Painting Will

Right before my birthday in May, I developed a metaphorical existential lump in my throat of epic proportion. One would think that perhaps in turning 44 my age was getting to me...but it wasn't my age that left me struggling, it was everyone else's.

I could have and should have been blogging about all the transitions that we were facing this past June. Monumental milestones were met. My oldest graduated Middle School and will start High School in 2 weeks. My two young ones stepped up and into Middle School, leaving elementary days behind them. Our years of dealing with the very pervasively rippled impact of Gabe's Autism and ADHD on every aspect of life, has, in turn left me with a unique perspective. I muse over the reflection it has cast on stigmas, on how we define what is acceptable or not, the questioning, the redefining of independance, normalcy, worth, levels of functioning, what it truly means to be tolerant, how we communicate, and those opening and closing of circles...what it means to be forgiving, to be accountable, to be honest...especially to be honest. What it means to be respectful..the importance of kindness and being mindful. From a reflective perspective it becomes pressing just how essential nature is, and how any form of nature should never be dismissed or excused, only nutured. The infamous "being different does not equate to being lesser than" gently rolls and sometimes loudly crashes onto the shallow narrow shorelines we wade in. Real diversity is inclusive, even the out of the box thinkers, no matter how far out we may be, finds their place on the colors of life's mirrored spectrum.... On two consecutive nights I watched my three children, one with great swag, one with intense excitement, and one with deep introspect, walk across the same stage during 2 different ceremonies, celebrating transitions. My babies are a far cry from those Blues Clues and Sesame Street filled days, I just never imagined it would sting this profoundly.

A summer spent trying desperately to get my emotions and my thoughts in check was nothing less than futile. The sounds of a house in a full blown metamorphosis state can be a little overwhelming as well. The silences feel different, and the noises, the deeping voices, the topics of conversations, the thought processes that sneak up on you and surprise you as they reveal very distinct and opinionated, funny, bright, ridiculous, insightful young men.....but I am not ready to have them change this rapidly, I seem to digest things so much slower, and I want so badly to hold onto everyone just as they are, just a little longer...and I look to my parents who are aging as quickly as my boys....and who may not be as independent as they are now for much longer....and yet again, the concept of independence transitions on it's own....I am left to wonder, how someone like me, who is still riding on the delusional wave of 21, and finds herself consistantly run over by life cycles, can ever make peace with the passage of time and all it takes with it as it frivolously goes on.........

So in the hopes of holding onto a moment, I fall back on instincts, my most primal ones. I pull out my paintbrushes, I choose my palette, I prime my canvas, get my mediums ready, and I attempt to capture my world in transition, one subject at a time, one heart beat at a time.....

I begin by painting Will...........