Category Archives: family

Engine #25

03 Thursday Jan 2019

Posted by in art, death, dementia, family, painting, Uncategorized

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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_compressed

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.

Awesomenesses

05 Tuesday Jun 2018

Posted by in art, family, gratitude, Uncategorized

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Damn, y’all, it’s been a hot minute since I last posted. Sorry ’bout that. I missed TWO weekly tattoo wrap-ups, and I promise to do that soon, but first I realized that I never posted the article about me that was in the Raleigh News & Observer. I’m famous…on page C4 in the Arts section, which everyone totally reads:

The Article About My Awesomeness

In other news, for Mother’s Day, I surprised my mom with a photo shoot with my friend Audrey Priel from Rose Trail Images. My instructions to Audrey: capture my mom’s awesomeness. My mom has amazing eyes and a really lovely smile and is just all-around-too-stinkin’-cute-for-words, and the photos of her that I have from the last few years have failed to capture that. Enter, Audrey. Audrey, who you may remember from posts past, just oozes fabulosity and sillinesses and I just heart her so much. It is impossible not to fall in love with her, because when she’s with you, she’s busy falling in love with you. And damn her, she won’t just make you laugh during a photo shoot, she will make you cry, and you will come out of the experience closer than ever to whomever you’re doing the shoot with. While there are eleventy million and a half shots that I’m head over heels for, I’ve narrowed it down to just a few to share with you in slideshow:

 

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I realized that it’s rare that I see adult mother/daughter photo shoots. It’s always younger families. But these photos are awesome. Have I mentioned awesomeness in this post yet? Because if not, let me say it again: all the awesomenesses are contained in this day and the photos that captured it. I wish I had known Audrey before my dad got dementia, because I would have loved to do this with him, too. But this is one regret that I won’t have. Mom, I love you all the oodles.

A Train For Dad

05 Monday Feb 2018

Posted by in art, death, dementia, family, gratitude, mental health, painting, sip and paint studio, tattooing, Uncategorized

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Today is the 2nd anniversary of my dad’s death. I still think about him every day. I still go through bouts of serious grief. I still picture those final, horrible, painful days with him as we sat by his bedside and watched him die. I still have nightmares. But, very slowly, I’m also starting to remember some small things from before his dementia, or at least in the very early phases of it. They’re not huge things, and there aren’t as many of those memories as I’d like compared to memories post-diagnosis. But they’re there.

I’m not going to lie and say that time has made this all easier to bear. It hasn’t. Life without my dad in it is lonelier. It’s a little less colorful. I feel less confident without him there to cheer me on. And I go through periods where the world seems bound and determined to remind me of him and make me cry. I want him back. Now. I want him to stop by and check on me, though I don’t even know if that’s possible. It’s hard not being a person of faith. Sometimes I think that his soul might be floating around out there, still tethered to mine somehow, like some big, transparent, elephant-shaped balloon. Other times that seems ridiculous. It feels like I’m looking for signs that aren’t really there. Or maybe they are.

In this time of transition in my life, I need him more desperately than ever to help confirm that I’m on the right path. Closing the paint and sip studio was hard, because it was a huge chapter of my life that he never got to see. And closing it reminds me of how many more chapters I’ll begin and end that he won’t be here to witness. But even if those chapters can’t be ours, they’ll still happen.

As we gear up to open the tattoo studio, I’m so sad that he’s not here to hug me and tell me how proud he is of me. I still need that paternal affirmation. So, I find myself doing little things to make him a part of things there. And that’s where this painting comes in. Long time readers know my dad was a huge train buff, so I created this painting for the tattoo studio lobby in hopes that I’ll feel like he’s taking part in this next phase of my life.

Steam Engine Wheels.JPG

Steam Engine Wheels 36″ x 46″ oil on canvas

Prints and other merchandise available here and here.

And in case you don’t already know: Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

Book cover 1

Happy Birthday, Dad

30 Monday Oct 2017

Posted by in family, gratitude, reincarnation, Uncategorized

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Today would have been my dad’s 75th birthday. In honor of the day, I thought I’d share a fun little gift from the universe. In 1810, a man named Nicholas Murrell Page was born in Nelson County Virginia. My grandparents didn’t know that dude existed. In 1942, my dad was born and christened Nicholas Allen Page. As an adult, he moved to Nelson County, not knowing about this distant relative of his. When we did find out about him, we found a picture and were holyshitted. “Holyshitted” is when you’re shocked to find something out. I’m sure it’s a real word. But maybe don’t look it up. Anyway, check out the pictures below and you’ll see why.

Nicholas Page

The pics on the left were of my dad in his dirty, dirty hippy days when he had a similar haircut. The pic on the right is Nicholas Murrell Page.

