A cocoon is a protective covering for the pupa of moths and butterflies as they gain strength to be able to face the world on their own. Cocoons are spun from silk that the pupa secretes and they vary in size and shape and texture. I’ve been thinking a lot about cocoons because I feel as if I spent the first few weeks after my father’s death in a very comforting and complex cocoon woven by the communities of which I am a part.  

Cards and emails and baskets of food came pouring in from the Drew community in wonderful numbers offering me the important fiber of prayer for my cocoon. I felt and continue to feel uplifted in ways that are hard to describe but amazing to feel.

The people of St. Peter’s Church likewise offered amazing expressions of sympathy and their own memories of my dad as a choir singer and church member. Casseroles, tailored for the vegetarians in the family even, took care of feeding the gathered family. The choir stalls were filled at the memorial service with current and former choristers and musician friends, weaving an incredible musical strand in the cocoon. Brian Harlow managed to pull it together in about 75 minutes of rehearsal time! I’ve listened to the recording of their beautiful music innumerable times in the last few weeks as it has continued to comfort me.

The clergy have been there in real and wonderful ways as well. In his last two hospitalizations, Dad was visited by Jason Haddox and Stephanie Wethered and Bob Shearer.  During the memorial evensong, Stephanie wove a  magnificent tribute to dad using words from the family and her own words and the poetry of John Ciardi.  Jason chanted the evensong and led the service with grace. And my parents’ dear friend Bob Hollett offered the closing prayers.

The love of my family has been the consistent, strong, and omni-present thread of silk throughout. My mom is simply the best – strong throughout the gut-wrenching days in the ICU, clear about her own wants and needs, and an amazing source of grace. We gathered on the Saturday before the memorial service to meet Cecilia, my nephew’s daughter, and the first of that generation. My dad had been eagerly looking forward to meeting her in person. Instead the rest of us were gathered, appreciating on some level the beauty of the cycles of living and dying. My siblings, inlaws, niece, nephew, and my own three children all contributed their love to this cocoon.

Throughout it all Jim has been there, answering the phone, shielding me when I needed to rest, and just loving me.

So there it was, a beautiful cocoon that held me up and protected me during the first few weeks after his death. But cocoons aren’t meant to last forever. According to Wikipedia, “insects that pupate in a cocoon must escape from it.” About ten days ago, I just about crawled home one afternoon after work, unable to do anything. I knew the cocoon was opening. And I figure that the metamorphosis into a butterfly will take some time.

A few days after this, I was driving between Morristown and Madison back to work in the middle of the day after taking my mom to a doctor’s appointment. I was musing about cocoons and butterflies as I was stopped at a stoplight. And there, in front of my windshield, was a large monarch butterfly flitting around. It was a beautiful sight.