Watercolours

Shortly after Raffa went to Heaven we received a care package in the mail. It was from our friend Alee. It contained a tote bag with beautiful flowers on the outside, a tea cup for me, a beautiful mug for Michael, hot chocolate, prayers, drawings from her girls, a canvas, and best of all, iridescent watercolour paints. As I packed up our things to leave our home, to create a new home in the trailer, I brought each of these gifts. For me, they were our first new belongings since becoming parents. They represented Raffa to me, they represented a new life to me, and I knew they would be woven into our new beginnings. I stared at the watercolour paints often. I had never seen iridescent watercolour paints before. I thought to myself, “They must paint with paints like these in Heaven”. My soul didn’t have the strength to put a brush in the water and paint yet, but I liked looking at them as a possibility for ‘one day’.

Less than one month later, we were living at my mom and dad’s in Penticton. I found it comforting and terrifying to be home. I felt safe in my childhood room, but I felt scared to go out in public. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened. I didn’t want to have to look at all the familiar things. This wasn’t how the first trip home was supposed to go. It was supposed to be bringing my baby boy home to Nan and Grandpa’s house for the first time. It was supposed to be introducing him to old friends and family. As he grew, it was supposed to be picking cherries and peaches, swimming in the lakes, hiking up Munson Mountain, playing at my old school playgrounds, and making sandcastles on the beach. I had waited so long for those moments. They came so close, and then in an instant, they were gone. Only a dream, again.

Most days all I could manage was to get dressed, eat something, and lay in bed and cry. I didn’t know crying could sound like that. When I had the strength, I would do an outing with Michael. For the most part these outings involved getting out into nature. One day we happened upon a bear taking a nap among the trees and wild sunflowers. It was a sunlit spot, really cozy if I do say so myself. I saw him and started power walking, because my dad says not to run if you see a bear. I listened, sort of. Another version of going out would involve Michael going into stores or coffee shops, while I waited in the car. I would wait for my cup of coffee, one of the only things I looked forward to in a day. Then we would go home, and I would go back up to our room. The watercolour paints would be staring at me, they sparkled with an invitation to try. But I could’t try. Everything was black. There wasn’t any colour, and there most definitely wasn’t any sparkle.

There was another invitation in our room, a portrait of Raffa. Twelve days after Raffa was born into Heaven, it was my birthday. It was the second worst day of my life. I woke up wishing I was in Heaven with Raffa. I didn’t know how I was supposed to get older without him. That morning, when I had enough strength to open my eyes, I saw something on the dresser in our room. It was a painting of Raffa. It was perfect, just like him. Michael had been up all night doing that painting for me, and I know God’s hand must have been holding his hand while he painted. I was overcome. From that day forward, wherever we went, the painting went too. We wrapped it in yellow tissue paper, gently laid it in a box, and wrote on the front of the box ‘Raffael’. We handle it with the same care we would have had holding our newborn baby. We brought it with us to Penticton, and it rested in our room. Every time I looked at Raffa in the painting I felt a gentle nudge in my spirit, ‘Come on Mama, you can do it’. I wanted to do it for him, live again, but I didn’t know how.

One day Michael took a solo trip to Summerland to buy some art supplies. There he met a wonderful woman named Tammy. He came home to find me in bed again, and shared with me about Tammy and the meaningful conversation they shared. I remember sitting up to listen. Michael had told Tammy about Raffa. Tammy shared that someone very dear to her had also lost their children. Tammy’s compassion, deep empathy, and close proximity to devastating loss, was a comfort to Michael, and to me. Tammy sells art supplies through her studio where she also offers art lessons. Michael suggested we try taking a watercolour lesson with her. I liked the idea, but didn’t think I could do it. Michael kept nudging me, and eventually I said I would go and try.

The day came for us to drive out to Summerland for our lesson with Tammy. For some reason I remember the feeling of putting on my coat and thinking about how foreign it felt to be going somewhere. The good news was it was a new experience in the familiar. I hadn’t met Tammy before, I hadn’t been to her home or neighbourhood, and I had never done an art class like this either. As we approached Tammy’s home I felt a sense of comfort. It was surrounded by orchards and rested on a peaceful street. As we got out of the car, I reminded Michael that I may not be able to stay very long, and I asked him to do the talking. We opened the backseat door, and resting gently on the seat was our box that read ‘Raffael’, with his painting nestled inside. We brought our Raffa painting to Tammy so she could help Michael seal it.

We slowly walked up the driveway, it was a sunny day. Tammy greeted us and I immediately felt God’s love radiating out of her. She invited us into her studio, and after meeting and chatting for a bit we began to unbox the painting of Raffa. What happened next, I will never forget. Michael held the painting up and passed it to Tammy as if we were passing her our newborn son. Tammy gently and carefully took the painting and held it in a way that I found deeply moving. She held it with honour. Then Tammy turned to Michael and said ‘Good job Dad’. It was the first time I had ever heard someone call Michael ‘Dad’. It was the first time I had ever seen him be acknowledged as a father. Tammy if you’re reading this, you may never fully understand what a gift that was. Thank you.

After Tammy helped Michael to seal the painting, we went inside to begin our lesson. I looked to the right of the entrance and there was a coffee machine. We were off to a good start. We settled in and Tammy set Michael and I up with watercolour paints and blank cards. Michael learned to paint trees, set against the Northern Lights. I painted a chubby bird on a branch. As we sat there, Tammy would gently come over and guide us, encourage us, and help with any questions. As I focused on the painting I felt my heart breathe for a moment. The coffee and painting wrapped around my aching soul and held it. For most of the time we sat in silence. I painted for one hour, two hours, then three. Three hours, felt like ten minutes in another realm.

That day when I came home, I went up to our room, and the watercolour paints were staring at me again. This time when I looked at them, the reach didn’t feel as far. I felt a little stronger.

Not long after our time with Tammy we left for the US and moved into our trailer. The day we moved in I unpacked a flower tote bag with Raffa’s books. Ready for the nights when we would read him stories in Heaven. I put a tea cup and a mug in the cupboard with hot chocolate. They were held in our hands on cold mornings and late nights on the road. Then I opened a special drawer, what would become the art drawer. In it I placed a blank canvas, and the watercolour paints, ready for the first time, to try. Ready to begin again.

Iridescent paint covered the raw landscapes of Idaho’s sun valley, Montana’s mountains and rivers, Yellowstone’s Lamar Valley, the red rock of Utah and Arizona, all the way to the shorelines of California’s Big Sur. I suppose in some ways every painting I’ve done is an offering. It was me honouring my son’s life by finding a small way to find my life again. It was a way to be child-like with my boy in Heaven, it was a way for me to grieve without words, but with paint mixed with water and tears. God knew I needed watercolour paints. He mailed them to me through Alee, taught me through Tammy, and used my precious husband and son to inspire me to live again, one brush stroke at a time.