Healing Through Painting
Sunday, November 16, 2008
I love to paint. My grief therapist says that it is the only time I truly am at peace. I just finished a painting and it hangs in my studio-converted-study. It is from my standing-awake-dream of my husband when I was praying to God to keep him safe the morning we were searching for him and his plane. In my vision, he reached down from the heavens to grab at my hand and pull me up. In the painting, an angel is reaching down out of the clouds of blue and purple. My friend looked at it and told me it was a male angel blowing a kiss. She could see his breath and she pointed out a dove just beyond his finger tips. It is my first abstract painting and it pushed out of my paintbrush almost without effort.
Every day that goes by my heart feels more joy than the previous day. I had been faking it for so long, saying all the right things and living my pretend life. But now, it feels like me again, a little shaky, but it is me. The people in my world are beautiful. They are all new in my life. Those that knew my husband and I quietly disappeared. I think because it was too painful to watch me flounder, trying to deal with their own loss at the same time. Maybe it was because I couldn't stand to be near them and holed myself up quietly in the sanctity of my home. Those that knew my husband rarely talk to me about him, they want me to ignore my sadness and move on with my life. My new friends seem to draw me out, make me try different things and remind me how much joy my husband is feeling as he watches me from the heavens. I still miss him. I miss his unorthodox humor and his booming laughter that would fill the empty places in my house. I miss the way he looked at me across the room or the way he would melt when I touched him. But, he is not a ghost here, whispering in the shadows. He is in the heavens. "I am healed," he told me once in a dream. I think he meant the broken body he ended with as well as the brokenness of his previous life with his first family. I like to think that we are all here on our own journeys, but sometimes we meet someone who can help our feet touchdown on the right path again to help us complete our journey to God in heaven. I will forever be changed because of him and he because of me. Now, how could I possibly be sad about that?