Dancing with the Butterfly

By DeAnna Shelley

Love letters to BreAnna--this is a book of how a mother communicates to her daughter who has autism through letters and stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hawes & Jenkins Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781637840399

Book preview

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Dancing with the Butterfly

DeAnna Shelley

ISBN 978-1-63784-038-2 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63784-039-9 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by DeAnna Shelley

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Hawes & Jenkins Publishing

16427 N Scottsdale Road Suite 410

Scottsdale, AZ 85254

www.hawesjenkins.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Dancing with the Butterfly

It's Raining, and Pouring and Storming—Oh My

Rainbows

Prince Charming Was a Real Frog

Another Frog

Hearing God on Halloween

The Thanksgiving Box

Is It Me, or Is Lucy a Bitc—?

Christmas Can Be Ho, Ho, Horrific

D.H.R.

Do Not Disturb

Oh, Only the Certain Places We Can Go and Certain Things We Can Do!

Time Travel

The Shortcut

Lost in Solomon Park

Guardianship

The Perfect Family

The Breakdown: Behavior Modification

Skin Deep

Food Stamps and Free Cheese

Cloth Napkins

There's a Doggy in the Subway Restaurant

Defective Dining

The Drive-Thru

Wardrobe Malfunction

The Lysol Bra

Your Heavenly Robe

Earmuffs at the O.K. Corral

Mother's Day

Beautiful

Happy Tears?

Quite the Dilemma—Period

Rocks at the Roofers

Hype, Skype, and Lady Gaga

Fishing

God's Country

The Special in Special Olympics

Two Smiles

Glass-Jar Moments

A Ponytail Fairytale

I Can't Laugh, Can I?

Communication Station

You Might Be a Redneck

The Day You Were Born

I'm Already Famous

References

Then

To and for BreAnna

LOVE LETTERS TO BreAnna

—How a mother communicates to her daughter who has Autism through letters and stories.

Why I wrote this book:

One day, I was having great difficulty explaining something to BreAnna, which was nothing new. She rarely understood complex topics. Therefore, my Christian counselor (a truly genuine and exceptionally wise lady) suggested that I write Bre a letter to explain my feelings better. I said, "There is no way this is going to work. She replied, At the very least, it might make you feel better to write these things down, hon." So I did. My first letter to Bre was called Prince Charming Was a Real Frog, a story about her dad.

When I read this story to Bre, amazingly, she began to cry. I was stunned that she was actually getting what I was trying to say? That was the beginning. Once I had written a few stories/letters to Bre and read them to my counselor, she encouraged me to put these stories/letters into a book, which I did.

I hope that others who have autism or know someone with autism can benefit from these stories.

Dancing with the Butterfly

BreAnna,

Today I am in the house working, and you are outside playing. You love nature so very much; you always have. Anyway, I glance outside the window to check on you, and I see my beautiful daughter in the front yard. I notice that you are flailing around—hands flapping (traditional autistic move) and feet kicking.

At first, I think that a bug or bee must be annoying you. I know how terrified you are of certain insects. Then I notice that you don't seem to be afraid. So I say to myself, I must go outside and stop her. What will the neighbors think? They will surely think that my daughter is weird.

As I approach you, determined, I yell, BreAnna, what on earth are you doing? You turn to look at me with the face of an angel, with a smile beaming so brightly, and replied, matter-of-factly, Dancing with the butterfly. I think to myself that you must be pretending. So I stop and observe. I stand frozen—mesmerized.

You weave, you twirl, and the butterfly follows. You spin and jump, and the butterfly swoops down and dips behind your head and then across your shoulders. I can't believe what I am seeing! This butterfly is indeed dancing with you! You flutter; the butterfly flutters.

By this point, I am crying, ashamed of myself. I think, Father, this truly has to be one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen, and I almost missed it! I am fortunate to get to watch for a while longer.

Eventually, the butterfly moves on, and you wave goodbye to your new friend. Then you and I go inside, and I smile, thinking, Today is the day that you danced with the butterfly.

It's Raining, and Pouring and Storming—Oh My

BreAnna,

As I sit in the comfort of my La-Z-Boy, I peer out the window and see a fierce thunderstorm coming. The rain has just begun to fall. Suddenly, lightning flashes. I count…one…two…boom! I hold my breath and wait for you to race downstairs, trembling with fear. But alas, nothing. The rain comes down harder, and the wind begins to howl. Where are you, BreAnna? Don't you need me? You have always been terrified during a thunderstorm, but today, where in the heck are you?

I think back and remember the small child who would crawl underneath the dining room table during storms. I would try to get you out from under the table, wanting so badly to comfort you, but you could not hear me. You could not see me. All you could do was feel the storm. I would sit outside your storm circle, begging, crying, BreAnna, BreAnna, please let me help you! Praying, Father, please let me touch her! Sadly, you could not be comforted. You rocked and moaned, eyes wide and full of fear! I watched and sobbed, feeling helpless. My baby, my baby. Father, please help her!"

The storm would subside, as storms always do. Eventually, you would crawl out from under the table, exhausted and weak from your storm experience. I would lead you to your room and tuck you into bed. You had to rest, and I had to try and start breathing again.

Another boom of thunder brings me back to today, and I go upstairs to check on you. When upstairs, I can see that you are playing a video game in your room. You pause, look up at me, and ask, Mom, what are you doing up here? I reply, Don't you hear the storm? Your answer, Yeah, I'm trying to ignore it. Now, I feel as if I have been struck by lightning. I never thought the day would come when I would see the calm during the storm!

Rainbows

BreAnna,

In the deep south, where we live, near the Gulf of Mexico, a traditional summer tempest has once again passed, and we are left with gentle rain and a sprinkling of sunshine. While the outside shower cleans the earth, I am inside cleaning the house—when all of a sudden, movement outside of the window catches my eye. There you are, Bre, soaked to the bone, frantically racing around the yard looking for the rainbow! You race up the driveway. You race down the driveway. You race up the street and around the corner—obsessive in your upward, relentless feat!

Ultimately, I dropped my much-needed to-do list and loaded you into the car to look for your much-needed pot of gold. As I try to prepare you that not all rain/sun combinations give us rainbows, eureka!—there's your rainbow! As the squeals, oohs, and