In my annual quest to maintain a low-key holiday season, I decided last summer to book several days of sailing in the Caribbean. I envisioned a peaceful escape from the usual hustle and bustle. In many ways, I achieved that. I found moments of quiet and solitude, and I embraced a slower pace, even if only for a short while. I embraced the simplicity of mornings on the deck, the rhythm of the waves, the gentle rocking of the ship, and the absence of endless holiday errands. It was a chance to breathe deeply, to step away from the chaos, and to find moments of stillness. Plus, I didn’t need to go to a mall and figure out what to buy everyone. But as I quickly discovered, the trip was all about the holidays for the other passengers and crew. Lesson learned: a holiday cruise is still a holiday cruise, no matter how hard you try to tune it out.
Yet, the holidays weren’t the only thing catching my attention on this trip. Everywhere I turned, I noticed butterflies.
They appeared in the most unexpected places: tattoos on passengers, artwork on walls, and even fluttering by on the beach. They seemed to be everywhere, impossible to miss, as if they were trying to get my attention. What struck me wasn’t just their beauty, but the deep personal significance they hold for me.
I’ve come to associate butterflies with my sister, who passed away a little over two years ago from a rare spinal ependymoma. Butterflies, you see, are the symbol of ependymoma, representing transformation, resilience, and hope. For those who know this illness, butterflies feel like tiny messengers of hope. They remind us of the fight it takes to keep going and the rare, beautiful moments that break through the hardest times. She fought that illness with incredible strength for over a decade. Karen and I always talked about taking a Caribbean cruise together, but her health got the better of her, and we had to cancel the trip we had planned. Being on this cruise, surrounded by butterflies, felt like more than a coincidence—it felt like she was there with me.
At first, I could have dismissed the butterflies as a coincidence, a simple quirk of timing. But when they appeared every day, in every port, I started to feel like she was sending me messages. It felt as though Karen had made it on this journey with me—not the way we had planned, but in a way that still felt real. That realization gave the trip a deeper meaning. It wasn’t just a getaway anymore. It became a time to pause and remember her, to feel her presence in a way that was unexpected but comforting. It wasn’t the trip we had dreamed of, but it became something even more meaningful: a quiet tribute to her and the bond we still share. I found comfort in believing she was with me, in spirit and in heart.
I’ve always believed that our loved ones send us signs, little reminders that they’re still with us, if we’re open to noticing. For me, butterflies have become one of those signs. They bring me a sense of connection and reassurance, even in moments of deep grief. The meaning of these signs often shifts depending on what’s happening in my life, but at their core, they feel like a loving “hello, I’m still here.”
On that trip, I couldn’t help but reflect on how these signs have helped me navigate grief. Losing my sister was extremely painful, yet moments like this remind me that the bond we shared doesn’t end with loss. Signs like the butterflies bring me back to that connection, allowing me to feel her presence even when I can’t see her. They’re small and powerful reminders that love endures beyond the physical realm.
As we step into this new year, I find myself thinking less about resolutions or intentions and more about connection. The start of a year often brings pressure to focus on goals. This year, in addition to decluttering and simplifying my life, I want to also take it as an opportunity to honor the relationships that shape who I am, both with those who are here and those who have passed. This cruise, and the butterflies that joined me, reminded me of that. As I’m writing this, I see a cardinal perched on the snow-covered branch outside my window. It reminds me of my second husband. It feels like his way of saying hello, a quiet nod that he’s still watching over me, just like the butterflies reminded me of Karen. Signs like these always seem to arrive when I need them most.
I encourage you to stay open to the signs around you. Maybe they’ll come in the form of a favorite song playing unexpectedly, a scent that evokes a cherished memory, or a fleeting image like a butterfly. Whatever shape they take, allow them to bring you comfort. They are, perhaps, little whispers from those we’ve loved and lost, reminding us that while life changes, our connection remains.
And maybe, just maybe, this new year isn’t about grand plans or resolutions at all. Maybe it’s about finding moments of quiet where we can feel close to those we hold dear, even if they’re no longer here. I invite you to reflect on your own moments of connection—whether it’s a sign, a memory, or a feeling—and share them if you’d like. Love continues to touch our lives in ways both big and small.
