The Butterfly’s Daughter (46 page)

Mariposa stood alone on the precipice and looked out across the valley of her ancestors. She had fulfilled her duty, she told them. She'd brought her daughter to the Sacred Circle. Now she sent her prayer to her mother on the wings of the butterflies.

The sun burst through the clouds and in the space of a gasp the blue sky was afire with millions of flickering flames. In that instant Mariposa felt the spark of a small flame ignite within. It glowed and sent its dazzling light flowing through her bloodstream. With astonishment, she recognized this light. She knew this feeling! It had been so long since she'd felt it, or had even looked for it. She thought she'd extinguished this flame long ago.

She closed her eyes and meditated on the light, welcoming it back into her soul. As tears flowed down her cheeks. Mariposa understood in a burst of illumination that all this time she'd been seeking the forgiveness of others, but she'd never asked forgiveness from the most important person—herself. Without achieving that, she couldn't begin to change her life. One by one she peeled back the layers of her self-loathing, naming her weaknesses, forgiving them.

She felt the power grow within her. She opened her eyes and saw the blue sky aflame with orange fluttering. She heard in the rustling wings the voice of her mother, calling her. She yearned to be with her. She leaned forward. It would be so easy. All she had to do was spread her wings and fly and at last she would find peace.

“Mami!”

A voice pierced her thoughts, calling her back. She blinked and looked down at her feet, surprised to see that she was standing with her toes at the edge of the precipice.

“Mami!”

Was that Luz? At first she was stunned, and then her heart leaped wildly for joy. It was the first time her daughter had called her
mother.

Mariposa looked out again at the butterflies dancing in the sky. Somewhere out there, she knew her mother waited for her. But beside her on the ledge, her own daughter called for her. She gave thanks to the Greater Spirit for answering her prayer.

Mariposa stepped away from the edge and walked to her daughter. She walked three feet, six feet—an immeasurable distance in light of that created between her and her daughter over so many lost years.

Continuity. Rebirth. Circle. These were the words Mariposa
would cling to. They gave her hope. Four generations of renewed promise created the marvel of the fourth-generation butterfly that, newly born, followed the call to travel thousands of miles to the Sacred Circle. Four generations from now, her great-great-granddaughter would make her journey to this same spot.

She found Luz standing absolutely still with a dozen butterflies on her arms, her head, her clothing.

“Mami, look!” Luz exclaimed, her face both beaming and amazed. “Isn't it a miracle?”

Mariposa smiled at her daughter and felt the flame inside of her flicker and glow brighter. “Yes. A miracle.”

Luz reached out for her hand and Mariposa saw the little girl whose hand she had dropped so many years before. She leaped forward to grasp it now and held it tight as the butterflies took flight.

Luz reached into her backpack and retrieved the woven satchel that contained Abuela's ashes. She held it in her hands and recalled the long journey from their bungalow in Wisconsin to this mountainside in Mexico. She didn't feel sadness; rather, she felt free of her anger and confusion. She stood in glorious elation that at last she understood her grandmother and her grand passion for life. She stood at the precipice as the sun sent another burst of monarchs cascading to the sky.

“You're home, Abuela,” she said, knowing she was heard. “Thank you!”

Luz handed her mother a handful of ashes and together they released the ashes into the air to mingle with the butterflies in their
aerial dance of joy. It was here that Abuela's spirit resided; they both felt it. Mariposa and Luz stood arm in arm, basking in the light, each knowing that she would always remember this moment when they stood together in the Sacred Circle and witnessed a miracle.

The monarchs that survived the migration south and the long winter in Mexico will face similar dangers on their migration north in the spring. They fly out of the sanctuaries in search of milkweed on which to lay the eggs of the next generation. Each butterfly carries a microcosm of all the generations of the entire population. Thus, this remarkable cycle begins anew.

L
uz sat in a window seat of the crowded plane and gazed out as she traveled north. It had been a tumultuous season of new relationships and good-byes. She'd said good-bye to Abuela. She'd met and said good-bye to her friends, her extended family in Mexico and in San Antonio. And her mother.

Luz closed her eyes and captured her last image of Mariposa. She was standing at the airport with her shoulders straight and a determined smile on her face. The roar of jet airplanes taking off and landing intermingled with the announcements on the intercom and the buzz of chatter. Conversation was nearly impossible. They were both trying to be upbeat and cheerful, but parting again, after having found each other, was difficult for them both.

On the long drive back from Angangueo to San Antonio, Luz and Mariposa had entertained the fantasy that Mariposa might come back to Milwaukee to live with Luz in the bungalow. When
they'd returned to San Antonio, however, Sam had taken Luz aside and explained to her, in his clear, firm voice, that Mariposa was still in recovery. She needed her support group in San Antonio and her routine. Luz had to be the strong one now, he told her, because Mariposa would be unable to say no to her. She had to let Mariposa stay and return home alone. What he didn't say, but what was tacitly understood, was that Sam would be by Mariposa's side looking out for her. When Luz thought again of Mariposa's emotional highs and lows on the Day of the Dead, she believed Sam was right.

