When I heard his voice, I knew.
His mom is going to die.
We've known this for some time, but she was doing so well for so long. But now, this is it. This is the last few days or hours. And all I can do is cry with him. I don't know what else to do. I don't know what to say. And he's so far away right now (geographically) that I can't even hug him.
[The phone rang again just as I was finishing the above paragraph.]
Superstar just called again. She died an hour and a half ago.
This is so hard. It's so surreal and so real at the same time. It's just dawning on me that our first Christmas together is going to be his first Christmas without his mother. I don't know if my brain can process all of this right now. I feel so overwhelmed and helpless and disoriented.
Between the first phone call and the second, I managed to drop a few hundred dollars on a piece of art. A friend (the one whose painting I took on my trip to Europe) needed some cash for an upcoming exhibition, so he dropped me an email to see if I knew anyone who was interested in buying some paintings. I asked him to show me a few pieces and when I saw this one, I just knew:
It's huge - five feet by two feet - so I wasn't sure that I had a place for it in my little house. I also wanted to see what it was like in my space, to feel if it really belonged here. I asked him to bring it and some of his other pieces over to see what worked.
When he got here, he told me that the piece used to be just the two bottom paintings, but he just had this feeling that it needed something more, so he created the top one. I looked closely at it and pointed to the one long branch that pokes up into the top painting and said, "That's hope."
Hope, reaching upward, all by its lonesome. A small branch that doesn't allow the vast space around it to overwhelm it or discourage it.
That's when I knew I needed this painting in my space, because hope has been sorely lacking in my life as of late. Maybe having this huge, stunning piece of artwork taking up a wall in my living room will serve as a daily reminder that even when things seem stacked against you, there's still hope. There's always hope.
He left for a bit and came back with his tools to install the piece, which was quite the production in itself, while I rearranged furniture and moved other artworks around to make it fit.
Just as he was leaving, he said, "It's not on the back of it, but if anyone asks you, the painting's called Hope."
11 comments:
My thoughts are with you, hugs too! That is a fabulous painting as well, named very fittingly.
I am so sorry to hear of Superstar's loss. I'm glad he's got you to lean on.
Aw, sweetie, I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. My thoughts and healing energies are with you and your honey at this time.
This is the third blog tonight that has made me cry. Big cry.
Superstar is so lucky he has you to call. I don't even know him, and I just want to run and hug him. Losing a parent is the hardest thing of all.
My thoughts are with you.
We could all use some Hope, and the people who don't think so are the ones who need it most.
Hugs.
Let's pull back here: you did know she was going to die. We all know we are all going to die. What you didn't know was how wrenching it would feel. I thought about a decade of dying made me ready for when my mother died. It didn't. Nothing does.
I don't know you but I sense this will be a good for you and Superstar.
This is life happening. Life is full of death. And, yes, hope. Hope that in the end is only realized by changing one's dreams into what has happened.
Coraggio, ragazza!
Very sad and hard times. Art is is excellent idea.
I haven't been online in a few days and I see I've missed your birthday and now there's a death. Though I only know you in this cyber world, I feel a "kindred spirit-ness" with you and right now I really wish I could jump through all of the wires and binary code that connects us and just cry with you. I want to find some zucchini flowers and fry them up for you, drink some wine and just be pissed off at the injustice in the world. My point is, you are not alone, Savia. Hope comes from endurance in the face of desperation. It IS there. It has to be. As cliche as it sounds, we're all here for you.
Thank you everyone for your kind words and thoughts. It really means a lot to me.
That is a stunning piece of art, and a wonderful reminder. Best wishes to you and Superstar.
i'm so sorry savia. let's talk soon, okay? love and hugs and kisses to you... and to Superstar.
Post a Comment