I’m painting her portrait.
It isn’t easy. I need the right lighting. I need to be in the right mood. I need to have the right music playing in the background.
But all of that is just avoidance behavior. I will paint her portrait.
And I will stop procrastinating.
I close my eyes and there! There she is. Radiant and laughing. I can see her so clearly. And there she is.
I open my eyes and I begin.
A nervous, uncertain line that I must erase. She was many things except uncertain. So, the lines in her portrait must mirror that. Must mirror her clear certainty of life and of everything.
My new line is clean and smooth. The next one is bold and daring. And so it goes on. She gradually appears in penciled lines and paint. I had intended to use charcoal, but no. She was never in her life charcoal. Not as I remember her. She was paint. Glorious, vibrant paint. Black lines. Red. Yellow. Blue. And she is appearing more and more.
Keep the brush clean.
Keep the hand steady.
Keep everything bright.
And ah! Look!
There she is.
Just as I remember her.
There are no tubes in her nose. No IV poles standing by.
She is not thin and delicate with half-closed eyes.
This is how I choose to remember her.
This is how I will always remember her.