The Butterfly in my Soul !!

The Metamorphosis, the complex yet the most beautiful transformation from time unknown is not just fr the Beautiful Butterflies. 

No matter how ugly, no matter the storm, by the end of it all the caterpillar sheds every negativity and transforms into one of Gods biggest miracle, the Butterly. 

And that Butterfly in my soul, is my littlest guy in my world, my Ved. 

He just outsmarted me. In my struggle, in my nights, in my loss, he outsmarted me every second of my life. 

The days I thought it was all over, 

The 1st night I struggled to slept without a Father, 

The minutes I cried like a 5yr girl searching for his shoulder, 

I never knew there was a Butterfly brewing inside of me. 

Just when I the Caterprillar was about to give  up; I gave birth to a Butterfly. 

As I sat at my fathers coffin, as I was about to fail, a Butterful inside me was preparing to fly.

It was his Heartbeat. The first ever ‘Soul Stirring Musical’ I have heard. A reminder of a beautiful transformation I am about to witness. 

When words failed me, when the world failed around me, music gently whispered. His heartbeat whispered hope for a future full of laughter. 

Each night I would replay that Musical, and I loved to add a face to it. 

A face I imagined, made of a thousand Lillies, with the eyes of my Father. 

Sprinkled with his grace and dipped in his mercy, I visioned his baby face.

The face I would like to be the final memory of my life, the face I want to see and keep seeing until I call it quits. 

Today, after all those 9 months of lessons and trials and transformations, here lies the most Beautiful Butterfly in my lap, with every second reminding me, if not for the pain, there would never be a miracle. 

His eyes, a reminder of all the dreams of our future together. 

His wings of joy, are the confidence for me to fly high. 

His colors of beauty, paints my world so bright. 

His smile that helped me heal inside out. 

And I believe for each of us there is a transformation waiting. For some it happens at a funeral service, for others in the labor room, for few on the graduation day and others at the altar. 

Quiet a few amoung us are like the Butterfly literally, they can’t see their own beauty and grace while everyone else is in awe of their beauty. 

Just Like the butterflies, we don’t count months, we treasure only moments, every moment is a memory. Precious unperishable memory. 

Has anyone in History ever witnessed a Butterfly crawling back to his cocoon?

Neither did we and never will we. 

The journey just got a bit more brighter, prettier, colorful and wonderful just like the little baby Butterfly in my soul. 

Pris, 

a little boy’s amma. 

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