Karl Potach, Gary Holmquist's young nephew, fought a valiant fight before succumbing to the ravages of cancer. This tribute was included in The City Parson column in November, 1997

                                                         A   B U T T E R F L Y

Little Karl, just before his fifth birthday, flew away home. He had been battling cancer like a brave warrior for two years only to leave a lonely, bewildered and devastated family and friends behind. Let me share with you some of his last moments.

Shortly before his death, he had been given a small branch with a couple of cocoons attached. With awe he watched one of them release its hibernating occupant. Shortly after this, the second cocoon presented Karl with another  butterfly. Later, when talking to his grandmother, Karen Holmquist, he said, "Tomorrow I am going to be a butterfly."

The next day, Karl took his final breath and he was gone. At the graveside, my daughter, Laurie, watched her husband, Gary, Karl’s uncle, proceed with the other pallbearers to transport the casket to its final resting place. At that moment, Laurie spotted a beautiful Monarch butterfly fluttering over the coffin and then flew ahead of the processional to the grave where it rested on a bouquet of flowers.

"Tomorrow I’m going to be a butterfly." Coincidental? Fortuitous? Poetic? Prophetic? Providential?  Maybe all of these. Doubtless Karl had a premonition that is not uncommon. He has been overshadowed by the Almighty who knows when a sparrow falls, who cares for a creation that neither spins nor toils nor gathers into barns, whose beloved Son wept when a close friend died.

To think that Karl, at the ripe old age of fifty-nine months, would be abandoned is unthinkable. To think that Karl turned into a butterfly is also unthinkable. Yet to think that a butterfly might have a message for us is conceivable. If a butterfly could sing, do you suppose it might have sung Lina Sandell’s (1832-1903) immortal Children of the Heavenly Father?

Children of the heavenly Father safely in his bosom gather,
nestling bird nor star in heaven such a refuge e’er was given.

Though he giveth or he taketh, God his children ne’er forsaketh,
his the loving purpose solely to preserve them pure and holy.

Karl, we miss you down here but it is consoling to know that you will be a part of the welcoming committee up there.

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