Though she was humble and modest in life, her artistic debut came after her death. A few summers ago, my grandfather showcased a few of her paintings at his retirement community. Even in death, she still inspired people and colored the world. She wasn’t afraid to stick her neck out like a giraffe, even if it was into uncharted territory. Was she born without the gene to sense fear and danger? She must have been immune to it, at least. The strength passed down to my mother gives me solace and hope, because I feel her passing it down to me. It will run and course through my veins for the rest of my life. And something tells me I’ll always feel the gentle hand of my grandmother guiding me along. Now, when I look at one particular painting in our house of a quaint farm scene – orange sky, waves of grass and a small house – I’ll envision my grandmother sitting at that canvass. And I’ll see her smiling.
What are your passions?