I've been thinking about a different sort of bug today. It's one that is nearly universally liked, and rarely actually thought of as a "bug." My mother sent me pictures of a pretty butterfly my stepfather found near their front porch, and it was quite lovely. It had a neat water color sort of look to it. I've had good intentions of planting milkweed in the Park, since I learned that the monarch butterflies desperately need it around to keep their numbers up. I never learned where to buy it. So many places where butterflies lived for endless generations before have been lost to development and herbicides. I'm always surprised any time I see a butterfly at all anymore, and that makes me so upset. I've tried planting flowers that are supposed to attract them, like buddlea, but I never seem to have a green thumb where they're concerned. I have yet to grow one more than about half a season. In New Mexico, it was too hot and dry where I planted them. Here, it seems far too swampy for everything I put in. Someday I'll find my ideal baby bear sort of climate. And I'll cover it in buddlea and milkweed for the butterflies, vitex for the bees, and maybe something to attract hummingbirds, once I learn what interests them. (Red flowers, maybe someone said?)
I saw, as I scrolled through my Facebook, that today would have been the birthday of one of my mother's cousins. His mom was the one of my grandmother's siblings I knew best, but I struggled to remember him clearly now. I think he fluttered through my life when I was so young and self-absorbed, sheltered from any drama that didn't affect me personally, that I failed to have lasting adult memories of him. From what I can piece together, he was a gentle soul, but so unhappy with the circumstances of his life. While he inspired unconditional love from his friends and his family, he ultimately was unable to cope with the forces that shaped his world, from the loss of a father too soon, to depression that proved too much for him to handle. He took his own life at a friend's house one night when I was in high school. My great-aunt tried to get him help, but it must not have come in time. I hope she didn't beat herself up too much over wondering whether she could have done things differently, but knowing human nature, I'm afraid she did. His life and tragic end are part of the reason that my family takes depression seriously. There is no shame in asking for help, and you absolutely must embrace the things that bring you peace, whatever they are. I believe that wholeheartedly.
I remember the night he died very clearly, even though my memories of him as a living man have faded in the last few decades. There is a very dangerous intersection in my home town, a four (or is it five?) way stop, with train tracks running through it, where a stoplight should have been in place since the 1950s, but probably never will be installed. The locals call it "Crazy Corner." I was in my car there as a train rolled past. It must have been a warm night, as the windows were rolled down. The train whistle blew, and I had a horrible chill run down my spine, partly because of the heinously loud noise right next to my ear. I said to my girlfriend who was with me, "Someone just died." I don't know why I was so sure, but I was absolutely certain. I guess it was the next morning that my mother broke the news to me about her cousin's suicide. I was not pleased to have my odd feeling come true.
One thing that he did very well, our cousin with a hippie soul, was create art with butterflies. He made little dioramas in bell jars, with natural elements and the most beautiful butterfly specimens around. I have two of them, blue butterflies of different varieties, but nearly the same color. I think my daughter has one as well, from when my great aunt passed away, and we helped clean out her room at the assisted living facility. Hers might be a large green one, if I remember correctly. I don't remember anymore whether he sold the butterflies as art, or whether he just made them because they were his passion. I've tried so much to protect the ones I have, through my many moves. They are such precious family heirlooms.
If you are suffering with depression, and have not yet sought help, please do so. To any of my friends who need an extra ear to bend, even if you already have a counselor and a medication boost, I am always here for you. Write me. Call me. Stop in. I can make time.
No comments:
Post a Comment