There are so many things we can't take with us when we die; things we'll never get to bring along for the longest of our travels. But we take so much when we go... Every loss feels like it takes more and more; especially when those losses are profound.
If you had asked me back in November if I believed in Heaven and Hell or merely an afterlife, I'd have said "no". Even with my ex-boyfriend gone, I would hope there was a powerful, forgiving God who would "reunite us one day", but I still wouldn't let myself believe. I swear, I tried though.
And then on Monday, February 20th, 2023, I woke up and I knew within an hour of seeing her that I was going to lose my tiny furry soulmate, my Cookie Monster, in the next 24 hours. By 3:00AM on the 21st, I knew it was time. This was the hardest day of my life (which is saying something when I know my aunt's suicide is what caused my CPTSD and my ex's suicide left me shattered and questioning everything in my existence-- his death was triggering to so many of my mental illnesses). How on Earth could I look at my sweet girl and say, "Okay, let's [kill] her now." (I obviously didn't say this, but it felt that way.) The grief I felt in the minutes and hours (and days) following hit like tidal wave after tidal wave-- tsunamis of tears and heartbreak over and over.
That Tuesday was rough... Cleaning up after her, packing away items, trying to remember she wasn't in the room anymore... Trying to accept the loss. Two months shy of her 11th birthday, my baby girl was no longer with me. I was desperate to have her back or to at least know she was okay; I asked for a sign-- A moment of sunshine despite the rain. Maybe a moth. My husband asked for roses. Within 10 minutes there was a brief period of sunshine, and on Wednesday, we woke up to sunshine. We had things to try to get done and knew we had to practice leaving the house and coming home to darkness and silence so we went to grab breakfast (our first meal since Sunday evening) and to mail some letters/bills. Our first choice was closed, so we drove over to the Quick Check. As soon as we entered we could see inside the flower bucket... all roses. One bouquet had a single pink rose-- I knew I had to buy them. While we sat there trying to feel normal, my husband and I both caught the same lyrics at the same time and looked at each other repeating them, "Wherever I am, I'll be with you..." The song was followed by Katy Perry... "Just because it's over doesn't mean it's really over." We took this as our sign that we would be okay.
Every day since I've received something that felt like my little sweetheart reaching out and saying, "Mommy, I know you're sad, but I'm okay and I'm still here." But nothing felt more poignant than last night. On the 27th, my husband had overtime and it would be my first day/night home alone. I came in from work and stayed in my room with the exception of bathroom trips and to make a cup of tea. As I laid in bed that night I thought I saw a moth flitter across the TV screen, but shrugged it off and tried to sleep. The next morning I searched all over to try to find this moth-- this could be the last thing I asked for. I couldn't find it. I admit, I was bummed. And then it happened...
Just before 6PM I was emptying the garbages throughout the house and a moth began to hover around the kitchen doorway, I thought maybe it wanted into the kitchen where the light was on so I stepped aside, instead it brushed against my leg and then fluttered in front of my face. As I shrugged and walked down the hallway to the bathroom, it flew down towards me again, and then into the office ahead of me. I called my husband so he could see what I was seeing. Moments later it was flying in slow, low circles over Cookie's memorial in our living room. It wouldn't land; just kept hovering. Momentarily it flew closely past my husband's and my face and then flew past the TV and back to the memorial. This had to be Cookie. So, I spoke to it. I thanked it. I told it the memorial was for it and I hoped it was pretty enough. I told it that it could land and rest. And at some point I lost sight of it.
Eventually, I went into the bedroom for the night. I told my husband I felt I should say goodnight to the "Cookie moth" wherever it was, and then I saw it fly past my bedside lamp and begin to hover just above my pillow. It brought a smile to my face as I curled up under the blankets.
I didn't see it this morning when I woke up or when I was leaving for work, but... Thinking about it, yesterday was 1 week to the day that I lost her and I'm almost certain that this was her way of showing me she is still with me-- she will go everywhere I go and she is okay. This is her way of saying, "I miss you too, mommy." And maybe this was it and there will be no more signs and I will have to find a way to become content with this. Or maybe this is just the beginning... I don't know.
But I do know this much is true:
If you ask me if I believe... Now I do.