I visited Jane yesterday, stepping carefully over oxygen tubes and scattered papers in response to her call to please come by, she had a painting to give me. She worked with oils 25 years ago, and her days closing in like her lungs, wanted me to have this Hopi Indian Woman canvas. Her only son didn’t want it.
“Promise me you’ll put it in a fancy frame.”
Of course I will, I assured her with all true grace mixed with deep knowing. It’s not all together attractive, but it’s like her very soul that she wants well remembered after she’s gone. “Don’t you love the deep purples and blues?” she wanted to know.
Don’t I want my life put up in a fancy frame, too, and hope my children would think it beautiful?