Holyshit, right?! My mom and I were talking about how strange it is that we never dressed Dad up and made him pose next to Nicholas M. Page’s portrait that hung in our living room. It just seems like something we would do. Ah well, lost opportunities.

Anyway, this doesn’t really have anything to do with his birthday, but it’s one of those crazy things that the world sometimes throws your way to delight and astound you, so I thought I’d share it.

Happy birthday, Dad. Miss you. Hope you’re out there somewhere being delighted and astounded by all sorts of other things that I can’t even imagine.

Don’t Forget To Have Some Fun

01 Monday May 2017

Posted by in death, dementia, family, Fractured Memories, gratitude, mental health, Uncategorized

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Facebook reminded me recently about taking my dad out to fly a kite. So this is just a reminder for anyone else going through the caregiving experience. Dedicate some time for fun with the person you’re caring for. It can’t all be about the daily caregiving grind. You need to find a way to enjoy the person and remember why you love them enough to care for them in the first place.

For the year that we all lived together, we made Sundays a day to go out and do something fun as a family. So if it was a nice day, we flew a kite or went to a playground. If it wasn’t, we went bowling or out to dinner. Look for ways to rejuvenate yourselves and your love for each other. Get chair massages. Go out for ice cream. Have a picnic in your living room. Watch kids playing at a playground. Enjoy your favorite movie together.

And take pictures. I promise you that you’ll be so grateful later to see pictures of the person you love smiling.

dad with kite 3

dad with kite 2

The memories you build on those days will be a comfort once your caregiving experience is over.

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Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

Dreams Come True

26 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by in family, gratitude, humor, karma, kindness, painting, Uncategorized

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I’m a dream-maker. My closest childhood friend brought her kids down for a visit at the beginning of this week, and it was a nonstop party, y’all.

T, the six year old, loooooooves art. I’m firmly convinced that I’m secretly her biological mother (I’m pretty forgetful, so it’s possible I birthed her and just don’t remember it). We had a blast coloring and painting and making messes all over the place. Several articles of clothing were sacrificed to the Art Gods in our efforts to fulfill her art-y dreams.

Painting 1Painting 2Painting 3

C, the four year old, not surprisingly, loves all manor of vehicles and heavy machinery. Luckily, we just happen to have two riding mowers and a tractor. Despite getting at least twelve inches of rain the first two days they were here, the skies cleared enough for us to head out to the haunt to see the equipment. C’s face when he saw the tractor and then honked its horn was hilarious. And then when he got to drive it? Utter joy. Dreams coming true all over the place! And S was awfully cute showing them how to work the bucket and stear. It was clear he was having as much fun as they were.

Connor on the tractor 4-25-17Talia on the tractor 4-25-17

I feel a little like a fairy godmother or Oprah or something. YOU get a dream! YOU get a dream! YOU get a dream! I love kids at these ages because they still think I’m cool and everything I do is new and amazing. It’s so much fun watching the world through their eyes. You should have seen how fascinated they were when I let them watch me taking my contact lenses out, for heavensake. The most mundane things are magical to them. It’s a good reminder to look for the wonder in the world around us.

They packed up and left this morning. The cats are relieved to have their house back. I’m totally exhausted, but it was totally worth it.  Now I’m off to wash my face a few dozen more times and pull the thousands of hair clips out of my hair.

make-up by T & C 4-25-17

If anyone has a fancy event they need hair and make-up done for, I know two little humans who would gladly help.

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Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

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Harass Your Local Librarian – But In a Really Nice Way

21 Tuesday Mar 2017

Posted by in art, book, death, dementia, family, Fractured Memories, gratitude, humor, karma, kindness, Uncategorized, writing

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It’s official! I shipped out over 200 copies of Fractured Memories today. It was a little bit of a fiasco at the post office, but after about an hour, everything was out of our hands and safely in the hands of the awesome postal workers. I had mixed emotions sending them off. It was kind of like kicking my babies out of the nest for them to fly on their own. Part of me wanted to keep them safe at home and part of me wanted to get all those boxes the hell out of my living room. By sending them out, I open myself up to critique, and I suck at handling criticism, even when it’s well-intended. I know bad reviews will come. Not everyone will like it, but all I can do now is cross my fingers and hope that a majority will. And maybe some of those people will like it enough that they’ll tell other people about it. Hint, hint. Like, maybe people will post it on their social media or have their book group read it or…

If you haven’t ordered it because you’re short on cash, consider requesting it from your local library. And ask your friends to request it, too. If librarians get enough requests, they’ll procure copies for their library. If you have ordered it because you’re not short on cash, first of all, congratulations on all the money! Second, consider requesting it from your local library anyway! Then, when you pick it up, thank them profusely and threaten to stuff them full of cookies until they’re sick if they don’t read it themselves. In other words, harass them, but be really nice about it. Librarians can really drive book sales. If they find a great book, they tell each other and recommend it to readers. Maybe tell them if they recommend it to people, a unicorn will visit them in the middle of the night and leave presents and money like Santa and the Tooth Fairy. Or maybe don’t say that because we don’t want them to know how cray-cray you really are. Rein that shit in, people.

