Arlyn Died on Woodhaven Road
by Karyl Chastain Beal
August 7, 2000
I stayed home from work today --- to grieve. My plans were a bit vague, except for a short trip I would make shortly after noon. I would drive to Woodhaven Road, to the place my child ended her life four years ago today. I needed to be there before 1:30, the estimated time of her death. It had become a yearly ritual.
During the morning, I read a poem a friend had written in Arlyn's memory, and I cried. I read an email message from a former schoolmate of hers and I cried. A friend called to tell me she was remembering Arlyn too, and I cried.
Around noon, I went into Arlyn's bedroom to get a few things to take with me, things that would remind me of Arlyn. I picked up a folder with some of the poems she had written. Her words. Her thoughts. Her feelings.
I also grabbed a small framed picture. It held a photo of Arlyn when she was three years old. She wore an orange mop on her head and a huge grin on her face. I smiled remembering the Raggedy Ann costume I had made for her. I stood and gazed around her room for a few minutes; it was full of Arlyn, but it seemed so empty.
I put the lawn chair in the car, and I located my sunglasses. Then, I slowly drove about three miles to a place I hated, a place that held the most painful memories of my life. Woodhaven Road.
A few minutes later, I parked the car beside a small stream. The rickety wooden bridge, which crossed it, seemed to blend in with the trees and undergrowth surrounding it. There were no other man-made structures in sight.
My eyes tried to follow several small yellow butterflies as they bobbed up and down in this otherwise still picture.
I placed the lawn chair on the side of the road, a few feet from the two hand-made wooden crosses that stood there announcing to the world that this was a place where a death had occurred. At this time of day, I did not expect anyone to drive by the lonely stretch of road that heard her last breath. It was a dirt road trail went nowhere.
When I sat down, I suddenly realized I had placed the chair on the exact spot where my daughter's body had fallen as her life stopped. I briefly panicked and thought about moving, but then, I didn't. Perhaps a morbid need to connect with her held me there.
I open the folder of poetic musings and I start to read her words.
"The scent of death
surrounds me
and I am overwhelmed
by its beauty."
I shook my head; I could not understand.
It was terribly hot, much like it was the day Arlyn died. I sat quietly, wondering what she had thought during those final moments, wondering if she had been afraid, wondering ...
I looked down and continued to read. I felt a dull pain in my chest. Her hands had written the words I was staring at, but her heart had felt them.
After a while, I looked and stared at the yellow butterflies blankly. I then glanced at my watch and saw that it was almost --- that time. If Arlyn's spirit was present, it would be now. So I began to talk.
At first, I spoke casually. "How are you doing, Arlyn, Darlin'? What's it like up there? Are you with Mammaw and Grandpap and Lori? Have you played your guitar for them?"
I waited, but Arlyn did not reply. I felt myself growing more anxious, so I began to ask harder questions. "Arlyn, do you miss us? When you pulled the trigger, did you have any idea of how badly your death would devastate your dad and me? Did you understand how much I loved you?"
Then, as a postscript, I asked her if she had seen her young cousin, Adam, who was killed yesterday, and I asked her to take him under her wings. Again, I closed my eyes and waited. And waited. Nothing happened. A swell of sadness washed over me.
Finally, I decided I had to try one more time to persuade Arlyn to reply. I would ask for a sign that she was here. I had waited for four years. It was long enough.
I opened my eyes and looked around. As I searched for a sign, I realized I would not know a sign if I saw one. What does a sign look like? Is it blinking lights? A crash of thunder? The image of a face in the clouds? What was I looking for?
Then, I spotted two yellow butterflies in the woods behind the crosses. This type of buttefly is common in south Georgia at this time of year. It seems that they only come in yellow.
I smiled to myself then, and I spoke as loud as I could, without feeling ridiculous. I said, "Arlyn, if you hear me, I need a sign! Will you send me a red butterfly to let me know you're okay? Will you send me a red butterfly if you know how much I love you and how badly I miss you? A red butterfly, Arlyn. Please."
By then, the tears spilling down my cheeks were making their own small stream.
Then, I closed my eyes. I felt the stillness, until a cool breeze brushed past. I shivered.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw the two crosses still stood in front of me. The only thing different was that the yellow butterflies in the woods behind them had left.
I sighed. I was so disappointed that I had just passed another milestone without a sign from Arlyn. I felt myself sinking. I was a reluctant traveler on this road. Sometimes, it seemed too hard to go on. Sometimes, I wanted to give up and join her. I missed her so much.
A moment or so later, I caught a red flicker in the corner of my eye to the right, over the stream. I turned and saw a large red butterfly come up from under the bridge. Slowly, it flew towards me, bobbing up and down as if it were on a sea of gently rippling water.
As the butterfly got closer, I held my breath. The trees behind it faded out, creating a hazy background, accenting the brightness of its red wings.
To my amazement, if fluttered close to me, and then, it flew all the way around the two crosses that bore Arlyn's name. Not once, but twice. Twice, the red butterfly encircled those crosses while I sat there so close I could almost touch it.
It hovered a moment and then it suddenly swooped through the air, heading off into the woods behind the crosses and out of sight.
Was it a coincidence that the red butterfly just happened to fly by as I was hoping for a sign from Arlyn? Was it really a sign from Arlyn? If it was a sign, what did it mean?
I do not know if it was a coincidence or not. I have visited the place on Woodhaven Road many times in the past four years. The only butterflies I remember seeing there before were yellow.
A sign is something that may suggest the presence or existence of someone who is missing. To me, that butterfly *was* a sign. There is no logical explanation for its appearance otherwise. I may choose to accept that it was a legitimate sign from Arlyn --- or not.
I choose to believe. So what does it mean?
I believe that the red butterfly's presence told me Arlyn heard my cries, so she sent it to let me know that she is at peace. I believe she also wanted me to know that she understood the depth of my love and the pain of my grief. And finally, she wanted me to know she is with me ---always.
So now, I must take the gift of the red butterfly and use its message to reach out to others who grieve.
Our loved ones who die are with us still. They may not be in a form we can quickly identify, but in time, we may witness a sign that helps us feel their presence and know that they are part of us forever.
This knowledge will not erase the fact we miss them, but it may help us move into the future with grace. It may help us live. 
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