I cannot overstate the impact of Mom’s first painting. It transformed our relationship and my life.
At the first class I was as skeptical as Mom. She thought it was a ridiculous thing to do, suitable only for children. I didn’t expect much either – just that she would be momentarily distracted from the boredom of her life without Dad.
I was amazed. Her painting was lovely.
Everything changed.
Each week, I saw a new painting, a new window into thoughts and emotions she wasn’t able or willing to express verbally. Each week I learned to let go of the woman I felt she used to be — each week more willing to embrace the woman who was with me in the moment — witty, happy, friendly, curious. A woman for whom everything was “just delightful.” Increasingly my life was becoming more delightful as well.
I did have to learn a few more things. I made sure that she attended each class. She still thought that painting was a stupid thing to do.
“Why am I here?,” she would ask.
“Because you’re going to paint.”
“I don’t do this,” she would look at me mystified.
I also learned to bring her paintings home. Otherwise, she would throw them away. I have saved every one.
Thanks, Mom.