Butterflies started specifically capturing my attention on July 8, 2015. It was the day before the first round of the U.S Womens Open at Lancaster CC in Pennsylvania. While warming up on the range for my afternoon practice round, I had a visit from a typical black and orange butterfly. I didn’t think much of it, but it stayed right where it was on my golf balls for 20 minutes. I thought it pretty odd for this creature to stay put for so long but I enjoyed its company while trying to prepare for one of the more stressful weeks of the year. I snapped a photo of it because it was so out of the ordinary. I walked across the grounds towards the first tee and hit some practice putts on the green. My caddie suddenly came rushing over towards me with his phone in hand and showed me a picture of an identical looking butterfly sitting on my umbrella. All of a sudden, I felt a warmness wash over me and I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that there was a presence standing near me. That presence was my late grandmother.
I had heard numerous times that people who have passed on often come visit in various forms and butterflies are a commonality. My grandmother was the backbone of my upbringing. Before my parents headed off to work, I was dropped off at my grandmothers place. Entering those wooden front doors to her house was my safe haven. She made me feel like I was the most important thing in the world and I truly believed I was. Often times I would kick up a fuss when it was time to go home because I wanted to stay behind and sleepover at her place. My parents succumbed many times and let me stay. When it was time for bed, I would always climb into the queen sized bed first and lay in my grandmothers spot while she was brushing her teeth and preparing for bed. My small little body would wriggle all over to warm up her side so she would be greeted with warm sheets. When I was at her house, I wanted to spend every minute with her. She would always wake up before the dawn and sneak out of the room while I kept snoozing. When the sun finally came up, she would always go on a walk up the street to the dead end and back to get some exercise. Without fail, when I heard the sliding glass back door open downstairs, I would bolt upright from a dead sleep and scramble halfway down the stairs and call to her.. “Grandma! Please come get me!”..She would greet me, ask me how I slept and I would slip through the open ended staircase and climb onto my grandmothers back. She would piggy back me to the kitchen counter, make me some food and we would be on our way up the hill, reciting Korean folk stories together. Singing together. Talking about what I wanted to be when I grew up.
My relationship with my grandmother only grew stronger as I got older. Once I decided I wanted to pursue golf more seriously, it took a lot of my time away from her since I had to travel and compete nationally in hopes of receiving a college scholarship. I missed her so much and always thought of her whenever I competed. I even wrote her letters in my broken Korean and made sure my dad mailed them to her so she would always be reminded that she was never far from my mind. I memorized her phone number when I was a wee kid and called her any time I had the chance.
When I was 15, I was at a tournament in Delaware and after the second round, my dad told me that we had to withdraw and fly back home to California because grandma was sick. He assured me it wasn’t a big deal but of course he just wanted to hide the enormity of her situation to keep me from worrying. We landed and went straight to the hospital. My grandmother had suffered a massive stroke. She was intubated and in a vegetative state with a prognosis that was grim. Once she was unplugged she would be gone. I walked into her room and the lively eyes that always sparkled when looking at me were shut so tightly as if she were afraid to face the final act. Dozens of family members had come during visiting hours, holding the small wrinkly hand that had mothered 6 kids and helped raise 7 grandkids. No one was able to get any type of response from her.
I couldn’t cry when I looked at her for the first time in that hospital bed. The shock took over me and soon after the guilt of not being around as much. I inched my way towards the bedside chair and didnt know what to say. My mom and auntie told me to say my goodbyes and through the giant knot in my throat I murmured a few words that I remember exactly to this day, “Grandma, I’m here. Its Jane…” A few seconds later, giant crocodile tears started falling from her closed eyes. I collapsed my head at her side and began to let the emotions and tears fall. The doctor had written her off as a vegetable that was unable to process anything but here she was shedding tears that I would like to believe was from sadness. She was taken off the ventilator a few days later and passed on early in the morning at the age of 72 with A1 (auntie 1) by her side.
Having those two butterflies visit me during that week in PA was surreal. A giant weight was lifted off of me and I had my best showing ever at a major championship. Normally I would have been so nervous during the week, but for some reason I felt like my results were already written and I just needed to play. That was the first and only time that I felt this way during a tournament. I felt her presence with me the entire time and even had another butterfly flutter near me while playing one of the par 5’s that had water by the green.
Picking out a design for my daughters splints wasn’t something I was prepared for when I found out I was becoming a mother. None of this was. But when I was given the choice of 10 different designs, I felt the same presence again. My husband was inside the clinic with Grace during the fitting and he texted me a photo of the decal choices. I was sitting in the car staring at the red handicap placard hanging from my rear view, another shocker I’m learning to accept. As I was looking over the photo, I felt her. She was there with me as I was choosing which decal would lessen the sting of seeing my daughters little legs being pinched in these little splints. The hair on my neck stood up, and I felt goosebumps and a chill run through to the tips of my fingers and toes. The choice was only one and perfectly clear. Butterflies would grace the cover of these small splints that she would have to wear for hours a day. If only to remind me that I’m not alone and my grandmother is still somewhere looking after me and looking after Grace too. She would have loved Grace 10x more than she loved me and I would have loved to see their relationship evolve. I know if she was still around, Grace would have been piggy backed everywhere, and I would have sat close by reveling in their love.
Are these the miracles that people tell me about? Instead of miracles of the physical kind like my daughter making astronomical strides, are these the types of miracles that I must expect? I don’t know. But for that one moment in the car, it truly did feel like one.