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Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

book-cover-1

 

This Review Tho’

15 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by in art, blog, book, dementia, family, Fractured Memories, gratitude, humor, karma, painting, Uncategorized

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My first order of books arrived today!! So now my living room looks like this:

boxes of books.jpg

As I start to empty the boxes, the cats are becoming ecstatic. They’re convinced it’s Christmas day. So. Many. Boxes. They keep hopping from one to the next.

I’ll be spending the next couple days signing books and preparing to ship out all of the pre-ordered ones. It’s a daunting but exciting task. Especially because I don’t really have a “signature” yet. I mean, I don’t want to sign the way I’d sign a document. My signature on paintings takes too long. So now I have to come up with a new one. Perhaps I should just sign them all with Monet’s signature. That’s legal, right? Think it’d boost my sales? Or maybe I should sign them with Beyonce’s signature – Beyonce the singer, not Beyonce the giant metal chicken (that’s just chicken scratch).

Seriously though. I just got my second review – again from someone I don’t even know. For some reason not knowing them makes me even more giddy because they’re not obligated to say nice things about me. I might have to change my name to Giddy-on. And we can all refer to Fractured Memories as Giddy-on’s Bible. We can put one in every hotel room! Thank you to Book Nation by Jen for a fantastic review. It’s so generous! Click here to read it, then take some time to read some other reviews on her site and maybe find more great books to pick up!

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Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

book-cover-1

Blame It On My Youth

09 Thursday Mar 2017

Posted by in death, dementia, family, Fractured Memories, gratitude, music, singing, Uncategorized

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I was going through old files on my computer, and stumbled across this. I had forgotten all about it. It’s one of only a couple recordings my dad and I made together (Dad on sax, me on vocals). I don’t know why we waited until after he had been diagnosed with dementia to sit down and record some music together. We had performed together with his band, The Red Hot Smoothies, a couple times, but we never took it seriously. I guess we always figured there’d be time for that in the future. Plus, as much as I do love it, I’m kind of shy when it comes to singing in front of people. And I looked up to my dad and I think I was always just a little bit afraid that my talent wouldn’t be quite good enough to merit performing with him. That was all me, not him. I know he would have been thrilled if I’d asked earlier. Regrets, y’all. Anyway, blame it on my youth. (be patient, it takes a couple seconds to start)

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Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

book-cover-1

Your Face In My Hands

07 Tuesday Mar 2017

Posted by in art, death, dementia, family, gratitude, kindness, painting, Uncategorized

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Have you all been watching This Is Us? If not, stop everything and go binge watch it. Now. I’ll wait…See??!!! It’s the best show on TV right now. In the most recent episode, a couple of the characters hold each others’ faces to help soothe them in a moment of distress. I was thinking about what an intimate and loving thing it is to touch someone’s face. We do it to our parents, our children, our spouses. It’s like we’re embracing the thing that most tells the world who we are – the physical manifestation of our identity. Even if we don’t normally consider ourselves beautiful, when someone touches our face lovingly, we feel lovely in that moment. It makes us feel seen, accepted, valued. Allowing someone to hold our face takes trust and an acceptance of vulnerability. And holding someone’s face in our own hands makes us feel tender toward them. It makes us generous and protective. It’s a true act of love, probably even more than kissing.

Let’s call it a face hug.

Even more than a year after my dad died, I can still feel his face in my hands. That thought, while sad because I miss it, does bring a quiet joy. And it reminds me of how much love there was between us.

Face in My Hands

Hopefully, I’ll be able to get this up on Etsy soon and post a link for purchase. Until then, you can get prints and other merch here and here.

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Thanks so much for reading my ridiculous thoughts! If you’d like to see my ridiculous thoughts translated into art, visit my website, or follow me on Facebook and Twitter. Know a caregiver, or someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone with dementia, or someone who knows someone who knows someone else who’s a caregiver? Or heck, do you know a person? Well, you should tell them about my book, Fractured Memories: Because Demented People Need Love, Too. Part memoir and part coffee table art book, I recount my family’s heartbreaking and hilarious journey through my father’s dementia. Available to purchase here (this is my favorite way if you live in the U.S.), here or here if you’d rather get the eBook than a print copy, and here (especially if you want a hard cover copy).

book-cover-1