Some of you may have noticed my FB page, my website, and myself in general went quiet. I’m still processing through it all, but I feel myself finally starting to come up for air and thought I would share the reason why. This is an intensely personal post and is probably a bit emotional. I’m just sharing that in case you don’t want to continue to read.
My dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer in April after being rushed to the hospital for an aneurism. He had throat cancer 7 years ago and has been in remission since. The doctors told us statistically after 5 years that the cancer wouldn’t come back. They were wrong.
The throat cancer not only came back but the tumor began growing into his facial arteries causing massive bleeds. They sent us home with no hope and told us that it was a matter of time before his carotid artery (the one that feeds the brain) burst.
I have so many thoughts on this and it’s hard to even write through the tears flowing down my cheeks. It was literally the hardest 11 weeks of my life. He was a walking talking dead man. I sat with him every day I could and drank beer. He could no longer eat and up until the last 2 weeks he would still drink beer, so that’s what we did.
We were able to have some good talks, and I asked him if there was anything he had on his bucket list that we could go do. He said was lucky in the fact that he has pretty much done everything he’s wanted to do. I’ve thought a lot about that since and how fortunate he was to get to say that. Most people never can.
I tried many times during this time to pick up a paint brush, but nothing came out. I wanted to paint the pain and unfairness of it all away but I couldn’t.
I am so very grateful that I was able to hold his hand when he took his last breath. I’m still struggling with so much loss, anger that he was only 65, anger that he suffered so much, and the helplessness of it all. But last night, I picked up the paint brush for the first time in months. I was alone in my hotel room and I pulled it out. It wasn’t easy at first. It was like pushing through a barrier. But then it slowly started to come back. It started to flow again.
I’m grateful for this. I’m grateful that I have this connection to the Creative again. That maybe through it I can begin to heal my heart and mind and soul. The last thing I was able to create before he got really sick was the yantra of the fist. It’s almost a diary entry. My thoughts, my feelings, my anger, my sadness, all made into a fist or rage.
I have so many loyal followers of my art. I just felt the need to share my journey and let you know that I am starting to resurface. I’m not sure where my work will go from here. I have a lot of thoughts still and so I’ll sit with them. And I’ll create.