She Dances with Butterflies

She was born on Remembrance Day and she died on Easter Sunday. Dancing leaves like newborn dew, she danced into this world with sparkled love shined out of eyes soft glow.

She was never able to walk feet pressed against the grass tickled toes. She was never able to dance to coloured gels light shoes kicked off. But she shined and sped her wheels across the hearts of everyone she met. She was love. Pure and simple yet everything. Her smile lit up a room and her frown caused the sky to open up in pain. Months endured in rooms of gowns and doctors pins and pained filled eyes could not take away her beauty.
My sister was born with cerebral palsy and other strange pained bone burdens that I will not describe here because that is not the point and I am not a doctor. She was, however, the most courageous person I have ever known and though much of her 27 years was spent in pain and surgeries and spinal twists, she always smiled and always loved. She loved this world more than anyone I have ever met. She loved her family, friends and complete strangers with every ounce of her being. She was light and peace and she taught me more than I could ever express in a million words about beauty and the wonderous gift of life that we are granted. In my darkest hours and coldest shivers, I can close my eyes and see her beauty and know that when I reopen my eyes, I will see the beauty around me.
The words are inadequate and the images will be as well but it is the best I can do ... Michelle, my little butterfly, ma belle, my only sister ... I write this and I cry because I miss our talks, our giggles, our shared secrets, our tears and warm snuggles of sisterhood. The photos I put up over the next week, they are for you ma petite shelliebear and for me. The children released the butterflies as we said good-bye. Perhaps, this is my way of releasing butterflies of my own.