The week Constance passed, we painted large canvases to hang around the house. When I saw Constance pretending to paint the pictures with a dry Crayola brush, I decided we should update them. We donned old clothes, went to the backyard, and painted with abandon.
The first time we painted the canvases was a little over a year prior. At the time, our Pollock-inspired painting technique received a scorching review from Constance's father. He is not an artist by trade, training, or temperament. This time, we painted directly on the old canvases with lines, splashes, and imprints.
Constance kept saying, “Uh-oh, yellow paint,” and painting over any yellow on the canvases with other colors. It was a blast. She was such a happy girl; spending time with her was joyous. At the time, I thought we’d put another layer of paint on them in another year. After she passed, I signed them “C+R ’18” knowing the paintings will never be updated again.
The day after Constance passed, my parents came to my house and noticed the canvases had been updated since their last visit. My mother pointed one out and said it was her favorite because it looked like Constance had painted the word ‘love’ across it. We’ll never know if that was intentional or not. Before my mom left at the end of the week, I wrapped that specific canvas up and gave it to her. She cried, I cried, and we both wished Constance was with us to paint again.