...Until yesterday morning.


First, about yesterday: my grandfather died after spending about three months in the hospital. It all began by an operation, not very dangerous. He was supposed to leave after two weeks. Well, he couldn't leave before three months. From what I understood, there were a massive amount of blood in his lungs or something like that, that made it difficult for him to breathe. Another operation, that doesn't work. We're still hoping for some miracle. Two months and a half, the doctors say there's basically no hope of saving him. My grandmother and my aunt spend whole weeks at Bordeaux, where the hospital is. My father is supposed to return to Cambodia. We deposit him at the airport, and go at the hospital. Learning that my grandpa is going to die soon, we call my dad, return to the airport and fetch him. We decide to do the the best we can to ease my grandfather's pain before the end. Finally, he died, yesterday morning. I never cried this much.

Now, I suppose you're wondering what the heck have butterflies to do with this, uh? Let me explain:
In Vietnam (my mother is Vietnamese), it is said that the dead reincarnates into butterflies; white if they died young, black if they died old.
And yesterday, as my parents left to take my granfather's body back, I was walking a bit in the garden, and a black butterflie landed on me. I almost cried of happiness. I'm such a sentimental fool.

Last thing: expect fursonas and butterflies when I'll be back to drawing.