Tuesday morning as I entered the yoga studio at 8:30am, preparing for my morning class, I saw a huge green moth, wings spread wide, sitting at the top of the doorframe. Motionless, but so lovely and unique. I took a photo. I stopped and stared. When I showed my co-worker the picture she said, “Those are nocturnal. So, while they are not rare, most people never see one. They don’t live very long.”
The next evening- walking into the yoga studio to settle in before teaching my 6pm class- I saw the luna moth. Dead in the grass. On it’s back, wings spread wide. I picked it up. It twitched a bit with the last pulses of life it had left. I put it in my car to take home to my seven- year old who has, within the past several months, decided to start a bug collection and has created two shadow boxes with dead butterflies.
“They don’t live long.” I looked it up. 7-10 days. In the adult stage of it’s life the luna moth doesn’t eat at all, but uses all the stored energies taken in as a caterpillar.
A short-lived beautiful life. Could it live longer if it would just adapt? Take in fuel? Is that even possible? Why did God make it this way?
I’ve been doing some deep diving lately into tough feelings. Emotions I don’t really want to sit with. It’s easier to say “I’m frustrated” than to say, “I was treated unfairly and not cherished and I’m really freaking angry.” It’s easier for me to say “I’m just sad” than to put my finger on the actual emotion of powerless and vulnerable.
My dad is really sick. And I’ve always seen him as strong, a protector, larger than life and able to do anything. As a young woman, before I was ever married I told my mom, “I don’t think they make guys like dad anymore.”
My dad built the home I grew up in (that my parents still live in 40 years later) by himself and with a few friends. He repaired our cars. Built fences. We never had a repairman in our home. As an adult I realize now some of that was because he had the knowledge/ skill. Some was out of necessity.
I’m familiar with death. We are well acquainted. I held my daughter as she took her lasts breaths and it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
And while we say, we know all living things WILL die, we are never ready to let go. To feel that final flutter of life. The last twitch of nerves and breath. “Life is short” Yes, I know. Three hours. Ten days. Sixty-six years. It all passes in the blink of an eye.
My dad taught me how to ride my orange bike when I was five years old. He held me in his lap as a teenager who broke up with her boyfriend. He drove all the way to Lewisville (two hours from his home) to tow my car that was overheating. He stood up for me to my ex-husband when my life was in shambles and my marriage falling apart. And he’s always been a listening ear and often, who I seek advice from as I’ve grown into an adult. Car buying, house buying, septic repair, investments.
While I didn’t aways take his advice or agree, I feel my relationship with my father has strengthened as I’ve aged. Because he was gone a lot of my childhood, working away from home as a project manager for electrical contracting company.
The reality of death is heavy. It’s a tightness in my throat and a pain down my neck. After a stage four lymphoma diagnosis and six rounds of chemo, my dad was cancer free for not even a year. He is sick. And I don’t want to lose hope, but I don’t want to leave anything unsaid.
I love you Dad.
Beautiful ❤️