Butterflies
If you know us, or you’ve followed along with my ‘Who Am I’ story, you’ll know of the chapter in our lives when one of our sons, Felix, was diagnosed with stage four cancer when he was three. I spent a year with him at Starship Children’s Hospital — countless trips up and down from Napier, plane ride after plane ride, and long hospital stays shaped around his treatment: chemo (wheeled around in purple bins), radiotherapy and immunotherapy. Felix was given a 40% chance of survival, so for that year, our lives revolved around keeping him alive, keeping him occupied (long hospital stays) and keeping him filled with positivity. As well as making sure our other two boys were filled with up with love and were doing OK, and keeping the big ship that was Davcon (Jules’ building business) still going through what was then a recession.
Once treatment finished and the cancer was completely gone, we brought him home. Almost miraculously, he had made it through and I was tentatively, deeply grateful. But inside, I was a total mess. Being back home for good felt completely disorienting. The experience had pulled me so far from my everyday life that I didn’t quite know how to re-enter it. Our friends and their kids — our close-knit community — had lived through a whole year without us, and I didn’t even know where to begin catching up (the support had been nothing short of amazing, and relieved people could now go back to their lives). What I now recognise as post-traumatic stress felt at the time like I was just a bit shell-shocked and more than a bit lost. I knew I needed help — but rather than going down the conventional route, I was drawn to exploring something more gentle, something that might bring stillness and maybe even a little bit of peace.
My dad had become a Buddhist in the later years of his life, so I’d always been intrigued by meditation. I came across a Calm Abiding Meditation course at the Buddhist Centre in Napier and signed up. Once a week, a small group of us would gather — each of us struggling in our own way with the sitting. But we kept showing up. Week after week, I began to feel myself returning to my body and the gentle whispers from within started to give me some clarity and show me how to move ahead.
One evening, during a meditation at home, I became aware of a sharp, fiery pain on my upper back. It would have been there for a while, I just hadn’t noticed it I was so disconnected. At first, I assumed it was just physical. But as I sat with it, day after day, I began to understand that the pain wasn’t physical, it was actually emotional. And it was anger. Tons of anger, buried beneath survival mode and trauma. Sitting in stillness gave it a space to be acknowledged and understood, and from there, the anger softened and released. The fiery pain went away.
And then came the butterflies.
In one of those quiet meditations, I received a sudden, clear message from the Universe. I realised that my Mum, who died of cancer when I was three, had been coming to me for years as butterflies.I know I’m not alone in this. Many people have butterflies show up when they feel close to someone they’ve lost, they are very symbolic.
But then it hit me — I had insisted on having butterflies at our wedding. Not real ones, but these delicate, papery ones I’d sourced from overseas and carefully woven onto the fresh orchids that decorated each table. I had felt so strongly about it at the time, but only in that moment did I understand why. It wasn’t just a styling choice, it was a spiritual one. My Mum was there — in her quiet, beautiful way — at our wedding.
So, if you’ve found your way here after watching our wedding reel, now you know the story behind the butterflies.
And why am I telling you this?
Because I really want you to know that the Universe is right there with you. It speaks in whispers, leaves hints like breadcrumbs, and nudges you through signs that are soft but absolute. If we slow down and listen, it can lead us somewhere truly extraordinary.
And just a footnote - my husband was amazing during this time. I truly think he is a machine. His ability to brush things off, keep his sense of humour and keep going is legendary. And my kids were heroes, Felix the brave & the lucky and Louis & Rocco the strong, wise, resilient brothers.
