Signs and Synchronicities: The Green Butterfly

We were girls together.

The day my cat Lexie died in 2023 was easily one of the saddest in my life. She was my cat. Undoubtedly my soulmate. We were girls together, and suddenly she was gone--we were so connected and she was so old that it hardly occurred to me that she could die.

But she did, and it was tragic. Later that day, I somehow managed to peel myself off the floor and drive from my parents' house in San Mateo back to my apartment in San Francisco. I sobbed as I sped down the freeway (not one of my better decisions) and, in my desperation, I did something I almost never do: I prayed.

I’m not religious. In fact, I only ever pray in two circumstances:

1. When I feel like I’m about to throw up and really don’t want to.

2. When I'm constipated (sorry TMI).

Yet here I was, begging Lexie for a sign. I needed to know she was okay. That she knew I loved her. That we had made the right decision putting her down.

I asked her to show me a green butterfly. Green because of her fluorescent green eyes. A butterfly because, well, it just felt right.

Lexie and her green eyes.

Now, I have made the drive from San Mateo to San Francisco hundreds of times. I know the route like the back of my hand, but because Bay Area traffic is what it is, I usually keep my navigation on.

That day, through my blurry, swollen vision, I noticed my GPS was directing me to take an exit I had never taken before.

Weird.

But I wasn’t about to argue with directions—not today. I followed the signs toward the exit. And just like that, my crying stopped.

Eyes wide. Jaw dropped.

My sign: The Green Butterfly.

I was being directed to take an exit called Mariposa Street.

Mariposa. Spanish for butterfly.

And the signs marking the exit? Bright green.

Not even five minutes after asking Lexie for a green butterfly, I was driving past several green signs with the word butterfly written all over them.

Lexie works fast.

One Year Later

Flash forward to the following year. It was around Christmas, and my parents decided to get a new cat so their dog could have a buddy. A coworker of my mom’s offered them a Scottish Fold for free, and I mean—just look at her. Who could say no?

But still, I had feelings. Lexie was Lexie. The idea of welcoming another cat into the family made me feel guilty, like I was moving on too soon from something I hadn’t even considered moving on from.

So, once again, I found myself praying to Lexie. I told her I still thought about her every day, that I missed her, that no new cat would ever take her place. (Death is weird).

Then, as I made my usual walk from my car to my Pilates studio, I passed by a tree wrapped in string lights. Attached to the lights were several decorative butterflies.

And out of all of them, only one was lit.

It was green.

Right on time.