Believe it or not, I rarely think about that sort of thing now; too busy being me and loving the living. However it suddenly dawned on me that as I was growing up a painting my father had done of my mother that hung in our living room was in fact my ideal of myself.
That painting, pulled out of its storage location in my basement, stained from neglect, still has the power to move my heart.
I realize this morning that there is heavy symbolism to that painting's history, including the stains.
Bringing it out and displaying that part of me so that I can look at it now and remember is symbolic too.
No longer trapped and static, this butterfly will get to use her wings, currently flexing as though on a sunshine filled day in Spring.