“Psychology won, oh, won”
By John McGondel

My friends got married last night. And while we celebrated their new life, another friend was celebrating her next new life. I met her in 1999, she was my first psychology teacher. I was amazed at how straight-laced and prim-proper she seemed to be. My daughter Angelique, was also a student in the same class as myself, at what is now called Chester College of New England. But that name-change happened after we had taken several courses together with this teacher.

While we studied with Neil, it was called White Pines College. The teacher's name was Cornelia (Neil) Brous, and she was a Doctor of Educational Psychology. She was also the most upbeat and positive person I have ever met, still to this day. Eventually, my second daughter Melody, began taking psychology courses with her, also with me as a classmate. This must have been extraordinarily difficult for Neil. My wife Eileen had taken psychology class, long before I had ever tried to, and she had always raved about how much she liked the subject. Now, myself and my daughters are lifelong psychologists.

This woman, Neil, touched our family, on many levels, and still does, on this day after she died. She fought cancer for the last eighteen months, and engaged in battle against the disease like a true gladiator. While I and my family were celebrating a wedding last night, Neil lost her final battle against one of the most formidable of enemies. But not without putting up a valiant, fearless defense. She would have liked the scenario- a new life beginning for two people I love, while another life I loved evolved into its next level of existence.

I sat outside this morning, contemplating the complexity and seemingly randomness of life, and I silently asked for some sign that there was something more out there than just void. As I sat, alone in the early morning, in the shade of a tree in my backyard a butterfly slowly made its way, through the strong breeze, toward me. It passed me, very close it was, and it hovered for a moment in front me. Then it flitted away, across the yard. I chalked that up to the erratic randomness of the universe, and asked again, for another sign. Through my tears, I saw the same butterfly slowly bank around to the left, and come once again toward me. Again it hovered in front of me, and this time I said out loud to it: "Thank you, Neil, for giving me as much after your death as you have given myself and my daughters before your death. The butterfly stayed there, perched upon a flower, until my face was no longer wet.

My friends got married last night. The circle continues, despite us…