love does not leave when a person does. it changes shape. it settles into memory, into instinct, into the way a family moves through the world. sometimes, with time, it can even feel deeper—not because the loss becomes easier, but because the love continues to grow around the absence. and sometimes that love finds us in small ways.
a feather drifting down at exactly the right moment. a song. a color. a butterfly. a sudden memory that feels less like remembering and more like being visited. maybe we have to be willing to notice those moments to leave a little space for the possibility that love is still reaching for us.
that is what i wanted this painting to hold. not only brittany’s memory, but her continuing presence. the purple. the gold. the butterflies. the light. the love that did not end. maybe that is one of the strangest truths about grief: the person is gone, but the love is still alive. sometimes louder than ever.
30×40 acrylic on canvas
love does not leave when a person does. it changes shape. it settles into memory, into instinct, into the way a family moves through the world. sometimes, with time, it can even feel deeper—not because the loss becomes easier, but because the love continues to grow around the absence. and sometimes that love finds us in small ways.
a feather drifting down at exactly the right moment. a song. a color. a butterfly. a sudden memory that feels less like remembering and more like being visited. maybe we have to be willing to notice those moments to leave a little space for the possibility that love is still reaching for us.
that is what i wanted this painting to hold. not only brittany’s memory, but her continuing presence. the purple. the gold. the butterflies. the light. the love that did not end. maybe that is one of the strangest truths about grief: the person is gone, but the love is still alive. sometimes louder than ever.
30×40 acrylic on canvas
