Fuzzy Airplane, as named by The Deuce (one of my eight-year old daughters) was a birthday present. He entered our lives via The Butterfly Treehouse, a children's science kit. We watched him as a young caterpillar triple in size, then attach himself to the lid of his container, where he spun his cocoon.
For the next week and a half, Fuzzy Airplane and his brothers and sisters, metamorphosed into beautiful, Painted Lady butterflies. One by one they emerged from their cocoons and fanned their beautiful wings, drying them.
When Fuzzy Airplane made his exit, he got tangled in the silk that held his cocoon firmly to the side of his enclosure. As he fanned his wings, the silk wound tighter and tighter. His wing didn't dry correctly. It dried crumpled up and remained tethered to his cocoon. With a pair of manicure scissors, I carefully cut the silk to free him, but it was too late. His wing was deformed and he would never be able to fly.
Per the instructions on the box, we fed our butterflies a diet of carnations soaked in sugar water and mandarin orange slices. We marveled as they all, Fuzzy Airplane included, gobbled up the sugary nectar with their long proboscises.
The day came to release our butterflies into the wild. We took them outside and held them on outstretched palms until they flew off, one by one into the big, wide world.
Despite several failed attempts, Fuzzy Airplane never took flight. He simply couldn't lift off with his gimpy wing. So, instead of releasing him into the wild, to face a certain (and most likely unpleasant) demise, we brought him back into our home and cared for him as our pet.
Fuzzy Airplane lived in his enclosure in the kitchen, but often spent time with The Deuce, watching TV. He gobbled up what we fed him and appeared to not miss his brothers and sisters too badly.
Yesterday, as The Deuce reached in to give him a fresh orange slice, she noticed he had died. According to the science-kit instructions, butterflies typically live two weeks after emerging from their cocoons. But under our care, Fuzzy Airplane lived an impressive three.
My daughter's nonchalant reaction to Fuzzy Airplane's death surprised me. She told me of his passing in a matter-of-fact tone of voice and never shed a tear. I think it's because she'd already learned about the life cycle of butterflies in the 2nd grade and knew that butterflies didn't live forever.
She buried him in the backyard under a big tree, came into the house and asked if we could send away for a new batch of caterpillars.
~ ~ ~ ~
Less than 24 hours later, I learned that a friend of mine had died after a two-year battle with brain cancer.
My feelings range from deep sadness to a sense of relief that his suffering is over and that he's finally found peace. But mostly, I think of his wife and three-year old son.
My heart is breaking for them.
I wish that death could be overcome as easily and effortlessly as sending away for another chance at life. But, I know deep down that unlimited chances would diminish the importance of our time on this planet. We wouldn't hug our loved ones as tightly if we didn't appreciate how precious and limited our time together really is.
I've decided that we're going to pass on ordering new caterpillars.
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