Hello, my dear friends, and happy Wednesday.
I wanted to stop by and share a little something with you — something about my daddy.
This morning, as I stepped outside with my coffee, a butterfly drifted through my garden — soft, unhurried, almost familiar. Without even thinking, I whispered the words I always say:
“Hi, Daddy.”
It’s become a quiet ritual between us. Whenever I see a butterfly, I greet him the way a daughter greets a father who never really left. Sometimes the butterfly lingers, floating around my garden as if taking in the space with me. But most of the time, it does something that touches me deeper than I can explain.
It heads straight toward the lake.
Every single time.
My daddy would have loved this lake house. He was drawn to water his whole life — especially the ocean. When he passed, we buried him in the water. Maybe that’s why the butterflies drift toward the lake after visiting me. Maybe it’s their way of returning him to the place where his body rests and his spirit feels at home.
I used to doubt these moments.
I used to wonder if I was just wishing, missing, imagining.
But lately, I’ve been listening to Guided on Audible, and something in Chapter 2 opened a door in me. The author talks about signs — gentle, personal, unmistakable in their own quiet way. And it made me realize something I hadn’t seen before.
My daddy’s signs were never going to be loud.
He wasn’t loud in life.
He wasn’t the center of attention.
He was private, soft-spoken, steady.
So of course his signs would be the same.
A butterfly that pauses.
A shimmer of wings in the garden.
A gentle drift toward the water.
A moment of warmth in my chest.
A song on the radio when I need comfort.
These are the ways he arrives.
And as I walked back inside this morning, I noticed something else. I have colorful metal butterflies tucked all around my yard — in trees, in shrubs, in quiet corners. I never made them a centerpiece. I never hung them boldly on a wall. I scattered them softly, almost secretly.
Just like him.
Maybe I placed them that way because he was a quiet man.
Maybe I placed them that way because I carry him quietly.
Maybe I placed them that way because love doesn’t always need to be loud to be real.
Today’s butterfly didn’t stay long.
Just long enough for me to say hello.
Just long enough for me to feel that familiar warmth.
And then, like always, it headed toward the lake.
And I smiled, because I knew:
He came back for me.
And he went home.
If you’ve ever lost someone you love, I hope you hold onto the small ways they still find you. The quiet moments. The unexpected memories. The soft signs that show up when your heart needs them most. Our loved ones don’t stop loving us just because they’re no longer here in the way they once were. They simply learn new ways to reach us.
So today, I hope you notice something gentle — a shimmer of light, a familiar song, a warm feeling that settles over you for no reason at all. Let it be a reminder that love doesn’t end. It just changes shape.
And as you move through your day, may you feel held, comforted, and accompanied by the ones who still walk beside you in their own quiet way.
From my corner to yours, I’m wishing you a beautiful day — one filled with small signs, soft moments, and the kind of peace that finds you when you’re not even looking.
Reflection for Your Heart Today
- What small sign or quiet moment has found you lately?
- Where in your life do you feel the presence of someone you’ve loved and lost?
- Is there a gentle reminder — a song, a scent, a shimmer of light — that brings you comfort?
- How might you stay open to the quiet ways love still reaches for you?
Take a moment to notice whatever rises. Let it meet you softly.
For a wonderful book to listen to, I highly recommend: Guided. Here’s my link if you’d like to check it out. https://amzn.to/4c6apW5
With love,
Dawna — may the butterflies remind you that we are all still becoming
Love Life++ Hugs
Love Life with Dawna 