The Painting

There’s a painting I made a bit after Nadav died. It’s full of abstract shapes and colors, and resonates a sort of calm chaos that’s hard to describe. I hid his name amongst the shapes, masking it, so it’s there, but only I can see it. I don’t tell anyone where it is. It’s for me and him. The painting is for him.
It hangs in our living room, right above the spot I like to sit on the couch. Where I bring my legs up and lean Bunny on them to look in her eyes. Where I sing to her and feed her. Where I comfort her when she cries.

We hung it there before she was born, just because it fit there best amongst the rest of the paintings in the space. There was no other reason.

Now that she is older;
She’s started to recognize shapes and colors.
She makes eye contact with me and smiles.

Sometimes I lift her up and try to get her to look me in the eye, and give me a smile. I find her looking right above me, where the picture hangs.

Then after looking for a while, she looks down again. She finds my eyes, I kiss her and she smiles.
And I smile back.
I’m glad she likes the colors and shapes. I’m glad it hangs where it hangs.

Tags: grief