A Wedding Invitation by Alice J. Wisler Read Free Book Online Page B

looks happy.
    Feeling awkward, I take a few steps back to see a fresh bouquet of red rosebuds, purple violets, and yellow daisies in a plastic vase by a tombstone. Lowering my eyes, I read the inscription: Gone too soon. Kara, our beloved daughter. The dates are too close together. I calculate that the girl lived only nineteen years.
    One woman in the cult-sounding shirt makes an announcement. A man with a fuzzy beard reads from a sheet of paper, steadying it as the wind flares its edges. I strain to hear over the cooling breeze; it is something about how children live on in our hearts and in our memories.
    Next, Dovie steps into the center of the crowd, carrying her cage. She tells about the monarch butterfly, its life cycle and how it has been silent in its silky sac but now is a beautiful creation. She explains how this new life is a testimony of God’s creativity and of His love of nature. She lets the crowd know that these butterflies will be released soon and begin a journey just like the children who have died are now on a new adventure in Heaven. “And like each of you,” my aunt says with a gentleness to her voice. “Each of you is becoming someone new as you learn to cope and adjust to a life without your precious child.”
    As she says these words, a few burst into tears. They are quickly embraced by others within the group.
    When Dovie finishes speaking, she lifts the latch on the cage. Slowly, a lone butterfly emerges from the door. It flits toward a gray headstone, then makes a left, and relaxes on a vase of day lilies. Another winged insect sways out, unsteadily at first, and then gains momentum. When nothing else peeks out of the cage, Dovie rattles it a few times. We wait; a silence prevails like it does when a bride appears from the back of the sanctuary, ready to make her gentle way toward the altar.
    There is a fluttering of wings and then, like a stream of wonder, a cluster of butterflies lift into the air.
    Anticipating a great photo op, I poise my camera as the people raise their heads, point into the air, murmur. The ones who have been crying wipe their eyes.
    With wings in motion, the insects sail into the waft, a scattering of orange and black.
    Some of the creatures aim high; others simply circle the area. One lands on a woman’s shoulder. A tiny one, appearing dazed by the sunlight, gently perches on a teen’s head, bringing a few smiles from the crowd. I get a picture of that.
    Observing the scene as a bystander, I try to take it all in—the program, the words, the tears, and the new realization that these people are not in a cult but part of a parental support group called Compassionate Friends. When a man stands directly in front of me, I see the rest of the wording on his shirt: Supporting Family After a Child Dies.
    This is the first time I’ve been to a release this somber, and also the first time where the butterflies seem so energetic. Last time I was at an outdoor wedding with Dovie, the monarchs she hoped to release took over half an hour getting out the cage door. My aunt had to reach inside the compartment and take each one out individually because guests were growing tired and their catered lunch was ready to be served.
    As I think back to that day, I see one of the black-tipped monarchs coming toward me. I watch as it spins around my head, lingering. I hold out my finger the way Dovie does, hoping it will rest upon it.
    Instead, it swoops around a small tombstone—a burst of color—and then is gone.
    I look near my shoes to see: In loving memory of Oliver Branch. Gone from us, embraced by God .
    The words on the tombstone are like a jab at my heart. Oliver. I bend down and touch the name. It was my dad’s name. I feel my pulse race, like it has the energy of the butterfly. My throat fills and I cough—twice. Realizing that I’m kneeling at the grave of a person I don’t know, I stand. My camera smacks against my chest.
    Then, aimlessly, I step over the large, gnarly roots