet.org/poetlori8%40msn.com 