Butterfly Wings.

"Hey," my mother started," what does Wesley call his play silk?" She looked at me eagerly.
"Um, whatever he's imagining it is at the time," I responded.
"Well, have you heard him call it 'butterfly wings'?"
"Oh, yes," I said with a smile."
"Oh." A hint of disappointment colored her words.

My mom came to town the night before, "I have something to tell you," she said.
"OK."
"I want to apologize for what happened between me and your father and the effects the divorce had on you. Also for my relationship with Greg, I shouldn't have brought him into our lives, but I did and I'm sorry. Do you remember what it was like with Greg?"
"You mean the fighting? How could I forget?"
"Well, it's not like we fought in front of you guys."
"Not only did you fight in front of us, but you asked me to call the police, my friend's dad, and our neighbor on more than one occasion because of it. And you even brought it into our bedroom at night."
"I did?"
"Yes."
"Why would I do that?"
"For protection: you would come in, put your arms around us and beg him not to hit you in front of us."
"I don't remember. I'm sorry."
"I appreciate the apology. I thought you had blocked all of this out of your mind because you never brought it up."
"No. I tried. It was just too painful to talk about."
"I bet. It was painful for us too."
I steered the conversation in another direction. I wanted to take full advantage of this opportunity to have may say. "I'm not sure you're aware of all the effects that your decisions had on me?"
"Like?"
"Like dealing, as a 6 year old, with a 4 year old after school because no one was home. Like putting up with rude, inattentive, and inappropriate babysitters, like turning off my wants and needs for fear of overwhelming you."
"I was aware of all that."
"Really?"
"Yes. But I don't know that I could have done any better."
"I think you could have made much better choices."
"But you don't know where I was and how I was hurting."
“True, I don't."
"I still think you could have made better choices."
"How do you know?" This is when she smiled her Cheshire cat smile, sat up straight, and did her best to infect me with her opinions and feelings. “How do you know that I didn't do better (pause) than I could have? Who's to say I didn't overcome (pause) my potential?"
"That's a very limiting view. I think our potential can always expand based on how we view ourselves and the world around us, but to say we did better than we could have doesn't ..."
She cut me off and went on and on about her childhood. She finished and waited for me to agree. I didn’t. I wanted to see where she’d go next.
"Do you think I could have been a better mother?"
"Yes."
This conversation went on a bit and then took another turn. This time I talked about how the divorce had affected me. She objected.
"But I don't know how you could have ever doubted yourself, Emily, I always told you that you could be anything you wanted to be."
"There's a different in saying something and showing something, though, and you didn't model that to me."
Here, she sits up again and smiles, she takes in a big breath of air and with her proudest look says, "but I'm modeling it to you NOW, Emily. Look at me!" She went on and on about all the changes that she was making in her life.
"I see those changes and I am happy for you. But your modeling for me is over. I needed you back then, I’m talking about my childhood and the mother I had then.”
"I guess it's too late to have made a difference back then, but maybe it'll make a difference now. I'm modeling that anybody can change at any time."
Then I delved into human potential and just when I was about to get to my point ... she put her hand on mine and interrupted me. This was the second time that I was getting to a point and she stopped me.
"No." She said and took over the conversation. "I see what you are saying, but it isn't the same for everyone." Then she sat up straight and beamed as she talked. I couldn't follow her or tell what she was saying.
I felt lost and angry. And this time I decided to tell her.
"Wait a minute. Do you see what you just did?"
"What?"
"You're hand is on mine. You stopped me."
"No I didn't. I'm having a conversation with you."
"No, you took over. Your hand is still on mine to stop me."
As I looked at her hand I panicked. This was familiar. I felt like a little girl with nothing of value to say; A little girl who had just received the signal to stop and make way for mother.
"But I'm agreeing with your point of view. This is intimacy. We're connecting."
"No. We're not."
"Yes we are!" She insisted. "You said something, and I agree ... this is wonderful."
"But you don't know what I was going to say, though, or where I was going."
"Yes I do, that's why you didn't have to say anything. I knew what you were going to say so you didn’t have to say anything! This is intimacy,” she insisted.
“It’s not,” I held my ground.
“We’ll just disagree.”
"No, we won’t just disagree. I had something to say. And the thing is, you don’t know what that way. And even if you knew what I was going to say, you didn't know how I was going to say it. And that how – my how -- in itself is worth listening to."

*****

The impact of this conversation didn't dawn on me until after she had asked about the play silk the next evening.
I was lying in bed and wondering out loud to my husband, “Why not just share the beauty of how Wesley pretends that square piece of dyed silk is a set of butterfly wings? Why probe to find out if what he had said was a unique first-time occurrence? Why does everything have to be unique and special with her? Can’t she be satisfied with another joyful moment?”
“No,” my husband said. “She won’t be satisfied with anything unless it is unique and special.”
“Well she’s missing out on a lot of everyday beauty. Can you imagine growing up like that? Like everything had to be unique and special?”
“No,” Patrick said. “You amaze me. Your growth amazes me. The funny thing is that it’s you who has modeled for her.”
I laughed. “I think you’re right.”
I closed my eyes and thought about my recent growth.
I had often felt like those butterfly wings: That because I wasn’t unique I didn’t have any joy to offer those around me.
I grew up thinking that if I didn’t have anything unique to say that it wasn’t worth saying at all.
I was wrong; she was wrong. What I have to say is worth expressing--even if it's been said before.
To me, even after the 1,000th time, the words, “See my butterfly wings, Mommy?” will never lose their joy.
Like butterflies, I will spread my wings -- even if they’ve been seen before.
I may be the 1,000 Monarch butterfly you've seen, but I’m the only one dancing in this moment before you.