Ladybug, I will fly away…

We have all heard the saying; “You will be late to your own funeral”. It’s a funny saying meant to evoke pause and possible shame, I suppose, in a person whom is habitually late. In my family we had our own saying concerning punctuality, it was a funny quote, we called it “Hall Time” instead of “Wall time” in reference to our surname. It was hilarious to us because collectively we seemed to be challenged as a family at getting places in a timely manner. Looking back now, this was just one of many things about my childhood that I would later realize didn’t quite “fit” what most people consider society normalcies. My Dad, in particular it seemed, always had so many people and responsibilities that as hard as he tried it more often than not wasn’t in the cards for him to get to his destination on time. I remember even on the most important day of my life, my wedding day, there we all stood waiting for the procession to begin because he and half dozen other of my wedding party members had not shown. Total family chaos on the most wonderful day so far, and not one of them to blame.

That is not to make it seem that my family was one of an unlikable nature, quite the opposite in fact. We were a large family; my dad seemed to sit at the head of it. The older generation often talked about growing up in the mountains and of being poor, but you couldn’t see that from the lifestyle we all lead now. We were very fortunate and spent a lot of time together. My dad loved to take everyone out to dinner at nice restaurants where we could all sit and talk without the hassle of cooking or cleaning up. I was acutely aware of how loud it was at these gatherings, but not even the staff ever seemed to mind. I am certain it was only because we were all such funny and lighthearted people. None ever acted as if they had a care in the world or took anything too seriously. Just making jokes of whatever came their way and it was always such fun.

My dad specifically was one of those people who just affected others, touched them in a way that left a lasting memory. I have always believed in a person’s aura, the light that comes from within you. People who believe this say that there are seven colors and my dad could reflect all. If you have ever had a portrait made and watched as the photographer clicks the small black box beside your face, it is to measure the reflective light coming from his subject, you. I personally believe that is a scientific measurement of inner light. I believe that is why some people just seem to glide through life so effortlessly; they seem to be magnetic as if they attract others in the same way as bright colors or beautiful lights. We decorate our homes with light, candles, signs; we even put lights on trees to celebrate the joy of Christmas. That is personal artistic explanation for why some people are able to make you feel like you are the most special person in the world, like everything else is background. That was who my dad was, not only to me, he was just so special to any and every one he met. So, when he was late, it was easy to let it slide.

We always loved the fall, my dad and I. It drove my mom half mad. All she could see was everything around her dying and it becoming cold and dark early, but there is something so alive about the fall to me; the beautiful colors, it’s more like life with the brisk winds that blow through you and chill you to the bone. My Dad loved football season, it brought out the best in him. Every Sunday would find us surrounded by friends and family watching the football game and having Sunday dinner.

He came from absolutely nothing but raised himself out of poverty to become a very successful entrepreneur who was admired and respected by all that knew him. He believed in giving people chances when others had turned their backs on them. He honestly was the strongest person that I ever knew. I never thought of seeing him die, especially not when he was barely over fifty years old. But cancer has no respect for the admirable, the strong, or most beloved.

The illness is not something I like to focus on, his life was so much more than the six agonizing months we spent watching him melt away to nothing. What I remember most is that even after hearing of his diagnosis and even after watching a stout muscular nearly six-foot tall man wither down to almost eighty pounds in mere months, in my mind there was no way he would ever actually die. Somehow, he would come up with a plan as he always had and he would free himself from this horrific disease that had infiltrated and taken hold of him somehow. Sadly though, just as I had begun to watch the new life growing inside me, I would helplessly sit by and watch his life slip away.

So, it is ironic to me, there I stood on one of the most beautiful fall days in October a person could imagine. Amazing football weather, high up in the mountains, waiting for the hearse that carried my father to bring him to his final resting place. He’d chosen to be buried in the family cemetery, another choice not understandable to me as a young woman. I glanced down at the large mound growing on my abdomen, not only will my son never know his namesake, but any ideology of days when I could bring him to lay flowers at his headstone and tell him of what a great man he was named for were certainly not in our plans, not with a winding mountain drive three hours from our home. The breeze was warm on my face, an unusually warm day by mountain standards for certain.

There appeared to be a spot on the pink cashmere sweater my mother purchased for me to wear. “Is that blood?”, I thought as I very gingerly tried to wipe it away so not to smudge it just in case. Just as I did, it disappeared. It was a red ladybug. How beautiful it was. As I looked around, I realized there were several more on the family chairs, the rocks, and statues standing nearby. More people had gathered at the base of the mountain now than most church services. Only close family was invited to come to the graveside but there were so many there. It was truly a testament to him and how he lived his life and what he gave to others. I wonder if he ever truly realized just how much he was loved?

The day seemed to be getting hotter as the sun began to crest over the top of the mountain and fall on the base below. The hearse had not arrived with my father yet. Was it just me or had it seemed like a tortuous amount of time sitting there waiting for the casket carrying his body so we could finally say goodbye to him forever? By now I had noticed that there were an exorbitant number of ladybugs. I have never seen this many in one place in my life. The tent we sat under was covered with them, as was the house on the corner we had to pass to go up the mountain. The normal light blue color of the house could not be seen for the millions of ladybugs that had turned it red. I waved my hand on it as I passed by like a windshield wiper and watched in amazement as they fell off by the thousands.

The last walk with my father was a long one through winding pathways of stepping-stones and areas not fully cleared on a steep side of his chosen mountain. His father and grandfather await him atop of the hill and there couldn’t be a lovelier place to be. Someday maybe I will choose this path as well, I thought, and the person inside my abdomen must have agreed as he began to move vigorously. There were so many ladybugs on my father’s casket by then that you could not see that it was a shiny golden metallic color but looked as if it were solid red. This was a miracle by anyone’s definition of the word! I couldn’t help but recall a conversation previously had between my father and me about miracles, about death, and about how if we were able to send a sign of comfort after this life...I looked at my watch just as they began to lower the casket onto its final resting spot. An hour and a half late to your own funeral! It was then that the biggest smile came over my face. Just as I raised my eyes back up it looked as if a red cloud had risen over us as every ladybug dispersed from the casket and ascended into the sky flying away higher and higher until they could no longer be seen, as if they had flown straight into heaven…