That is a beautiful park that is hidden away, next to and behind a volunteer firefighter station, and it's filled with butterflies of all different kinds and meadows and a pretty little stream.
And we haven't gone there since that day, because it reminded us too much of celebrating the hope and happiness that came to such a crashing halt; it reminded us that we never, ever felt quite that same way again.
Until this past weekend. We went yesterday for the first time in FIVE YEARS and made an agreement that once we left the car we wouldn't talk about adoption or our family building disaster AT ALL.
And, amazingly, we didn't.
We talked about our trip to California that is nearly upon us, we talked about the peace and quiet of the place, we pointed out tiny peepers and little snake friends and all kinds of monarchs and swallowtails and frittilaries and other as-of-yet-unidentified-by-me butterflies. I've seen so many monarchs this summer, many more than last year, and it gives me hope as I have come to identify with those beautiful fluttering transformative insects.
We took a picture, not quite in the same spot, but I think we look pretty happy and at peace.
It feels good to reclaim this space for us, to start eliminating (or at least alleviating) the dark spots of trauma and memory and replace them with new happy experiences in our new reality.
|Be like a butterfly. Emerge from the goo a beautiful, soaring, fluttery thing.|
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