It was 8:05 p.m. when my phone rang, dragging me back into the chaos of my shift. Working as a Trauma Nurse in Los Angeles County has always been intense, and lately, we’ve been overwhelmed with more accidents than we can handle. Every night brings the possibility of something wild—crashes pop up along I-5 like clockwork, that highway skirting close to the beach. Nighttime in LA has its own kind of madness.
As I rushed to open my car door, a large butterfly suddenly fluttered in from nowhere. It danced around for a moment before landing gently on the passenger seat. I leaned in for a better look, but just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. I stared at the empty seat, confused. I even looked under the chairs and made some noise, thinking it might fly out—but nothing. My windows were all rolled up. Where could it have gone? I was already in a hurry and didn’t want anything distracting me while driving, but it was simply… gone.
In Filipino culture, when a butterfly appears out of nowhere, it means something. It’s often believed to be a sign that someone close has passed away. I immediately called my mother to ask if she had heard any news—if anyone from our family or circle of friends had died. She said no, she hadn’t heard anything.
While digging through my jacket pocket for a handkerchief, my fingers brushed against a small, crumpled piece of paper. I pulled it out—and suddenly remembered. It was the note where I’d scribbled down Danilo’s email address a while back. I had been trying to get in touch with Edwin, but somehow ended up with Danilo’s contact instead. Danilo is Edwin’s younger brother. He always felt like a little brother to me, too.
I had held onto that paper for weeks, unsure how to begin a conversation. But today felt different. I felt a pull to finally reach out. So, with a mix of hope and nervousness, I typed a quick message:
“Hi Danilo. I hope you still remember me. This is Grace from Bible study. How is Tita Susan? How are you? How is Edwin?”
To my surprise, Danilo replied almost immediately. But his response was bittersweet—he told me he was doing well, but his mom, Tita Susan, had just passed away that very day. I was stunned. It felt surreal. Tita Susan had been such a warm, nurturing presence in our Bible study group. And then it hit me—it was also Edwin’s birthday.
Overwhelmed, I couldn’t stop thinking about Edwin. I asked Danilo for his phone number, hoping to offer my condolences directly. I also asked if he could pass my number along to Edwin, mentioning that I’d be visiting the Philippines in a few weeks and would love to reconnect. But I never heard back.
When I landed at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, the thick, humid air of the Philippines hit me like a wave. It was a warm reminder—I was home. After spending a few days in Quezon City, I made my way to Baguio City, a place that holds a lot of memories for me. It’s where I sought refuge after my breakup with Edwin, during a time when I felt completely lost. I had to cash out all my savings and make up a story to my parents about visiting a friend, just to explain my sudden escape.
Ironically, while I was running away to Baguio to escape my feelings, my friend back home was searching for me.
I ended up bouncing between cheap motels during my almost week-long stay, reliving all the heartbreak that led me there. During that sorrowful week, I made a decision—to leave the Philippines for good. I wanted to start fresh, to leave everything behind without a second thought. It was a moment of resolve… and a quiet goodbye.
That was a long time ago. I was so young, so impulsive. So much has happened since then. So much has changed.
While sitting on a bench in Burnham Park, I revisited that painful chapter of my life, wondering if the same person still lived somewhere inside me. I still felt a longing—to see Edwin again, even just to catch up, to know how he’s doing. I had let go of the idea of reuniting long ago, but I still hoped he was okay, that he had a beautiful family, and that he was happy.
I spotted the lake, found a coin in my purse, and made a quick wish for his happiness before tossing it in. Then, I walked back to my hotel.
That was my closure, after all these years.
