Winged Butterfly

by Julia Chen
In memory of my daughter, Juei-Han, who died of SIDS at the age of 2 months on January 5, 1996.

Han-han is my first baby and I believe she is always a part of myself. However, after her death, I am afraid of bearing another child since I cannot prevent the experience from torturing me again and again. And I have no courage to face my family-in-law and to explain why this happened to us. My mother-in-law cannot forgive me for losing such a beautiful child. To avoid bad luck, she even forbids me going to the temple to see her urn. Why the Fate is so cruel to me? I lost my child. Why should I lose my memory of her again?

A very very sad mother,
Julia

reprinted with permission

To her, all hopes had shaped slowly in the stream of time, like a
lotus bloom.

Days are tinted with beautiful dreams, like a yarn woven by a
spinning wheel--slim, fragile but lasting. But she never blames
anything, since slowness in life is a kind of happiness itself.

Until that day [November 8, 1995], all expectations were turned
into Han-han. The first look at Han-han, together with a true
happiness, flied into her life beautifully. She then understood
why so many mothers are willing to devote themselves, even their
lives, to their child.

Unfortunately, life only permitted her partial beauty, and did it
reluctantly.

She preferred not believing, or even experiencing that moment.
She preferred not!

When the doctor signed that death certificate, her feeling was
blank. Only tears streamed down her face.

Out the window did a butterfly flap its broken wings. It seemed
that the butterfly couldn't give up the memory of flying in the
blue sky.

Inside was her heart, broken piece by piece, bleeding....

In bed lied Han-han, quietly, obediently, like embracing a
beautiful dream.

It was a breezy, sunny Friday morning. Han-han is never awake.