Times together can be wonderful ones. The making of memories before your very eyes. Moments captured and cherished.
One of the most painful aspects of losing someone is that there are no more opportunities for new memories to be made. We are grateful for the ones we do have stored in our minds, and we fondly recall the laughter and love. During anguished times, we call upon and cling to those treasured memories like a lifeline.
Having lost my father five years ago (or was it only yesterday?), I have struggled with and fought the fact that I cannot create any new memories with him.
Well, I made a brand new one. ::beaming:: I am beyond excited. I conversed with him throughout it. I felt him with me...guiding me...helping me.
You see, the above painting was one of the very last ones he was working on when his brain aneurysm struck. It left him unable to draw. That painting sat unfinished on his drafting table. Incomplete. The ideas he had for its completion never to be realized by him.
He had to relearn how to write his name, an arduous task in itself. I bought him sketch pads and pencils. I tried to coax that fabulous artistic talent of his to come to the foreground once again. It was sad to see the pain sweep across his eyes at the realization that his brain and hand simply could not work together to once again produce beauty. The pads and pencils were discreetly put away.
I had wanted to finish it. I had no photograph to follow. Nothing to let me know what it was he had planned on adding to the scene. I could only see an unfinished house and an incomplete landscape. The sky and trees were expertly done by him and only needed a few more touches of my paintbrush. And then I began to make it my painting, too. I made the house the way I thought it should be. The color to my liking. Windows how I wanted them. I put a wreath on the front door to add some holiday warmth. A fence along the right side of the barn. Heavy snow atop the house and barn roofs. A driveway once shoveled but quickly succumbing to the falling snow that I added. A soft background of unblemished snow.
We were together again. Working together. Creating together. Being together. Making a fresh memory.
And it was grand.
"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now." ~Unknown
Run your fingers through my soul~
One of the most painful aspects of losing someone is that there are no more opportunities for new memories to be made. We are grateful for the ones we do have stored in our minds, and we fondly recall the laughter and love. During anguished times, we call upon and cling to those treasured memories like a lifeline.
Having lost my father five years ago (or was it only yesterday?), I have struggled with and fought the fact that I cannot create any new memories with him.
Well, I made a brand new one. ::beaming:: I am beyond excited. I conversed with him throughout it. I felt him with me...guiding me...helping me.
You see, the above painting was one of the very last ones he was working on when his brain aneurysm struck. It left him unable to draw. That painting sat unfinished on his drafting table. Incomplete. The ideas he had for its completion never to be realized by him.
He had to relearn how to write his name, an arduous task in itself. I bought him sketch pads and pencils. I tried to coax that fabulous artistic talent of his to come to the foreground once again. It was sad to see the pain sweep across his eyes at the realization that his brain and hand simply could not work together to once again produce beauty. The pads and pencils were discreetly put away.
I had wanted to finish it. I had no photograph to follow. Nothing to let me know what it was he had planned on adding to the scene. I could only see an unfinished house and an incomplete landscape. The sky and trees were expertly done by him and only needed a few more touches of my paintbrush. And then I began to make it my painting, too. I made the house the way I thought it should be. The color to my liking. Windows how I wanted them. I put a wreath on the front door to add some holiday warmth. A fence along the right side of the barn. Heavy snow atop the house and barn roofs. A driveway once shoveled but quickly succumbing to the falling snow that I added. A soft background of unblemished snow.
We were together again. Working together. Creating together. Being together. Making a fresh memory.
And it was grand.
"What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now." ~Unknown
Run your fingers through my soul~
5 comments:
There have been very few times in my life where I walked away believing that I had witnessed something that truly met the description of "magical". I am going to add this to that very short list.
That's the beauty of life: it's not necessarily finished when it "ends". You've done something wonderful, and I wish you a lot of years to cherish this.
This was an amazing opportunity for you to re-connect with your dad in new and wonderful ways.
HUGS
Nikki....What a wonderful homage to your Father. He would be beaming!
Nicki,
Not sure how I missed this...I was probably away and had alerts off.
But it's magnificent...and yes, as Jimmy so perfectly expressed, "magical" indeed.
I'm so very proud of you...and you Dad is too I'm sure.
Love and miss ya,
Nancy P
Have you realized the two buildings and their closeness? Perfect!
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