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My Metamorphosis


After Tom died suddenly, I remember saying quite frequently, "I just want my life back!" Of course, that was not to be. As I turned an important corner in my healing, I wrote the piece below. I am sharing it in hopes that it will help other widow/ers to become their own best butterfly.



Painted by Stephen Singer and used with permission


The caterpillar was so happy with the life she had. She had everything she ever wanted and everything she needed. Her friends and family were there for her, she had plenty of leaves to eat and a nice home in the forest. Content and happy were the words that best described her. She built a little cocoon and inexplicably and suddenly, this carefree world she had built, the life she loved, the life she’d felt safe in, came to an end. Her universe literally and figuratively turned black. The end, the terrifying end.


And yet, she didn’t know exactly how it happened, but the cocoon of darkness that had encased her began to crack open. Was it something she was doing that began to bring in some light? Was it her prayers, her hoping, her friends and family? She wasn’t sure, but day after day she noticed light and maybe even some warmth coming back to her. Hope began to stir again-could she possibly be the happy and content Caterpillar again? Was that world still waiting for her?

And then the truth came to her hurting her like a ton of bricks-she would never again have her safe and comfortable caterpillar life back. The darkness had changed her forever and no amount of prayer, hope or love from others could change that. The many legs that had propelled her before were missing. The furry body was gone. How could she live in this strange and foreign world? She was now so different.


Yet she found instead of crawling along she could fly. It let her see the world in a different way. She still longed for the world she had once had as it was the greatest life one could imagine. But it was clear to all that she was not, nor would ever again be, a caterpillar. No amount of imagination and longing could make that happen. So she decided, if she must be a butterfly, she may as well be the best butterfly she could be - this was her life now. She simply could not go back.

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