My Purple Butterfly…

Dear Paula,

I thought of you today, as I was watching a movie on Netflix titled Irreplaceable You. It’s about this couple and how the lady ends up diagnosed with cancer and it’s stage four and because she’s a control freak, she goes on control mode. She wants to be sure her bae (that’s the evolution of the word boo. Not sure it was there while you was still around), will be set. Let me not spoil it for those who may read this and haven’t watched it.

It’s a good movie. It made me cry, weep even. But you know me, too emotional for my own good and a sucker for love stories. As long as love wins, I’m all in.

As I watched it, I found myself missing you. I found myself thinking of you. Something what you would be up to if you were still around? It’s been what, 5/6 years now? I don’t keep tabs. I’m not sure I fully accepted your demise altogether. I went through the motions but I don’t think I dealt.

I remember how we met. A 16 year old who was labeled somewhat a trouble maker. And I got the chance to be your mentor. I remember our conversations and how it didn’t take me too long to totally love your big purple personality. You owned colour purple. You wanted a purple house. LOL. You were committed.

I remember your smile. It was one of the most beautiful things ever! It lit up the world really. I remember how we worked through things and you got to turn things around. You got saved, you became this force of nature to be reckoned with and everyone who came across you couldn’t help but to feel drawn to you.

I was proud of you baby girl. I was excited for what the future held for you. You were at a good place with life. You had met a boy who was totally into you. And then you were gone. Without warning. You were no more.

I remember the call. I thought Brenda was high on something. Probably confusing you with someone else. I called Mark, it was true. You were no more. Dead.

You are the first person I was close to to die. I didn’t know how to deal. I cried. I did what I could to help with the arrangements. I attended your memorial, and then the burial. But it still didn’t seem real. I’ve never really understood death and this didn’t help matters much.

I had your number and email saved on my phone for a while. I had a photo of you, in purple and braids with that gorge smile. How could it be that you were gone? That you were no more? Why you? I couldn’t deal, so I went through the motions and pushed it at the back of my mind.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to say goodbye, but would it have made a difference? Or it’s because, I can’t come up with any reasons. It just hurt. I was not prepared. I knew your plans for the future and maybe that’s why it hurt.

So why today? I don’t know. Maybe it’s because your memorial is almost near. Maybe it’s because I realize that with your death, a part of me died. A part of me closed up. I stopped mentoring. Trying to protect myself from experiencing such loss again. Only it didn’t stop there. I closed myself off to everything else. Get close, just not too close. Close enough for me to walk away without too many scars. Close enough for me to still be in control.

But we are never really in control. Life will still happen, with or without our permission and me holding back is me losing out on awesome moments and memories because of the fear of the known unknown. Death is a known. The when is the unknown bit. This is not what Jesus died for and I am sure you would not approve.

So, I will make a change. I will open up without the chains of restriction. I will allow myself to be in the moment, not worrying too much about tomorrow. And if I get married, I promise my main colour scheme will be purple. In honour of you and I am not sure I will hack the purple house, but we’ll see what I will be able to do.

It was a pleasure meeting you, getting to do life with you and have you as a mentee. I definitely learned a lot from you.

I will honour you by living my best life every day.

I love you my purple butterfly and you will always have a special place in my heart and life.

Till we meet again.

Imperfectous.

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