Mariposa's eyes had filled with tears when the final boarding call came. For a brief moment her tight hold on her composure slipped. She stepped forward and brought her hands up to cradle Luz's face and peer into her daughter's eyes.

“This isn't good-bye,
mi hija,
” she told her. “Look for me in the spring when the days grow long and the sun warms again. I will fly north to see you. And in the fall, when the nights grow cold again and the leaves change, you will fly south to see me. We'll be like the butterflies, you and me.”

Remembering these words, Luz smiled. The sentiment had settled in her heart and comforted her. It was the same feeling of peace she'd experienced when she was a child listening to Abuela's stories at night when a storm raged. The inherent truth embedded in these words resonated with Luz, and she no longer felt sad or afraid.

Luz bent forward and pulled out Abuela's photograph album from her carry-on bag. Leaning back in her seat, she opened it and began turning the pages. She gazed at the familiar photographs of her great-grandparents, her grandparents, her uncles and aunts. There was the favorite photo of her mother carrying Luz as a baby. Luz smoothed the curling edges.

Now there were new photographs in the album. Her lips curved at seeing the family portrait taken before she'd left Angangueo. Tío Manolo, Tía Estella, Tías Rosa and Marisela, Yadira, and other family members were gathered around Mariposa and Luz, squinting in the sun with bright smiles on their faces at Abuela's gravesite. She noted the strong family resemblance in many of their features, including her own. Obvious signs of shared DNA gave her a feeling of belonging.

This next photograph was taken at Tía Maria's house in San Antonio. Her aunt was sitting in her favorite plush red chair, smiling ecstatically with Serena poised daintily in her ample lap. Luz understood loneliness too well not to let Tía Maria keep the dog she adored. And it was never her decision, anyway. It was easy to see that Serena was in dog heaven and had chosen her forever home.

Luz finally understood how Abuela felt when she looked at the photo albums and told Luz stories about the living family members as well as the dead. They were all real personalities in her heart and mind, not meaningless names attached to faces in an album. Just as families told stories about their departed loved ones on the Day of the Dead, Abuela had kept her family close by telling and retelling stories and anecdotes, interweaving them with her stories about Mariposa and Luz to create one long, continuous thread.

Abuela had been right about so many things. Even El Toro, Luz thought with a chuckle. That little car had heart and had carried them all the way to Mexico and back. Luz had left the car with Mariposa. That little VW Bug had served her well. It had been her chrysalis on this journey and now she could leave it behind and fly home.

Home.

The truth was, Luz was eager to go home and to Sully. A month ago she couldn't wait to leave what she'd thought was a stale and uneventful life, one that trapped her. But in the light of her journey she'd realized it wasn't the place that had changed, but her heart.

During some of her loneliest moments on this epic journey she'd thought of the little bungalow on Milwaukee's south side with rooms the colors of oranges and limes. In her mind it was a place of refuge. Luz could decide in the future whether to keep the house or sell it. She'd talk to Margaret and apply for scholarships and grants so she could return to school. She had plans to make. The notion of starting this next phase of her life, free from obstacles, was empowering.

Maybe not start over. Maybe just start fresh.

In the spring her mother would fly in and together they would continue Abuela's garden. They'd plant milkweed and monarch nectar flowers. She would not spray pesticides or weed killer. Like her grandmother and her mother before her, she would raise the caterpillars to chrysalis. She would share the miracle of metamorphosis with the neighborhood children. And in the fall she would help tag the butterflies as Billy had taught her to do, and hopefully those monarchs would journey across the continent to the sanctuaries in Mexico.

Her little garden would be her own sanctuary and thus a vital cog in the butterfly's cycle of migration. After all, she'd stood in the Sacred Circle and danced with the butterflies. She could do no less.

She brought to mind the story of the goddesses who sacrificed themselves to bring light to the world. And her recurring dream of the faceless, floating goddess who she'd thought was her mother.
She no longer had that dream, but Luz understood that Abuela had wanted her to believe in goddesses.

And she did. Luz smiled, thinking of the three she'd met on this journey—Ofelia, Stacie, and Margaret. She imagined Margaret chasing monarchs with Billy in the mountain sanctuaries, diligently writing notes in her observation books. Stacie hitching a star to her next destination. And Ofelia, cradling her daughter at her breast, having found her family at last. Goddesses were everywhere, if you looked for them.

Abuela had told Luz the stories she thought a young girl should hear about her mother. But Luz preferred the real-life story of Mariposa. Her mother was a stronger, fiercer heroine than any naive fairy-tale princess for having suffered, fallen, endured the harsh realities of experience, and persevered.

And now Luz was free to begin her own story. She was no longer bogged down by missing chapters in her past. She wanted to write new pages that she hoped would include Sully and her mother. And her story would begin with the word
yes
!

Luz looked out the window at the landscape far, far below. She was retracing her route across the Great Plains states where she had chased butterflies and dreams. It seemed so long ago. She was no longer the uncertain young caterpillar. She felt as though she'd passed through the darkness of her chrysalis into a new world. Her spirit had been awakened. She understood that in every life there was death and rebirth and continuity. She accepted the challenge of her own transformation.

She was the butterfly. And she was flying home.