Some time ago my daughter, Cindy, gave me a small porcelain figurine that she bought on a trip to Hawaii.  T'was a caterpillar with a grass skirt on.  It came with a card that read, "Butterfly in Disguise."  Sometimes it's the smallest things that enter our lives that are the most important.

I first really "met" Adelle by calling her the wrong name; I don't recall what that name was.  She didn't correct me 'till I did it the second time and then, in her quiet grandmotherly fashion, said, "My name is Adelle."  That's how the butterfly entered my life.

When they put me at a table across from Tony, everyone had to pass by me coming and going.  Now that I knew her name, I started asking how she was feeling and her answer was always the same "grouchy." 

 "Oh, no you're not," and if you give me a hug, I'll prove it." We'd both smile and hug each other.  Then Adelle would quietly say, "We all need someone to love and care about us, don't we."

From then on, it was the all important "hug" at least once a day.  "Gimme a hug, Adelle, so I'll sleep better tonight."  "Gimme a hug Adelle, so I'll have a better day."  Once we hugged she'd say, "Baloney" and smile. 

If she had a problem she'd tell me about it and say, "We all need to be cared about and appreciated, don't we?" 

"Yes, we do and I'm glad we can care about each other as friends." 

I was told that Adelle had fallen in her bathroom and bumped her head.  She quit showing up for our daily "hugs," and I realized the bump must be more serious than I thought.  One afternoon, having decided not to go to dinner, I went out to get something to drink.  My thoughts suddenly went to Adelle and I decided to see if she could have a visitor.  Her daughter, Reba, who I had already met, answered the door.  

"I'd like to see your mom for just a moment if I may."  

"She's not very responsive right now, but you're welcome to visit her for a few moments."

As I wheeled into her bedside, Reba went to the other.  She gently said, "Mom, Bill's here to give you a 'verbal hug.'  Adelle could not respond, but I'm sure she could hear us.  I don't remember exactly what I said, but I tried to be as comforting as I could.  After a few moments, I excused myself and bid Adelle "Goodbye for now," so Reba could care for her mother.

When I got back to my room I decided, for some uncanny reason, that Reba might enjoy a short story or two to take her mind off things.  As I started to knock the d

OR opened, it was Reba and we startled each other.  

"Oh, Bill, it's you--she's gone!"  I was too dumbfounded to speak except to say, "I'm so sorry." 

 "I was coming to find someone to tell." 

I dumbly said, "I brought these for you to read, but you won't have time to fool with these."  She politely took them anyway.

All the way back to my room, I thought of Adelle and how we would never hug each other again.  I would never again hear her say, "We all need to be loved and appreciated, don't we?"

I called Cindy and told her what happened.  "Well, Pop, do you think she was just waiting for you to tell her goodbye?" 

"I don't think it was just me, Cindy, I think she wanted a 'friend' to give her one last hug, even though it was only verbal." 

"I'll give you a real one someday, Adelle, and that's no 'Baloney!'