PAINT

self-portrait, titled ‘Floyd’

The money is short. Yes, I live on Federal Disability and gifts from my family. Lately, these have come in the form of eggs, goat yoghurt, canned salmon, produce from my mother and sister’s garden; among them glorious peaches, green beans, zucchini, and broccoli. It seems I can barely afford gas and cigarettes, and I am grateful for this reality, because this very much makes me normal. I have longed to be average and normal my entire life.

I need to write some letters. It has been months since I have reached out to Steve’s family. But, we are all grieving Steve in our own way. I can sense the news has finally reached far and wide to a life that is just hearsay to me. Stories, endless stories of his exes and friends, some who I had the grace of making acquaintance with early on in our courtship, guide my mind tendrils.

Steve’s chosen family, and my chosen family, consists of a brother and a sister from Hayfork, CA. Eleanor, Steve’s sister, called me everyday for weeks after his passing. I was on the phone with her the day the funeral home came to pick up Steve’s body. I was in the process of explaining the last moments of Steve’s life to Eli, and was interrupted, because the nice folks from the home were on a schedule to catch a ferry, so that they could gracefully transport Steve’s body to Auburn where he would be composted. But it is okay, she called back the next day, and the next, and the next.

We had a sweet memorial for him on his birthday, October 14th 2025. He would have been 64 years old. Then the months followed with Jay and I walking around the lake everyday throughout the winter. As Summer finally rolled around, the doctor told me to stop walking. I literally walked until I couldn’t walk anymore. All Summer, I have been swimming in order to rehabilitate my knees, hip, ankle, back, and leg. I am coming out the other side, and as Fall inches closer, I am feeling a sense of renewal and beginning.

Sometimes, I am afraid I am losing Steve when his spirit travels to say goodbye to his old friends and distant family. But he has assured me that he will be at my side forever. He has assured me of this, and did so in his waking life as well. He said that he will find me anywhere. I am so eternally grateful for this fact, because the darkness is so prevalent, and as I sip the tea of the frozen side of the moon, I am surely afraid that I just may disappear completely. To feel this aloneness is necessary in order to find my footing as a single widowed artist.

And painting is saving me. I have slowly begun to build a small cache of new art that will hopefully supply income next season by me having a booth at the local farmer’s market. This feels like full circle, as this is how I began twenty years ago when I moved to Lopez Island, WA. I am fighting off the urge to move home, to my city and true love, Seattle. But - I can stay. Slowly, gently… I am reminded that this is my home. Voices and love and support are making themselves known to me.

So I paint. I go to meetings. I am even traveling to another island by myself twice a week. I still have not written an obituary, for what I decided should be the Seattle Times, but I must give myself the grace and time to heal.