It was such an enlightening, sad, full of love, type of day. I attended poetry readings in remembrance of beloved babies, met the heart of Still Playing School, soul of Sweet Pea project, spent the night having a wonderful conversation about spirituality and remembering Houd.
The poetry readings at the book signing was so beautiful, the raw emotion these strong women spoke directly from their hearts was so powerful. I got there late and when it was over I just didn't want to leave. The love and energy in that place was so amazing. I approached the candles lit in memory of precious babies gone too soon and read their names and said prayers over them. I lingered where the quiet sadness filled with overwhelming love hung in the room. It felt comfortable for me to be in the presence of others grieving for their loved ones.
Later that night as I prepared to draw, my husband and I had a great conversation about spirituality which led to remembering Houd. I remembered his ability to seek me out at just the right times. So many times I have found myself standing alone just long enough to cue Houd. He would keep me company, talking about his latest adventure or filling my mind with endless jokes and hilarious stories. Other times we would have deep conversations about whatever was troubling us. Either way, in the short time I knew him - he was there for me more than other people claiming to care about me.
As my husband and I sadly but lovingly remembered Houd, I shaded and worked diligently on his portrait. I knew that it would be difficult to work on this portrait and I was not prepared to experience grief every day all over again as fresh as the first day. A quiet sadness filled with love is the best way to describe it. I believe I once described it as a peaceful sadness, but really there is nothing peaceful about this sadness at all.
The poetry readings at the book signing was so beautiful, the raw emotion these strong women spoke directly from their hearts was so powerful. I got there late and when it was over I just didn't want to leave. The love and energy in that place was so amazing. I approached the candles lit in memory of precious babies gone too soon and read their names and said prayers over them. I lingered where the quiet sadness filled with overwhelming love hung in the room. It felt comfortable for me to be in the presence of others grieving for their loved ones.
Later that night as I prepared to draw, my husband and I had a great conversation about spirituality which led to remembering Houd. I remembered his ability to seek me out at just the right times. So many times I have found myself standing alone just long enough to cue Houd. He would keep me company, talking about his latest adventure or filling my mind with endless jokes and hilarious stories. Other times we would have deep conversations about whatever was troubling us. Either way, in the short time I knew him - he was there for me more than other people claiming to care about me.
As my husband and I sadly but lovingly remembered Houd, I shaded and worked diligently on his portrait. I knew that it would be difficult to work on this portrait and I was not prepared to experience grief every day all over again as fresh as the first day. A quiet sadness filled with love is the best way to describe it. I believe I once described it as a peaceful sadness, but really there is nothing peaceful about this sadness at all.
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