This has been such a hard summer. Losing both my uncle and aunt within a short period of time left me reflecting and reminiscing about the past—what was, and where we are now.
Childhood feels like a sacred time and a sacred space. The memories we hold become a part of us, shaping who we are. Each time I return to my hometown, I feel the presence of those I’ve lost before. The familiar places feel like echoes, carrying both comfort and grief.
Since coming back, I’ve been trying to get into the swing of things again, but I find myself wanting to sleep or to sit quietly and crochet. I’ve tried picking up my watercolors, but everything feels disjointed. I don’t have a pace set. I don’t have a plan.
I want to be successful, but I also want to give myself grace—to mourn, to reset, and to allow this season to be what it is. It is okay.
There’s also a longing in me to be back in my home state, closer to my father as he ages, closer to family and friends. And yet, right now, my life is here. My family is here. So I am trying to embrace this space and this time as the gift that it is.
Rituals will come back slowly—one brushstroke, one stitch, one cup of coffee in the studio at a time. For now, it’s enough to keep showing up, however I can.
