I stayed home from work on the fourth anniversary of my daughter’s death. My plans were a bit vague, except for the short trip I would make to Woodhaven Road, the place she picked to end her life. I needed to be there before 1:30, the estimated time of Arlyn’s death. It had become a yearly ritual.

I went into her bedroom to get a few things to take with me that would remind me of her. I picked up a folder with some of the poems she had written. I also grabbed a framed photo of Arlyn when she was three years old. She was wearing a Raggedy Ann costume I had made. That made me smile. The room was full of Arlyn, but it seemed so empty. I closed the door. Time to go.

I put a lawn chair in the car. Then, I slowly drove three miles to a place I hated, a place that held the most painful memory of my life. I parked the car next to a rickety wooden bridge that crossed a small stream. I stood alone on the dirt road and stared at the two handmade wooden crosses that announced Arlyn’s death.

Sitting down, I realized I had placed the chair on the exact spot where my daughter’s beautiful healthy body had fallen. I briefly panicked and thought about moving, but didn't. Perhaps a morbid need to connect with her held me there. I opened the folder of poetic musings and I read her words.

“The scent of death surrounds me and I am overwhelmed by its beauty." Her hands had written those words, but her heart had felt them.

I looked up and stared at nothing in particular. It was terribly hot, much like the day Arlyn died. I glanced at my watch. It was almost that time. If her spirit were to arrive, it would be now.

I asked out loud, “How are you doing, Arlyn Darlin'? What's it like up there?”

No reply. I began to ask harder questions.

"Arlyn, do you miss us? When you pulled the trigger, did you have any idea of how badly your death would devastate your dad and me?"

Nothing. I had to try one more time. I would ask for a sign that she was here. I had waited four years. Long enough. I opened my eyes and searched for a sign. Then, I realized I would not know a sign if I saw one. What did a sign look like? Is it blinking lights? A crash of thunder? What was I looking for?

Then I spotted yellow butterflies in the woods behind the crosses, pretty common in South Georgia this time of year. That was it!

I yelled, "Arlyn, if you hear me, will you send me a red butterfly to let me know you're okay? Will you send me a red butterfly if you know how much I love you and how badly I miss you? Please, Arlyn."

I closed my eyes and felt a cool breeze. I shivered. When I opened my eyes again, the yellow butterflies were gone. I sighed. Disappointed, I felt myself sinking. I was a reluctant traveler on this road. Sometimes it seemed too hard to go on. Sometimes I wanted to give up and join my daughter. I missed her so much.

A moment later, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a red flicker by the stream. A large red butterfly came from under the bridge. Slowly it flew toward me, bobbing up and down. I held my breath as the butterfly got closer. The trees behind it faded out, all I could see through teary eyes was the red butterfly. It fluttered close to me, and then flew all the way around the two crosses that bore Arlyn’s name. I sat there so close I could almost touch it.

I have visited the place on Woodhaven Road many times and the only butterflies I’ve seen there before were yellow. Was Arlyn letting me know she heard my cries and that she was at peace? Maybe she was letting me know she understood the depth of my love. Maybe she wanted me to know she was with me. I decided to take her gift of the red butterfly and reach out to others who grieve.

I started an on-line support group called Parents of Suicides. Today the group has members from around the world, an annual Candlelight Memorial and a yearly retreat. We help each other deal with the issues peculiar to suicide, and we honor the memory of our sons and daughters.

I have also started the on-line support group Friends and Families of Suicides. We are just now beginning face-to-face support groups with chapters in several states. And there is my group called Distant Drums, which serves Native Americans and Aboriginals who face very different needs when it comes to suicide. I wonder if Arlyn knows about her Cherokee ancestry.

I hope my daughter is proud of me. Even if she is, she could never be as proud as I am of her. It would make her smile to know that so many people all over the world have heard of her through my work. She dreamed of being Miss America when she was little. I think she has touched more people now than she would have if she had worn that crown.

Karyl Chastain-Beal
Arlyn’s Mother

Arlyn Maria Beal
Eighteen Years Old

This is a journal entry Arlyn’s mother wrote five months after Arlyn’s death.

Dear Arlyn,

The day before your birthday, I debated on whether to go to school because I was feeling more emotional each day. But I went and almost made it. About 2 o’clock, I could not hold back and started crying. The kids are getting used to my tears now. I took them outside for a long recess. I stood alone and fought to retain my self-control.

After school I decided to go to the cemetery. Your dad and I planned to go on Saturday, but I needed to go then and wanted to do it alone. When he is with me, I feel like I need to help him and cannot let go of my own emotions.

Rain fell fairly hard, but it did not matter. Some say rain is God’s tears, but I am not sure if I believe in God anymore. I stood by your grave as the rain drenched me and I talked to you. I don’t know if you heard me or not. The visit was horrible. The excruciating pain I felt after you first died returned and I wailed so loudly it frightened me. But I could not stop. The sounds just emanated from my gut and seemed to be ripping my soul to shreds.

Driving home, I was amazed to see the most beautiful perfect rainbow I have ever seen, arching itself across the highway as if I were driving through the center of it. I have always believed that a rainbow symbolizes hope. I could not help but read great significance into that rainbow. I don’t know what the hope is for, other than to be able to survive the rest of my life without you.

I went home, optimistic that your birthday would truly be a day we could celebrate your birth and life rather than dwell on the terrible circumstances of your death. Before you died, Arlyn, death was simply a word I heard about. Not anymore. Your death was the end of the world. I love you, my sweet little girl. You are the wind beneath my wings - forever.

Love,

Your mom