After Evelyn died, people wrote letters and cards of condolence. Many did not know what to say for someone who died in her forties.
One of the memorable letters came from Judy Rasmussen. It addressed our sense of loss and what remains of people when they die, what stays with us and gives us strength. Judy wrote, “There is no right card, no right expression, no wisdom. My heart is so heavy that I can’t express myself. I am sitting in my garden listening to the birds. I can hear Evelyn’s hearty laugh beyond their sound, and hear her sing. Her presence is strong. I remember Evelyn approaching me after my sister’s passing. I barely knew her. She put her arms around me, drew me in, and helped me begin the healing process. Evelyn’s warmth and sensitivity are embedded in my heart.”
Judy died this week. The one who heard Evelyn with the singing of the birds is gone. Her presence will also be missed.
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Molly
Molly was a painter who had a wonderful eye for composition, especially when creating collages of unusual materials. She loved the Native American culture of the Southwest, asiago cheese, nature and Francesco.
One of her paintings hangs on my wall. It’s an abstract work of Yosemite that combines old clothing patterns, canvas, and oil paint. At first I thought it was of pine trees in a snowstorm, with circles and shards of green objects scattered about. Now I see the light of creation coming through the mist and the sacred hoop of the Great Spirit, renewing the life of animals, people, and coyotes. Today I realized that the inspiration for the painting could have come one day when she was in Yosemite, looked up at the sun shining above the clouds and sending through beams of light, before the clouds thickened and took the sun away.
She was struggling with a brain tumor then. How she faced her struggles taught me the importance of living in the moment and celebrating what is good today, even if other matters are going wrong. She left this vision in her painting to remind me.
Five years ago this month, Molly died at age 41.
One of her paintings hangs on my wall. It’s an abstract work of Yosemite that combines old clothing patterns, canvas, and oil paint. At first I thought it was of pine trees in a snowstorm, with circles and shards of green objects scattered about. Now I see the light of creation coming through the mist and the sacred hoop of the Great Spirit, renewing the life of animals, people, and coyotes. Today I realized that the inspiration for the painting could have come one day when she was in Yosemite, looked up at the sun shining above the clouds and sending through beams of light, before the clouds thickened and took the sun away.
She was struggling with a brain tumor then. How she faced her struggles taught me the importance of living in the moment and celebrating what is good today, even if other matters are going wrong. She left this vision in her painting to remind me.
Five years ago this month, Molly died at age 41.
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