Personal Messenger

In 1988, I was in graduate school in Madison, Wisconsin, taking a week long series of written comprehensive exams. Early in that week, I learned my grandmother was dying in a nursing home near my hometown in Massachusetts.

I decided to focus on completing my exams and take-home test as quickly as I could. An Aunt said she assured my grandmother that we all love her and had let her go. In that instant I knew I hadn’t let her go. You see, my grandmother was the one person who demonstrated unconditional love. She was someone who saw me and loved me for exactly who and how I was. I wasn’t ready to let that go, but knew I had to, for her sake.

I went to my favorite tree on the edge of Lake Mendota and sat in the limbs thinking and journaling about what she meant to me, how she lived her life with its ups and downs and shared that unconditional love with our family. I felt a deep gratitude for this love.

Then a ladybug alighted on my journal, slowly walked across the top of the page, got to the end, opened its wings then flew off. As it flew, I started crying, finally letting her go. She passed hours later. Little did I know the ladybug would become my personal messenger.

When I found out she passed and each subsequent time I grieved her passing, my grief disappeared, replaced with a deep and powerful peace I could not describe.

After her funeral, I went on a solo hiking and camping journey to the Colorado mountains - a gift to myself for completing the exams. Again, each time I thought of her, I cried and each time the grief was replaced with that immense peace.

One notable exception was my trip to the Maroon Bells wilderness area outside Aspen. When Arrived in the campground, the clouds opened up with torrents of rain as I attempted and spectacularly failed to set up my tent. I packed up and headed down the steep and winding mountain roads, angry and crying, barely able to see the road. When I reached the town of Basalt, the rain stopped as did my crying. After a lovely dinner, I slept well. In retrospect, it was a miracle I survived that rain-soaked winding road trip and I know I needed that release.

Five months later, the day after my birthday, I knew she was “leaving” me - final goodbye to this 3D life. This tearful realization felt like the ultimate letting go as I realized she would no longer be there for me. I also knew and that I’d be OK, that I could handle what life sent my way. She was moving on to other things too. I experienced the finality of her transition, her death which allowed me to experience the natural course of grief.

Since then, the ladybug has been a messenger of the unconditional love my grandmother taught me, the love that surrounds me, even when I can’t see it. Over the decades, my remembrance of my grandmother gradually shifted from tearful sadness, to sweet memories and gratitude for her presence in my life and her endless gifts of love. Today, I call upon her memory and her spirit to help me navigate the challenges of dementia affecting my Mom, her daughter. Each time, I feel like it will all be ok, even if I don’t understand why my Mom is experiencing this.

I see these messengers throughout the warmer months, often in the garden and in surprising places like this: On a recent work trip to Irvine, CA, I checked into my hotel room and found three painted plastic ladybugs on the dresser. It’s a great reminder to remain open to the messengers that speak to and open my heart.