One of my study participants, Deb, spoke to me about her excitement when she sees black and blue-colored butterflies. Their sight represents a message from her son Josh who passed away over 16 years ago. After my interview with Deb, I reflected on the imagery that my mind conjured up when I heard the words black and blue butterfly. Black and blue makes me think of a bruise on the skin that is very tender and in the process of healing but not quite there yet. The mere sight of a black and blue mark would indicate to an outsider that some injury has occurred.
The word butterfly is synonymous with transformation. I recall my science class in elementary school in which we had a mesh container that held a caterpillar’s cocoon. We were told not to touch this delicate creature because it will soon emerge and become something much different from its original state, which was a caterpillar. We excitedly ran to view the cocoon when we entered the room each day, eager to see the new creature. It was, however, disappointing when we had to look at that cocoon for what seemed like an eternity but in actuality was only a few weeks. We were not impressed with looking at what appeared to just be a blob hanging from the top of the container. Our impatience led some classmates to ask the teacher if we could help expedite the process by prying, albeit gently, open the cocoon. She explained that it does take a lot of work for the butterfly to get out of the cocoon and it may seem like the humane thing to do by helping it, but we most definitely cannot interfere as it is something that it must do on its own time. She told us that if we intervened, we would stunt its growth, resulting in malformed wings that would render it unable to fly. So, we learned that this beautiful delicate looking creature possessed a strength that we could not fathom. Although it was explained to us, it was still very perplexing. After all, how could something so small and seemingly fragile possess such strength to endure the struggle to get out of that tightly wrapped cocoon?
Mothers who have lost children to suicide are metaphorical black and blue butterflies. We have been injured and have had to go through the struggle, each in our own time, to arriving at this place where we could emerge from our cocoons to discuss our losses and unpack our learning experiences. While we instinctively formed our cocoons immediately after our losses, it may have appeared to the outside world that we were stuck in time. We were told we should be ready to join the human race again and take part in social functions just as we had in the past. But we were no longer caterpillars able to move as we did in the past. In fact, we could not move at all as we were immobilized in our protective cocoons.
There were some well-meaning individuals who wanted to pry us out of our cocoons, believing they were doing what was ultimately best for us. Just as my science teacher instructed her class of impatient students, the butterfly will emerge when it is ready not when we want it to appear. At times it was very necessary for us to be alone in our cocoons. There is much we need to sort out and this is a task that no one else can do for us. This is not to say we do not need help to stay alive while in this transitional state. During this time, it is imperative that those around us assist by ensuring our environment is climate-controlled as to be conducive to us eventually emerging in our new form. After all, the struggle and effort we must put forth to transition is never fully seen by others, much like the hidden work that occurs in the butterfly’s cocoon. I believe this exertion is also analogous to labor pains. The labor pains of losing a child, however, is much worse than the labor pains of birthing a child. When a loveable cuddly baby emerges the birthing labor pains are over, but the bereavement labor pains are never ending and result in a cold tombstone or urn.
This site is dedicated to these beautiful black and blue butterflies. We are a rare breed of beings who are full of contradictions. We are simultaneously delicate and strong, both fearful and brave, and concurrently wounded and healed. The emergence from our cocoons is nothing short of miraculous, but adjusting to life as a new creature has many complications. Much of the world still expects us to move on the same spatial plane we did when we were caterpillars. But we cannot touch the ground anymore as that has been pulled from underneath us. We must now fly to survive. Admittedly, this affords us a better vantage point of our surroundings, but it is nonetheless unsettling for those with a fear of heights.