Michelle is the mother of two wonderful little boys with physical challenges. As a Licensed Social Worker, she enjoys advocating and working for the needs of children and adults with disabilities. She has written a book for parents caring for a child with a cleft, called “From Our House to Yours”, which is self-published. Michelle has also started “Potter’s Clay Consulting” working as a consultant and motivational storyteller, encouraging others through her stories of failure and success.
Enter the Butterflies
All parents look forward to the excitement and joy of a new baby. Our excitement was overflowing as we anticipated the birth of our first child. We had waited so long, yet had no warning of the challenges to come. Our first realization of Andrew’s challenges came in the delivery room. After months of preparation and waiting for our child to be born, the moment was finally here…six weeks early. All parents wait to hear those words…”It’s a Boy!” or “It’s a Girl!” shouted into the air. As the moment arrived and Andrew’s head emerged, the first words heard in our ears were “Michelle, baby has a cleft.”
Our son’s bi-lateral cleft lip and palate was just a part of his health problems to come. As I wept and worried caring for our newborn son, people kept telling me that it would get better. Some days, especially after a surgery, were so very hard. You wish you could just pick up your baby and take all their hurt away; you feel so helpless sometimes. When our hearts are burdened, our bodies are exhausted, and our minds are overwhelmed, it is hard to see the beauty in life. There isn’t time to sit down and enjoy the warmth of the sun on our face, to smell the fragrance of spring flowers, or to watch the butterflies flit about. It took a very special butterfly to teach me to stop, for a just moment, and see the splendor of life.
Our son requires many surgeries throughout his lifetime, and we were at the hospital for surgery number six. The hospital has a small brick play area that the children are allowed to go play in. Andrew had been suffering from a great deal of pain with this surgery, and we decided to take him out to the play patio in an attempt to distract him and try to lift his spirits. Andrew has always been a bug boy, as evident by the number of insects that I have allowed him to bring into the house in his short three years, as well as the number of insects that he has managed to sneak into the house. (Thankfully we have avoided any major infestations.) As we were sitting in the sun on the patio, I saw a small caterpillar slowly crawling in the hot sun on the pavement. Knowing that it would cheer my son up I walked over and gently scooped up the caterpillar and carried it over to Andrew. He was thrilled, and began investigating it as best he could with his little IV hand. He decided at that point that he wanted to bring the caterpillar home and see if it would change into a butterfly. I second-handedly said yes, with much more on my mind than this caterpillar. We saved the little guy in a Styrofoam cup, and brought him home with us when we left the hospital. My son named him Fuzzy, because of course he was fuzzy, and we made him comfortable in a bug hut when we got home. Fuzzy was an amazing distraction to our son during his healing and recuperation. He quickly made a cocoon within just days of being home, and our son found great joy in studying him a dozen times a day to see if anything had changed. As we read books and drew pictures about butterflies, Andrew healed as Fuzzy transformed.
A couple more weeks went by, our son had healed, and it was time for me to go back to work. I was ready to leave the house for my first day back at work, feeling a little torn about leaving my son, when he walked sleepily out of his room rubbing his eyes. I literally had one foot out the door and really did not have time to spend with him or I would be late, but Andrew wanted to have a moment in the rocking chair with me and I conceded. As we sat down in the chair Andrew looked in to check Fuzzy sitting in the bug hut on the dresser right next to us. At that very moment – the two of us watched mesmerized as the cocoon gave a little wiggle, and split open as a swoosh of fluid splashed out. There, helpless and fragile, was the most beautiful blue Morning Cloak butterfly. It was soaking wet, and was struggling to get any movement out of its waterlogged wings. It was nothing short of a miraculous that Andrew and I were there right at the precise moment to watch Fuzzy be transformed. My heart was transformed that day as well.
Fuzzy made me realize that having a child with a disability has transformed our lives. We are not the same people that we were before the birth of our son. I cannot tell you the countless times that people out of kindness in our suffering have said to me “God never gives you more than you can handle.” There was a time when that comforted me, but no longer. I now believe in my heart that we are given tasks that are greater than us, and that we can’t handle. That is when I believe that God transforms our hearts, just like the butterflies, and gives us the gifts we need to persevere. I watch my son now and look at our life, and we are that beautiful blue butterfly, flitting about and soaring in the sunshine, our lives transformed. Andrew and I will never forget that moment that we shared together, just the two of us, watching Fuzzy’s beautiful transformation. There will be more surgeries and more suffering to come, when we will struggle with heavy, wet wings. That is when I will look forward to the transformation in our hearts that will come again, when our spirit will soar, just like the butterflies.
Look through the eyes of Hope and see
A butterfly inside the caterpillar,
Hope knows that beauty is waiting to be born in
the unlikeliest places…
~Thea Miller Ryan
Thank you for your time and consideration,
– Michelle Paulson
