The biggest connection between my mom and I was art. She was my teacher when I was younger and as my talent developed she began to live through my artwork. She stopped painting to take a more practical path in nursing. She would tell me that was her one regret and one she did not want to see me make. Once she stopped painting, she could not go back. Most people do not know that over the past few months, while my mom and I were fighting, I used art to try to bring my mom back to life. I found art classes for her to take and took her shopping to buy art supplies. As we shopped, I became the teacher. I explained the new tools and made sure she left the store with the right materials that would help bring her visions to life. My hope was that with each brushstroke my mom would form a new identity, not tied down to the pain of illness or abandonment. The night before her first class, I came over with my old and newer art box. I gave her my old one from high school and made sure it was organized to her liking. I also added finishing pieces from my art box so she had enough colors to work with (I knew her rainbow loving self would need a full spectrum of colors).
Her first day of class I was so excited to talk to her to see what she learned. We sat at the table as she showed me her exercises and said she felt like the class was too beginner for her. Her instructor even offered to let her switch to the advanced class during the summer, but like everything else, my mom was not confident enough to take this step. She asked me if I would consider taking the class with her. She thought it would be fun to do art with me again. I said it depended on my work schedule. Now I have spent the summer unemployed and everyday all I think about is how we could have been in class together...
Now fast forward to today. One of my best friends and I went to paint pottery. When my friend brought up the idea, a piece of me felt so much anxiety over the idea of picking up a paint brush again. To quote my eulogy "when I paint my hand is [my mom's] hand." Art is such a personal thing between my mom and I that my mom feared that I would not be able to paint once she was gone. To be honest, I was not sure I would be able to. I made a promise to my mom I would paint again, but the idea of holding true to that promise made me feel sick. I saw the pottery trip as a challenge I had to face.
As I worked on my piece, I felt the happiest I could feel. I heard my mom reciting different painting lessons in my head as my brush hit the ceramic. I got carried away and for a moment I felt like I was five again drawing at the kitchen table with my mom. With each brush stroke, I felt like my mom's hand move with mine. I was connected to her, a feeling I forgot until today.
I am not back to fully painting again, but today I took a baby step to fulfilling my final promise to my mom. Again to quote from you eulogy "when i paint again, my hand will be [my mom's hand] and [she] will live on doing the thing she loved the most."
Thank you for painting with me today mommy. I promise we will again soon...
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