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Today, I'm grateful that my Momaw kept pieces of my childhood. 

During a recent visit, she admitted that in a drawer in her bedroom, she still had the first butterflies I ever discovered as a child. I couldn't have been any more than two or three years old at the time. 

My sisters and I were always playing outside and would find butterflies to care for. Some had tears in their delicate wings and couldn't fly, so after doing all we could, we would make them a final resting place out of check boxes and Kleenex.

Here are two of mine, and they're nearly thirty years old...