Weeks like this are worth recording in words, and the promise still stands to write more about Dad. But the sweet relief of an art card is another way to grieve.
I made this card over at my brother’s place last weekend with close family and in comfy clothes. Different from the formal program or my remarks at his funeral today, this was a chance to love simply with heart and hands.
It’s true that Dad was kind and understanding, and I did pluck from the supply box some bits and bobs that would work. But the magic mashup happened there at the table, with the conversation zigzagging across the room, and a chance to say it all the Kansas colors he loved. I did take some creative license; he had a hat just like that but never a canoe.
While postcards are printed by the millions, an art card is only ever itself. Unique, like each of us. Admired, just as it is. Always a chance to find meaning in the odd remnants of this life we love.
landscapes by larry l’ecuyer
In this month’s gallery, the painted postcards our brother lovingly sends.

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What a lovely way to remember your dad, Anne. My thoughts are with you and your family.
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