The Art of Grieving

This was was a rough year in the Stringfellow household, full of a lot of emotional ups and downs. But its given me a chance to experience a new side of creating art.  For most of my life, making art has been about getting images that are in my brain OUT onto paper for others to enjoy as well.  But this year, I’ve learn that art can also help bring you to a place of healing.

2010 started off with finding out that my husband was losing his full time job which came as an unwelcome shock to us.  But March came rolling in with a wonderful present: after 9 months of struggling to start our family, I was finally pregnant!  We were on cloud nine for the next several weeks, getting to see our tiny bean on the ultrasound, hearing the heartbeat, and starting to realize that our lives as a young easy-going couple were over.   I spent almost the entire time living on the couch, exhausted every day, lacking the energy or the creativity to do anything artistic (let alone the dishes or laundry).  But I told myself it was okay, all of my creative energy was currently being used for something much more important.

And then very suddenly…it was over.  Just before the first trimester was over, I went to the doctor for some unusual bleeding.  And found out our baby’s heart had stopped beating.

We were devastated.  I wandered around in a daze, not able to understand how I had gone from being pregnant to not.  It ended so quickly.  Some days, it felt like a dream to me. Had I really been pregnant? I would cling to the ultrasound pictures, to reassure myself that I hadn’t imagined the whole thing. There really had been a tiny life inside me.

But yet, I had nothing left. Nothing to show the world that there had indeed existed a special person, who was now missing from our lives.  I couldn’t stop wondering what our little Samuel was doing. I knew he was happy…but was he lonely? Did he miss us? Was he having fun? Getting to play? And then one night, I found myself sitting in bed, with a sketch pad and pencil.  And I drew, putting him down on paper. I needed to create a world for him, filled with some of my favorite toys growing up, a playmate to show him around (sweet Hannah, the baby my sister-in-law had lost a year before), pets for him to play with…I had to see it for myself, in the only way I knew how.  So I drew.

I broke down when I got to his little toes.

But when I was all done, I felt a peace.  Was I still in pain, and sad, and mad, and grieving? Yes. But I knew I could stop worrying about him.  He was being taken care of by the best Babysitter in the universe.

Four months later, I was starting to feel human again.  Finding balance again. And pregnant again.  The joy was there, but also great fear.  We could no longer be naive and carefree.  We breathed a little easier after our first ultrasound, and heard the heartbeat.  But when I started spotting a few weeks later, we knew what was happening.  We had lost our baby again.

I couldn’t believe that I was back in the same place again.  All I wanted to do was just curl up in a little ball and ignore the world.  I reached a point where I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore. The pain had to find its way out.

So once again, I picked up the brush.  It was a simple sketch, rough, but it perfectly reflected everything that was inside me. I felt small. Broken. I wondered if I would ever be able to fly again.   And then, when I was done, and saw it laying before me, I felt something…ease…inside me.  Giving my grief a face, helped me to get my arms around it.  To manage it some how.

I realized that when my art is birthed from my struggles and emotions, it helps me to understand them in a new way. To take them out, look at it. Turn it over. Understand the edges and angles.

And it helped me be able to share it with others. For those moments when even words didn’t seem enough, when I was weary of talking, I could still communicate and remain open with those around me.

I drew Samuel again, but this time, he had his sister Joy with him.  It had just snowed outside. So I pictured them outside, enjoying the fresh snow. I could imagine him showing her how to make a proper snow ball, and her wonder at discovering that if she opens her mouth just sooo, she can catch the snowflakes on her tongue before they hit the ground.