My Mother said she would come back to us.

In the form of a yellow butterfly.

I am not so sure I believe in such things, but today, while raking and weeding and keeping busy, I saw an abundance of them flitting around in the garden.

Passing close enough to get my attention, disappearing before I could capture them in pictures.

My Mother was nervous about dying. She explained that it was something she had never done before and therefore she was hesitant and unsure.

Here is the thing.

One of my ancestors, whom my mom felt very close to although generations separated them and they had never actually met, John Howland, came to America on the Mayflower. An indentured servant who was in way over his head, I am sure he too was nervous about this thing he had never done before.

About this journey he had no control over, concerned about a destination that was unproven and uncertain.

A trip that is taken once and taken on faith.

I spoke with family today who always make me smile and keep me grounded.

I give thanks for them and the tether and connection we share.

But tonight I celebrate those who set sail to what lay on the other side of the horizon and were brave to travel there even though it was something they had never done before.

Tonight I toast to the wanderers. The brave pilgrims who journey ahead of us, who map the course, and wait for us on whatever the other side is.