Tags
acrylic painting, art, dad, death, dementia, Emily Page, Emily Page Art, grief, painting, painting of train, train buff, train painting, what to give a train lover
I started 2019 off the correct way: in the art studio. And it felt so good. I’ve been so busy and exhausted that I haven’t been painting much lately. But I took Tuesday off and just painted what I wanted to paint. And it was a good thing. And it was a bad thing. Because what I chose to paint was this:
Engine #25 acrylic on canvas 24″ x 30″ $750 *links for purchasing the original and for prints and such at the end of the post
You know, ’cause my dad was a train freak. Next month will be the third anniversary of my dad’s death, and between that knowledge and the holidays, I’ve been missing him something fierce. About a month ago, S poppped in some of my old home movies, and I got to watch my dad in his 30’s – younger than I am now. And, for the first time since he was diagnosed with dementia, it made me actually feel happy to watch. I really enjoyed it. And then I started having nightmares about him again. WTF is that? I wasn’t sad watching those videos, so why did they spark a new round of “Dadmares?”
And now I’m struggling again. Every time I feel like I’m getting back to normal, thinking about him a little less and with less pain, I get thrown back in. And what I’m thrown into, more than anything, is those final, horrible days with him, when he was hurting so much and my mom and I couldn’t make it better for him. It just fucking haunts me. I worked so hard to make sure that I had as few regrets as possible as we cared for him following his diagnosis. I’ve dealt with enough death to know that regret that can’t ever be remedied is not something I want to deal with again. So I set out to do things right with my dad. And I did. I’m proud of how fiercely I worked to love him and advocate for him. But there wasn’t anything we could do at the end.
It’s not so much regret, I suppose, as just grief that I was so helpless to make his pain stop. Watching someone you love suffer for that long…it just stays with you. And most of the time, when I think of him, that’s what I think of. I flashback to sitting in the hallway outside of his room after about 48 hours of watching him writhe and moan, and just losing my shit while a CNA watched helplessly. I flashback to lying on his bed and whispering soothing things in his ear to try to distract him from the pain. I flashback to feeling so tired it made me queasy, and ignoring the death rattle for close to an hour because I just couldn’t make myself open my eyes and get out of the recliner one more time to check on him.
Here I am, three years later, still desperate to make his pain stop, even though he’s already long gone. I don’t know how to let it go. So for now, I’m just painting something that made him happy in the hopes that it’ll make me happy.
*Original available here. Prints and stickers and phone cases and t-shirts and such available here, here, and here.
The Perks of Being an Artist 
I’m sorry, Emily! I somewhat feel the same way. I just returned from spending New Years in LA with my family. My dad who is entering his 2nd year after an FTD diagnosis (maybe more like 3-4 yrs total) always wanted to attend the Rose Parade. So, we made that happen! But it’s hard to see him in his FTD state….my husband said that I barely spoke to my dad because I’m too sad. Probably true but I don’t want any regrets either when he is gone altogether. I hate FTD and what it has done so far to my dad, to my family and to your family and everyone else. Hang in there and keep painting those things that your dad would have loved!
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Fight that urge to withdraw from him with all you’ve got. You don’t want to feel like you could have loved him more after he’s gone. I know it’s so hard, and it’ll only get harder. But I’m glad you took the opportunity to take him to the Rose Parade while you still could. If you ever need someone to talk to you as your dad’s disease progresses, don’t be afraid to reach out, because I definitely get it. Hugs.
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Oh gosh. I’m so sorry. That must have been so difficult and of course it’s still horrible. I know it’s not worth much, but sending love and internet hugs.
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It’s worth plenty. Thank you.
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I too long for the happier memories, but seem stuck in a loop of those last years. This year will mark 4 years since my mother died, and last month I marked the 7 year anniversary of my father’s death. I too am haunted with regrets and plagued by guilt. I think it is something each of us have to work through in our own way. Just know that you are not alone in your struggle. (Great painting, nice way to start off the new year!)
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Thanks, Joy. I’m so sorry to hear that you’re still in that pattern, too.
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I’m so sorry to hear you’re struggling. It seems like grief is a wound that can be reopened any time, with no warning.
I struggled for a long time after the death of my grandfather, and my mother came to me one day and told me she was going to “set me straight” on it. She had lost her mother when she was 9 years old, and carried the guilt and the grief over it for decades before she went to a counselor who told her, “Even though your mother is gone, she still wants you to have a happy life. The last thing in the world she would want is for you to keep reliving all the things you wish you said or hadn’t said.” My mother found this especially helpful and was finally able to let go of all the sad and regretful feelings she’d been holding onto, and after she shared that with me, I was able to do the same.
Happy New Year, and I hope 2019 is full of warm memories for you.
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Thank you. I know my dad wouldn’t want me fixating on this stuff. Working on releasing it, little by little.
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