I searched around the house until I found them. My bag of colored pens was deep in our storage closet, anxiously waiting to be used.
I used to consider myself an artist. If you asked me when I was 10 years old what I was going to be when I grew up, I would have told you that I was going to illustrate children’s books. My grandfather was an artist too, and used to take me to local art meetings. I remember at one the topic was framing and we were supposed to bring a piece of art for the speaker to discuss appropriate framing and have examples. I brought a picture of a girl and a dog sitting outside that I had drawn in art class. My picture was discussed during the framing presentation, and the framer commented on how much he liked my picture, not knowing that it was the work of a child.
Somewhere along the line, life got busy and my artistic side faded into the background. I became occupied by school, science, and life. Having a career that involved saving the world became more important and I stopped drawing.
When we got Caroline’s diagnosis, one thing I decided was to go buy some pens and to make her a book. I wrote the book and included everything I wanted to tell her. That she was loved, and that she’d be happy in heaven, and that her mom and dad would be okay. I drew pictures to accompany the words. I became that children’s book illustrator after all.
I read that book to Caroline as she entered heaven.
Now that Caroline is in heaven, I have decided to pick up art again. Being so close to death puts everything into perspective. I love to draw. Why don’t I do it more often? Life is short and we have to do what makes us happy. I took the pens out of the closet and I’m determined to make my world a little more beautiful. Perhaps I can save the world in more than one way.