Les King died in 1999, the same year as my father. The same year as the cardinal came to church.  
Les married my sister Doris in 1971 and they had a wonderful, inspiring marriage with two beautiful children and lots of friends. Les worked for a local manufacturing company and enjoyed it, traveling all over the world on behalf of their products. But his real love (other than his family) was the local volunteer fire department where he served as assistant fire chief.  

My father died in January and Les in September. These were the first major deaths in our family outside of elderly grandparents. Neither Les nor my father were, what I would consider elderly by today’s standards, but both were very sick.  

Les was diagnosed with leukemia in December 1998. However, he kept that information from everyone, including his wife, for many months because of my father’s health and because of his private nature. Les was a classic reticent man. Very quiet; very sincere; wryly funny; very wise and very private.

Les made the decision to enter an experimental treatment program at a prestigious Boston hospital. He had only one sibling and, despite the odds, she was a perfect match for a bone marrow transplant. In 1999, transplants were not performed on patients who were older than 50. Les was 52. However, with this special program and the perfect marrow match, he was chosen to proceed and he was hoping for a cure, not remission.

He knew that that he could be treated with drugs and maybe have remission for some undefined years, but this would mean no more fire department. He was in line for the chief’s position in a few years. He did not want to live his life with the uncertainty of the leukemia recurring.

He entered the hospital in August of ’99 and was expected to be in isolation for 4-6 weeks. The transplant was a success. He didn’t die of the leukemia; he died of the effects of the aggressive treatments needed to suppress the rejection of the alien cells. The experimental protocol called for increased radiation and chemotherapy-all of which he had agreed to before entering the program. It was just too much for his body to process.

When we received word that he was not doing well. We immediately left for Boston. Traveling in two cars because I was working in a different part of the state, Rich, my brother John and I arrived at the hospital and we saw him, although he was not conscious.  

Can a death be beautiful? Even a death of a dearly beloved relative when hope had been so strong for recovery? Even when he leaves family members with incredible sorrow and questions about the future? Well, Les’ death was beautiful. The hospital bed was surrounded by family members who had just received the Body of Christ from a lay deacon. We were holding hands and touching his bed. There was soft liturgical chanting playing in the background. As he breathed his last breath, the chant became a Great Amen and he was gone from this earth. “Divine Choreography,” noted my sister Francine.

What I started out to tell you about was not his death, but the aftermath of his burial. It was a special service with a large attendance of the local community and area firefighters. Les’ coffin was placed on the old antique fire truck which he had worked to restore and driven to the cemetery. Then a wonderful lunch was served by the fire auxiliary in the firehouse. It was a spectacularly beautiful day in September.

Understandably, Doris was exhausted after all the preparations and services. When my brothers and sisters decided to take a trip to the beach, she begged off to rest. The road to the beach passes the cemetery. As they went by the entrance road, with Les and the burial fresh in their minds, an extremely large cloud of Monarch butterflies flew in front of their cars. There were Monarchs all over the beach and on the buildings in the village. It was a phenomenon written about the next day in the daily newspaper! If you think that my family missed the significance of Monarch butterflies all over the place on the day that Les King was buried, you would be so wrong!

Meanwhile, Doris woke from her nap with a sense of comfort that she had not had when she lay down. She felt protected. She had a received a spiritual message that, although things would not be easy, everything would work out eventually. When my family told her of the Monarch cloud, she knew that this was a God given sign that Les was at peace and that God would provide. And He has.

I am telling this story because when I told Doris about the cardinal signs, she said to me, “Oh, T, you must write about Les and the Monarch butterflies. I felt such a sense of relief when I heard about the appearance of the butterflies that it must have been a message of love.”  

So, we have our remarkable messages from God: the cardinals for Dad and Mom, the Monarch butterflies for Les King, even pennies from Heaven for brother-in-law David Bernard. Our God does not leave us to wander without consolation. Our God recognizes our needs and we, in turn, work to recognize his signs in our lives. This is one way that a relationship develops. Our God loves us unconditionally – eternally, no matter where we are, what we do or what happens to us. Read Romans 8:38-39, and be assured of this divine love.

 Terri