While walking in my neighborhood, I saw this large monarch sitting on the ground, barely moving. I crouched down expecting it to fly away, but she stayed very still. I gently placed my finger under her legs and she stayed there on my hand. I marveled at this moment while also worrying about why she was so lethargic. Had she just landed after a long trip from the north? Was she hungry?
I lifted her tired body to a nearby rose bush. I left her there with a blessing.
I often turn to the life cycles of nature to gather a spiritual understanding of change and transformation. Change is hard. I’ve watched my mother change from a vibrant, active woman to an inactive, confused invalid. I know there are parts of her still there, but they are harder and harder to see as she transforms. I question the cruelty of it all, but perhaps it’s only cruel in my limited vision, but not so cruel to her. How can I know?
When a caterpillar begins its pupa stage, there is a struggle. It wiggles and writhes, dropping its head and consuming its body sometimes right before our eyes.
Then it’s the waiting time, absorbing its old self and becoming something new and magical.
I wish I could stop time. I wish I could sit with my mother again and talk about everything. Change and transformation include this in between time, the time of waiting, the time to be present and grateful for what was and will be again.
Reflections on the Teche 
Your words are so heartfelt. I’m sorry that it’s been so tough. I love how I think of you every time I see a butterfly because of the ways that you draw lessons from them. I now follow fleur de lis speaks on your rec. The wisdom is now a daily ‘glitter’ for me.
Oh Margaret, I see so much similarity in our journeys. And this waiting time… I wonder if it’s Grace preparing us —all of us.
Of course, you rescued the monarch and left her there with a blessing. I ache for this waiting time you’re in and the challenge of missing your mother while she’s still here, in this in-between time. Hugs and prayers, Margaret.
Margaret, the aging time is heartbreaking especially when you witness the transformation stages. Your care of the monarch reminds me of your ability to care for your Mother. Your gentle touch, your turning to the life cycles of nature to gather a spiritual understanding of change and transformation, and your deligent caring attitude are a model of perseverance and faith as you watch your parent decline. Now, I often turn to the memory of the loving side my Mom showed the family as opposed to the many events that left us speechless while watching the inevitable decline. I leave a prayer of fortitude at your doorstep.
Margaret, change is difficult. At times we have a harder time accepting the changes we see happening to our loved ones than they have because they aren’t always aware of it. I don’t think there is any one of us who would not stop time if we could.
Margaret, this is such a poignant post. Change is difficult especially with our love ones. Having lost my mom to COPD over twenty years ago, (and also my father, just 20 years ago), I missed seeing them decline. And I too wish I could stop time.
Blessings to you during this time.
Margaret, your beautiful, tired monarch is such a moving reminder to do what we can where we can. Sometimes it feels like very little in a situation we cannot change. The “in-between” time seems so long. I watched my grandmother decline with dementia her last years…all we can do, ultimately, is to be there, loving blessing the life of the beloved while we can, as you did with the monarch. Courage, my friend. You really do “shine bright anyway” by blessing us all with your words. You remind us, even in your pain, that God holds us in his own heart.
Margaret, your beautiful, tired monarch is a poignant reminder to do what we can where we can, even in a situation we cannot change. That “in-between” time is so long…I watched my grandmother decline with dementia in her last years. Ultimately all we can do is be there, loving and blessing the life of the beloved as you did with the butterfly. Courage, my friend. You really do “shine bright anyway” as you bless us all with your words. It is a true gift of grace.