Comfort on the Wing ~ Essay by Jessica Villar Rosati

I dreamt I was floating in clear blue sky.  Something silvery and light flitted around my head to seemingly stop in midair and hover above and to the left. It was a dragonfly, shining in translucent blue and white. And then we were flying, over the tops of trees, high above glimmering lakes, towards the rising sun. The land sped past beneath us, varying in terrain from rolling plains, and barren deserts, snow covered mountains, lush rain forests, and then over a shining, empty sea.

I glanced over and saw myself reflected in the dragonfly’s eyes. I had taken the form of an owl. My feathers were silver and white. I looked down at my body and could barely see my talons tucked up under my belly, my wings outstretched to either side. I felt smooth and weightless as the air caressed and supported me.

The dragonfly dove suddenly towards a dark speck breaking the endless surface of ocean. I followed. The speck grew larger as we plummeted from the sky. It became a rock and the rock became an island. The island was covered with palm trees and ringed in white sand beaches, upon which turquoise waves broke.

The dragonfly is my daughter’s symbol – her spirit animal, her messenger.    She found me in my dream and led me to a place of peace and comfort.

In the week following her death, I was kayaking in a small lake with her father and sister. We had bought her a sit-on-top kayak. She never got to use it. Her sister sat aboard it this day.

I dipped my paddle into the emerald depths and looked at the trees on the distant shore, the bright sky. You should be here with me, I thought. We were supposed to go kayaking and fishing and hiking and camping and so many other things…

It was a beautiful summer day in early August. All I could think of was my daughter, Alessandra. My eyes began to sting, and my chest began to tighten. I wanted to scream her name, like the wild hawks in the wind. Pain and pressure were building inside me, until my glance happened to fall upon my right foot. It was dangling slightly off the edge and over the water. A Northern Bluet damselfly was perched on my big toe. I became still, both in mind and body.

Instantly, I felt Alessandra. “I’m with you, Mom. I’m always with you. I love you,” the thoughts came to my mind.

A little bit doubtful, I wondered, “Was it just wishful thinking?” I decided it didn’t matter. It was what I needed to hear. I believed it to be so. Smiling in wonder, I

pointed out the little beauty to my husband and daughter.

I assumed the Bluet would take flight as I soon as I started moving, that the paddle entering the water nor far from my foot, or the water drops splashing down, would startle her away.

They did not. She remained on my toe and turned her face into the breeze as I paddled back to shore. Her translucent wings flexed back from her slender body as I dipped at either side of the kayak. Her delicate feet, barely imperceptible on my skin, held on.

I was entranced. She stayed with me several minutes and I tried to hold my foot immobile while the rest of my body worked. Eventually, she took wing. I was sad to see her go, but my heart was full of love and gratitude for the visit. We arrived at the beach moments later and perched on the tips of reeds lining the shore, were about a dozen more Bluets, basking in the sun.

After this, I began to see dragonflies, and occasionally damselflies, everywhere. I especially noticed when they appeared in unexpected places, away from their natural habitats.  Whether as a living specimen, or in some other representation, dragonflies appeared to remind me of her and make me smile.

In the vegetable garden, a widow skimmer sat close to me as I weeded the tomatoes.  She stayed with me almost the whole time I was out there, occasionally circling overhead and returning to the dry stalk just a couple feet away. At a friend’s winery, we bottled several cases of his best-selling wine, Dragonfly. In another dream, the sky was filled with silvery dragonflies as my daughter came towards me across a green field.

On a marina in San Diego, I was gently rocked to sleep in a sailboat named Slip Away. As slumber took hold, I thought to my child, I probably won’t see many dragonflies here, but it would be nice. The next morning, with saltwater all around, a large dragonfly found me and circled overhead.

Last November, when the dragonflies had gone, I was preparing to leave for the annual family reunion. It had long been an occasion of joy. Last fall it was sad, because not long after Alessandra had died, her uncle Joe passed away, also. She had always looked forward to this event, and this was the first time she wasn’t coming with us.

I checked the mailbox on the day of our departure. Inside, was a magazine with a gorgeous photo of a dragonfly on the cover. It turned out; I was wrong. She sent me a reminder that she was coming, too.

If it is fanciful to believe that a dragonfly represents Alessandra, so be it. It is a belief that causes no harm but brings great comfort. I know I am not alone in this thinking. Since the death of my child, I’ve consumed all manner of media pertaining to grief. It is not uncommon for a bereaved person to see birds or butterflies as signs or messengers from their departed loved ones.

Whether the wings are brightly feathered or intricately laced, if you fancy that some flying creature brings love from beyond, may it be true. May it always be true.