Just Like A Crow Chasing The Butterfly

It's a cold and rainy morning. One I typically would love. I love fall; feeling the first cool days after summer wears itself out. My mom and I both loved cooler weather, even though we both grew up in California. It seems kind of silly, you would think we would be conditioned for hot weather, and sitting next to the ocean. But hot and sweaty just wasn't our thing. I daresay it was one of the things my mom enjoyed most about Nebraska- the changing of the seasons. Fall is nice here, we actually get the changing of the leaves as the temperature drops.
It's cold and rainy now, and because of that I feel like she's around.
So many people have said "She'll never leave."
"She's always watching out for you."
"You are never alone."
Token things you said to someone who is grieving. I don't mean that with disrespect. I, too, have said similar things to friends or family that has lost someone dear to them. It's supposed to be comforting, knowing that your loved one is still close, even if their physical body is no longer here.
I wanted to reject these comments. It made me bitter.
No, see- She DID leave. She's not here. I AM alone. I can't see her, or touch her, or hear her, or smell her any more. She's. Not. Here.
That's angry Jessica. On top of the immense sadness I feel, there is so much anger that I don't know what to do with. Oh, I'm angry at everyone. It's not fair, and it doesn't make sense. But, I'm angry at everyone.
The first few days after my mom passed, I would be at a stoplight, staring off into space. I would notice cars turning or passing by, some being driven by elderly individuals. I would feel the anger rise in my throat like bile. "Why not YOU? You are well passed my mom's age. You lived your life. WHY. NOT. YOU." Thinking terrible things. Shouting, screaming in my head. "Why take my mom? She had so much left to do. So many plans. She was so. fucking. young."
That's not fair, though. I can't be mad at a little old man driving his car. I can't wish for the sacrifice of someone else, to bring my mom back. That's morbid, and wrong. I know this, in the part of my brain that's still rational. That part, though, seems much smaller and far away than the rest of my brain that is still in shock. The rational part takes a back seat to all the other things I've been thinking and feeling.
I'm angry at everyone on social media. It's almost laughable. (In fact the one that would laugh the most about it is my mom)
I'll be scrolling through my Facebook news feed. People just posting about their daily lives, you know, using Facebook the way it's intended....and I hate them. Oh, good, I'm glad you're having an AWESOME time in Mexico. Oh wow, look at what you made for dinner. Gosh, so riveting. So many memes. So many happy freaking people. Or even worse, people that aren't happy, that are complaining about stupid, meaningless things...(which I am also, totally guilty of). I hate them all. I find myself scrolling faster and faster until the words are blurred, and really now it's just something to do with my hands. My mind isn't tracking. I don't really care. I'm just angry.
I know that will get better with time. But the anger scares me a bit. I don't like not feeling in control of my own emotions.
So angry Jessica is still around, hearing those comments about how "She'll never leave" me, even though she did.
But, I wanted to talk about some of the things that have happened since my mom's death, that make me believe that maybe there's something to that whole "She's always with you" line.
My mom died on a Tuesday morning (tomorrow will be exactly two weeks). That day was a blur. I don't want to go into what I felt when I found out. It's not pretty. It hurts. But that is the day that some thing started. Actually, Monday evening I had my best friend over and we were playing outside with the kids. Butterflies were EVERYWHERE. They were all over town, not just at my house, but regardless, my street was just covered with butterflies floating in the wind. It was crazy, and fun.
Tuesday happened. And one thing that stands out were those butterflies. Oh, there were everywhere. I have a small patch of Lavender in a planter by my front door. Every time I would walk out of the house, dozens of butterflies would flutter around me. I admit I didn't think too much of it, until I got to my parent's house and I was talking to my aunts. Those butterflies meant something. Talking about it made me sure, that they were meant for me. The butterfly thing will come full circle, but let's move on to Wednesday.
Wednesday my dad and I had to go to the funeral home. As you can imagine, it was a very hard day. My dad and I sat opposite each other with the funeral director at the head of the table. Early on in our appointment the director mentioned to us that he was the only one in the building, and that if the phone rang or someone came in, he would have to quickly take care of it and then he would be back with us. Totally fine. Our appointment went along, talking about terribly hard things, making terribly hard decisions. We had just gotten on to the topic of having a rabbi perform the service, something my dad and I were still undecided about. My mom was Jewish, and though she wasn't orthodox and she didn't attend Temple, we still wanted to honor her in the best way possible. So, as the three of us are discussing that, and if it's something we would like to look in to, the phone rang. The funeral director excused himself to go answer the phone, and at the point his chair was pointing towards me My dad looks at me and says something to the effect of "Well, what do you think, should we go for a rabbi?" And, before I can answer, out of the corner of my eye, I notice something moving. Both my dad and I turned our heads to look, and the funeral director's chair is turning, from facing me to pointing directly to my dad.
We don't say anything, we look at the chair and then back at each other, then back to the chair.
My dad says "So....we're getting a rabbi I guess."
And I reply with "Yep, that just happened."
