Painting A Memory
After sharing the painting I created in honor of my dad, I received a deeply moving request—one that I didn’t expect. A friend reached out, asking me if I could create a piece of art in memory of his daughter, who had also passed from cancer. At first, I wasn’t sure I could. Grief is so personal. But since losing my dad, something inside me has shifted. I no longer fear death—instead I’ve come to understand that alongside the sorrow, there is beauty. There are miracles. There is a quiet, untapped current of love that flows freely—if we are open to see it, to feel it.
A portrait painted with love, memory, and the quiet magic that lives beyond loss.
The request came without specifics, which made it all the more special: no direction, no expectations—just an invitation to create something meaningful in her memory, as a gift from him to his wife for her birthday. I took time to get to know Emma through the photos shared at her funeral, the music she loved, and the roles she played as an actress on stage. I learned that she worked at a wilderness program for youth, that she loved Crocs with little duckies on them. These details became threads in the story I painted—surrounded by soft pastel flowers, her face emerged at the center, almost as if she was guiding me.
I included lyrics from “Bluebird” by Sara Bareilles, which had been read during her service. It was a tender and spiritual experience, one that felt more like collaboration than creation. The final piece is a portrait, yes—but it’s also a prayer, a memory, and a celebration of Emma’s light. I’m grateful to have held space for her in this way and to have shared in a moment of love and remembrance with her family.
