Art is a wonderful thing for lots of reasons. This week, it was my solace. It was also my saviour.
You never want to get that phone call in the middle of the night; the one where you have to sit down in order to hear something bad, something tragic, has just happened. I got one of those a couple days ago. My brother John died suddenly of a massive heart attack. Wow...what to say, to think, to feel? He was once such a major part of my life. He was the big brother whom I looked up to; the one who protected me when life wasn't going so well. John was the hero in our family; he was the one who should have gone the furthest in life. If I were to predict back then which one of the five siblings were to go first, he would have been on the bottom of the list. John bought me my first box of watercolour paints. He believed in me, way back then. Somewhere it is stored away, just like the memories have been. One of these days I will look for that little wooden paint box and just hold it for awhile. For now, I pick up my brushes and paint. I let my mind drift off to the time when I was that little girl who needed a couple big brothers to look after me. I can hug him again, and let him tease me incessantly once more. I can love him and feel the love coming straight back. Wherever you are, my dear brother, I love you. I never stopped.
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AuthorJust little old me, fitting into this little old world. :-) Archives
November 2017
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