Let me interject here, and tell you something about myself. I fully, 100% believe in spirits. My whole life I have gotten feelings, and seen things, things that I just can't explain. I don't know where all that falls in with faith, or heaven, or hell, or God. All I know is, I believe in the possibility of there still being certain presences here on Earth, after death. I always have. Typically, that frightens me. Some of the things I have encountered have not been pleasant. I believe that there can be just as many malevolent spirits that wish to scare and disturb us, as there are good spirits that are around to comfort us. This is just a personal belief. Take it for what you will. The point is, the idea scares me. The unknown scares me.
This being said, when my dad and I watched the chair move at the funeral home, I felt no fear. I wasn't scared, I was comforted and maybe a little amused, despite the situation.
Later that day, I went back home. I walked up to my door about was literally swarmed by butterflies. I felt each individual butterfly as they floated around me, I felt the brush of their wings against my face. And I thought out of nowhere, so clearly, "Hello, Momma." It didn't even feel like my own thought. It was an unconscious acknowledgement, that the butterflies were there for a reason, and that their presence was more than just insects hanging around flowers. 
I went inside and discussed things with my husband and I started crying again. Continued crying for a while. I decided I wanted to get out of the house for a bit (something that I would need to do a lot), and clear my mind. I opened the door and stood outside, still talking about my mom. Still talking about things I didn't want to be talking about anymore. I said to my husband "Okay, I don't want to talk about this anymore." and turned away towards my car. As I did, a butterfly slapped right into my face. I laughed. Sorry, Mom.
Every time I got into the car on Wednesday, one of our songs was playing. I'm not kidding, every single time. It must have happened at least 4 or 5 times. In one day. It was either Bon Jovi, or Def Leppard, or Heart, or something that meant something to me, or to her. Songs that I hadn't heard on the radio for years started playing. And they would start right when I would start the car, or change the station. I have another example that I will talk about in a second.
Another day that week, at a particularly low point as I was driving to my parent's house, I said out loud, " Okay Momma. I'm drowning here. I need something from you. I need a really clear sign. Come to me in a dream. Something. I need you." (Seems a little silly now, as I type this all out. She was being pretty clear there for a while.) I went to bed that night thinking, "Okay, maybe she'll be in my dreams tonight, I'm sure she heard me."
She did not come to me in my dream. In fact, she still hasn't. But, that night I did not dream of my mom. I woke up sad. I received a text message from my best friend a little bit later that said "Listen, I don't want to freak you out, but your mom came to me last night." And after talking to that friend, I knew that without a shadow of a doubt, my mom was indeed with her that night. She described a situation that she saw in her dream, that really happened. And there was no way she could have known that it did. And she described my mom's presence, that I would later feel myself, and knew it to be true.
One evening, I needed to get away again. I needed to just drive. So I got into my car, expecting to hear one of mom's songs. I flipped through all of the channels and was disappointed to find none of our songs playing. I said out loud "Damnit Mom!", but before I could even finish saying those two words, "Vogue" by Madonna started playing. Let me explain. My mom always told this story of me as a baby. Before I could really walk well, my mom was playing Madonna's Hits (I believe on record!) and apparently, I pulled myself up on a table and started bopping to the beat. As I grew up, my mom and I listened to Madonna often, and my favorites to listen to with her were "Like a Prayer" and, you guessed it, "Vogue". My mom and I would dance in the car, and I would watch with total and complete adoration as my mom "vogued" and we would "strike a pose" together.
So, "Vogue" starts as I'm driving, and I start laugh/crying. And I feel jolts of electricity down my right side. The air in the car changes. I have goosebumps down my right arm and leg, my heart is beating like crazy. I can FEEL my mom. She's in the car with me. I FELT her, her big personality, this huge presence. It was like, if I reached out next to me, I would feel something solid. She is there, I know it. I have her in the car with me. Making me sing the song with her. I can hear her voice. I am not afraid. I'm not ashamed, (though I supposed maybe I should be. If anyone looked into my car that evening, they saw a crazy laugh/crying psycho blasting Madonna), It feels natural, and normal. Just driving with my mom. Something we had done thousands of times. I got that feeling of comfort again.
Coming home that same evening, as soon as I got into the car, Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory" came on, and I again knew it was her. I cranked it up and cried all the way home.
She was with me one morning, after I dropped the kids off at school. Clear as day I hear in my head "Call NPPD". I knew we were behind on our electricity payment, but I couldn't bring myself to care enough. I heard her voice say that, and I argued back in my head not really even thinking about it. "It can wait," I told myself. I turned the radio on....and it was a NPPD commercial.
I called NPPD when I got home.
I felt her with me on the day of her funeral. That whole day was hard, and a story for another time, but she cracked a joke to me during a certain time, and I came to find out later, at the same time my dad was getting his hand squeezed by her. We both had to bite our lips from laughing, during a situation that wasn't very funny. But, it would have been-to her.
Each one of these things has come with the same sense of peace, and comfort, and humor. That really how I know it's my mom. Nothing else could give me a sense of peace and security in this time, aside from her. When the anger rises back up, I think on the times that she's been around, even after she's gone. And I think, she wants me to chill out. She wants me to put my head up, push my shoulders back, and walk tall.
So, that's what I keep trying to do.
I'll have more to write soon. Thank you for caring enough about me, and about my mom, to read these.
Until next time,
Jessica.

The new tattoo I got for my mom. I think you know why.