Last week, my partner surprised me with a slice of banana cream pie and a card with a butterfly drawn on the envelope.
There wasnāt an anniversary. No milestone. No obvious reason for a special treat on a Tuesday night.
I said, almost offhandedly, āButterflies remind me of my mom.ā
And then it hit meāit was my momās birthday.
He had written me a thoughtful card wishing her a happy birthday and somehow chose the perfect pie (she loved bananas). We placed a single pink candle in the center of the slice and set it beside a small framed photo I keep of her in our living room. The flame gently illuminated her face.
We sang happy birthday, and my emotions rose easily.Ā
We sat there for a minute, watching the candle burn. I found myself talking about something I donāt often: how after my mom passed, I began noticing more synchronicity. Frequent visits from butterflies. Certain songs. Small symbols appearing at just the right moment.
It felt like I had briefly tuned into a different frequency of the world. As if grief peeled back a layer of noise and sharpened my sensitivity to meaning.
Iām not someone who leans heavily into signs or superstition. But I canāt deny that certain moments in my life have feltā¦ charged.
When the candle melted down to a small stub, our takeout delivery arrived.
Inside the bag was an unexpected, complimentary slice of cake.
We got chills.
Iām not sure what to make of moments like that.
But I do know they make me feel more connectedāto her, to something slightly larger than the day-to-day logistics of life.
And I know I would like to have more of them š¦
Happy Sunday,
Nas