Lightning Bug

When I was a kid, one of my favorite parts of summer was how my mom would let us stay outside til it got dark and sometimes even longer. On super humid nights, she'd give the four of us old pickle jars and we'd run all over the grassy hills of our neighborhood catching fireflies. We called them lightning bugs. We'd capture enough of them in our jars to light up our whole room and we'd stay awake as long as we could watching them blink and glow.  Finally, we'd drift off to sleep, our room still illuminated with their soft light.  They'd be gone in the morning,  either freed or dumped out by mom who probably had more than her fair share of animal/insect disposal, raising four country kids. Then we'd go out the next night and do it all again, blink and glow, slipping off into sleep, beautiful light. The circle of life.

I have never seen a lightning bug here in Austin. I know they probably exist, but the air just isn't quite as hospitable for them here, I guess. In almost 20 years, I've never seen one.  Last night, as I'm sitting on my back porch, sipping some wine and thinking about my mom, this one single firefly comes up and buzzes my head. I swatted it away at first, as you do when a bug comes right up to your face and then I swore, "holy shit."

 You know, I'm not sure what I believe happens to people and their souls when they die. I know they don't stay here. I know our bodies are just shells and the essence of what truly makes us who we are leaves and goes somewhere else. I like to believe it's a better place. I like to believe that our souls find peace and that suffering only exists for those of us who are left behind because we miss them and our heart aches because it's stretching itself to find a new way to love someone you cannot physically touch anymore.

Someone said something to me about how losing your mom is losing your closest connection to life itself. It's true. Your mom literally made you.  She was the first to feel your heartbeat. The person who served as your portal into this world. You knew each other before anyone else.  It doesn't feel right that  life should be still going on without her. I feel cheated that I didn't get to say goodbye to her. I have no idea what I would have said if I had the chance, but I know I would have liked to  tell her that she meant the world to me and that I was so very grateful for everything and that I loved her, really really loved her.

So I whispered it to a stupid lightning bug who lost its way and found me crying by myself on my back porch. "I love you, Mom" I said. blink and glow, beautiful light. And it flew away.