Hope

In the fall, my friend asked me to paint the alley side of her garage. She wanted it to inspire hope. I thought about hope for a long time. When I googled hope, I came up with symbols of rainbow and breast cancer pink ribbons. I wanted something else. I started with a tree. I had recently painted a tree at a coffee shop and loved how it turned out. Right next to the garage was a large tree stump. I think old trees are kinda mesmerizing and I think the promise of taking root and growing in one place is hopeful.

Then I painted in a girl looking toward the horizon and the sun beyond the mountains. My friend told me after I’d started the mural that she used to stand looking at the mountains as a child imaging that a band of Indians would come over the horizon and sweep her away from her small, dark life. I didn’t know that when I started painting the mural, but it didn’t surprise me. Sometimes I sense pain without being told.

I haven’t finished the mural yet. It’s been a slow project for me. I usually have a mural project waiting in the wings, so finishing one quickly gets me to the next. But for whatever reason, it feels like taking slow deliberate steps is the right way to approach this wall. I painted in lots of color for the sky and fields, but it is still missing something.

I woke up yesterday morning and heard my sister-in-law’s voice on the radio talking about grief. I wonder how long that spot will run on the air. Her service was yesterday, in the church that used to be a roller rink. I have so many memories of the rink and arcade games and birthday parties and suicides (drinks with all the sodas mixed together) and the music that shaped my youth. I know the space was a gymnastics academy before a church, but in my mind it is the roller rink. Sometimes I have dreamed that I show up to skate and there is a funeral going on. Weird, right? Almost like knowing that one day, I’d be there for a funeral.

Through this whole journey, I haven’t known what to say to my brother. Losing my parents unhinged him, and his wife was the force that helped ground him. Losing her is like losing his will to live. He looked good and held himself together during the service, but I know him well enough to see the frayed edges and I’m not sure what comes next for him. I hope he finds peace and comfort in knowing that she isn’t suffering. I hope that he is able to see the light and faith that his wife lived her life with.

After the service, I took a look at the wall. I’m ready to finish it now. I am going to add wild horses running in the field. Freedom. Hope. They will be for my sister-in-law. Fly high, honey. You will always be loved.