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three times before flying away, prompting me to snap out of my daydream and return to the comfort of my bed. I remember thinking how strange it was - butterflies aren’t exactly a common sight in Sacramento, especially in poorly-tended gardens where only flowers were wilted from the heat. Even now, I don’t fully understand it, but my mom likes to say that one doesn’t need to understand to have faith. Hours after that brief glimpse of nature, she gets a call from the US embassy in South Korea telling her that my older brother is dead. 

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Summer turned sour after that fateful night in July. My parents flew out to South Korea that weekend, saddling my cousins with the responsibility of taking care of me and my younger brother. They tried their best to brighten up our lives, plying us with sweet treats and trips to Six Flags, but normalcy was far from reach. How could I go about my day, as if nothing had changed? How could I greet my family, my friends, a smile frozen on my face, as if my brother hadn’t died? The only consolation - if it could even be called that - was the fact that we would soon be going to Hawai’i for the funeral. Having grown up on O’ahu, I’ve dearly missed the islands and the family we have, but the reason behind our visit put a damper on my excitement. 

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Still, time flew by in a daze, and on August 10, my family and I landed at Honolulu Airport exhausted but home. As we walked out of the gate, I noticed something peculiar - a flurry of orange butterflies right outside the airport window. In the blink of an eye, they vanished, and I was left questioning whether the heat was playing tricks on me. That by itself was quickly brushed off due to a whirlwind of baggage claims and rental cars, but I would soon come to realize that there was something greater at play. 

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The two days before the funeral service were packed with activity, with breakfasts at Liliha Bakery, noons at the beach, and evenings at Ala Moana, and we were always accompanied by family. Bereavement meant people treated you like glass – fragile, poised to shatter at any moment – so I was never alone. Despite being surrounded, though, I was always the only one to see the butterflies. Wherever we went, they followed. A monarch perched on the bakery sign, purple wings fluttering along the seafoam, even a flash of dark red in the mall food court—I wanted to point the butterflies out, but no one else noticed them, and I didn’t want people to think that grief had made me going crazy. 

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I didn’t tell my mom or Lola about the previous incidents though, too shellshocked with the revelation to fight off an onslaught of tears. My mom was struggling with her own battle, so it was all I could do to pull her to the side and hug her, the two of us crying together. In the corner of my eye, I watched as Nate’s butterfly finally flew away. 

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It all came together on the day of the funeral. After the service, lunch was brought out for all of the attendees, and as usual with Filipino family gatherings, we had a feast. There were all kinds of delicacies, like pancit, balintawak, and adobo, and to my lack of surprise, a shiny yellow butterfly hovered around, trying to get a taste. A quick glance around showed that no one else could see it once again, so I took it upon myself to shoo it away whenever it came too close. However, when the insect landed on the bibingka, my attempt to ward it off was stopped by my Lola. “Ay, don’t disturb him!” she scolded, leading me to a distance away from the bibingka. I was too shocked by the fact that she could even see the butterfly to protest, even as the butterfly seemed intent on touching every piece. “Sharon, come over here.” ​My mother walked over from where she was talking to a family friend. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the cracks in my heart grew deeper. “What is it, mom?” My Lola shushed her, and pointed to where the yellow butterfly was still gorging. Its proboscis was flicking in and out, and I felt a wave of nausea for all the people who would end up eating the tainted desert. “Nate’s here,” Lola whispered. “Wasn’t bibingka his favorite?” I glanced at my mom in confusion, and thankfully, she looked like she understood. However, this knowledge only seemed to make her feel worse. “In Filipino mythology,” she told me, her voice trembling, “butterflies are said to represent the soul of a lost loved one.” Her eyes traced the silhouette of the butterfly’s dark red wings, gazing wistfully as it took flight. “His favorite color was red, and his favorite dessert was bibingka. Lola’s right; Nate’s right there, visiting us before he passes on.” 

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And that’s when I realized. 

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The butterflies that kept popping up since the day that he died were all from him. They were a way for Nate to watch over us even after his death, and though there were moments where only I could see the butterflies, I wouldn’t be surprised if my family had their own little moments too. I didn’t tell my mom or Lola about the previous incidents though, too shellshocked with the revelation to fight off an onslaught of tears. My mom was struggling with her own battle, so it was all I could do to pull her to the side and hug her, the two of us crying together. In the corner of my eye, I watched as Nate’s butterfly finally flew away. 

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The rest of the trip passed with little fanfare, and I assumed that meant Nate was at rest. When we were at the airport, though, ready to leave the islands and go back to the mainland – I was proven wrong. “Did anyone see all those butterflies outside?” my younger brother gasped, gesturing wildly at the window. I could only see airplanes flying in and taking off, but one look at my mom and I knew that it was Nate again, visiting our family one last time before we departed. I wiped away my tears, and smiled. 

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Back in my home in Sacramento, there’s a little butterfly with dark red wings painted on the edge of my desk, so my older brother can still watch me grow.

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