As I continue on my journey of learning to live my life without my son, a family, and totally alone I have found tremendous comfort in art. I learned basic painting techniques while I attended AAU when I went back for my degree. Little did I know then how helpful it would be for me years later.
I am seeing a therapist who is trained in the methodology taught by Joanne Cacciatore, Ph.D., from Arizona State University. I’ve been working through her workbook, “Selah: An Invitation Toward Fully Inhabited Grief”. The book offers prompts for which to respond to. One of the prompts is, “My grief looks like”. When I first started working with my therapist she suggested that I give my grief a form. The black box was what I created in response to that prompt.
My grief feels, at times, suffocating. Like I’m trapped inside with no way out. It can feel like a black hole. What I decided to create was a box out of paper. I painted it black and sewed it together with thread. In my eyes, it was/is an exact representation to the black hole I felt (and still feel) inside, barely held together with the sinews of my lifeforce. When I shared it with my therapist, she pointed out to me that the box I created was still open. It is an accurate metaphor for how I feel. Although I feel so constricted by my current life circumstances, the box, like me, is still somewhat open to the world outside – in spite of the darkness, in spite of feeling like I’m barely hanging on.
The flowers I created were in response to the question, “How can I create and/or cultivate a sense of grace/reverence for my grief?”. I have come to realize that in learning how to cope with the days of overwhelming grief, the only way I can even begin to move past it is by paying attention to it. Lovingly. For me, I have begun to embrace my grief as a potent creative force. If I allow it to express itself through me what I often find on the other side of my anguish and tears is beauty.
The solid colors of paint (blue, red-orange, and grey) were created on the days when I simply couldn’t find words to express my sorrow. How can I even begin to accurately put into words the ache I feel in my body not having my baby with me? Palo will be 2 in July. There are days when there is a hollow ache, an emptiness that fills my gut and arms with an intense longing to hold my son.
One morning, I woke up crying. After I finally forced myself out of bed, I decided that I had to paint. I recalled how on a recent trip down the Baja coastline, the colors of the blue ocean water made me stop and really see the colors. The blues were exactly how my heart was feeling that day. As I’m sitting here writing this, and wishing my painting technique was better, I can see clearly how painting is the perfect metaphor for my grief. It’s messy, ever-changing, a palette of diverse colors, and often takes may different forms.
My art enables me to express what I’m feeling inside without any words. It gives the torrential outpouring of my emotions a voice. The colors and forms succeed where words fail me. In addition to painting, another artistic endeavor I recently decided to create, is a site to express my grief. Findthelightwithin.me is a place where I share my photographs, art, and my thoughts. Because of my isolation, one of the most critical aspects I’ve learned is that the loss of a child and the reconstruction of one’s life is a not a burden to be carried alone. In spite of feeling terrified at being vulnerable I decided that to stay locked inside my safe, black box is yet another death sentence. Instead, I’m learning to let the light back in. Little by little.
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I’m Monica, Palo’s mama. My baby boy Palo was diagnosed with thanatorphic dysplasia when I was 22 weeks pregnant. I carried him to term in spite of his condition. My son taught me a love that I never knew I was capable of until I had him. I carry Palo with me in my heart always.
Monica is a member of the Embracing Life group. If you are a Still Mother and you’re learning to embrace life with no living children, please come join our group: Still Mothers Embracing Life.
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