One Artist’s Abstract Interpretation on Coping with Loss under Night Fall

After I left, Rosamund asked Never to help her clean up the mess in the studio. She had opened the windows from Hopper-Skipper’s smell and Never was ignoring her, instead, bouncing the ball and letting the dog chase it around. Rosamund begged Never to stop and help her tidy up the mess.

Then Never bounced the ball off-the-wall and straight out one of the bay windows. Hopper-Skipper followed the ball around not knowing that it would follow the laws of physics and go straight out the window. Hopper-Skipper ran and slid into the wall beneath the window, only a few feet up from the ground. He stopped and stared out at the dark night, looking for the lost ball. Without an instant passing, Never quickly said, “I’ll go get it,” and out he jumped into the chill night air. Never knew that the window was three stories up, and above, the cement sidewalk below.

When I turned the corner to see the Paramedics and Fire Department already at work, I turned into Michael’s arms for support. The blindness around myself for Never – was gone. I screamed, and screamed louder, when I saw his slight body was under the tarp. I screamed until my mind became weak and my knees no longer held me up above the sidewalk. It did not change anything: screaming. My confusion became overwhelming. What had happened? How did this happen to Never?

I went to the funeral as a courtesy to Rosamund and refused to allow it to be more than it was. I stood indifferent amongst the crowded funeral where no air-horn blasted through the morning air. I did not go to the wake or rosary. In the days following I acted like nothing happened although I longed for my beloved friend Olivia. It was ironic that Never left a mark on the sidewalk that the Coroner and the Fire Department could not wash off. It was insignificant in shape and color, small and blackened from the pressure of the baking sun. I heard about it, and saw it, and instantly knew that was the spot where Never landed. In my mind, the black splatter seemed easier to cope with when I thought of it as another black picture Never had left us. Perhaps titled, One Artist’s Abstract Interpretation on Coping with Loss under Night Fall, although I never told anyone. The day I innocently stumbled upon the spot, I looked up at Rosamund’s windows and deliberately chose not to stop at her home and say hello. I did not know, that day, that I would enter that house, that studio, again.

I heard so many different philosophies and ways to survive the grief of losing such close friends. All words of coping from many well-wishers and dime store cards. I thought each one over carefully and some days mulled the words for hours trying to find the one sentiment that would take away my pain and regret, but they never did. I watched movies and strolled around in the cool night air trying to avoid the pain or possibly find the end of my grief had come. Michael moved in after a few months, as we had talked about, after a short time apart.

Some years later Rosamund passed away quietly and I was summoned to her empty home. The deaths of Never and Olivia had been very hard on Rosamund though she managed a few good years after their incidents. Her Will was handled quickly, the house seemed sad and careworn when I arrived and reluctantly knocked on the door. I had been bequeathed the painting’s Olivia had left behind. Many of the last paintings she’d done, that were not sold or taken by other family members, were mine. I did not want the paintings thinking that their memories would be too hard to have in my life. Michael encouraged me to take a look at them and decide what to do with them later. He kept saying, “Rosamund thought of you when she decided who should take care of them forever.” He was right.

I entered the foyer of the home and took a moment to look around at the old dusty curtains, empty rooms, halls and shelves, cornices that still remained. I remembered that Olivia and Never had come and gone as an earlier time in my life. All this, of no use any longer. The studio was completely cleaned out and devoid of any remaining indications that two artists had ever gained artistic momentum and inspiration to the dismayed, damnation of the canvas, in this room. Olivia’s paintings lined the entry wall to the studio and I had not remembered how vibrant and full of life her paintings were.

They seemed to dance under their own bright light amidst the dark, dusty room. I had forgotten how she used such great colors and strong lines to interpret her portraits of women engaged in thought. There were several paintings directly left to me and when I leafed through them – I saw a portrait she’d done of Never.

It was bold, with green and blue colors to capture his cute face with big ears and a pug nose. There was some ruddiness around its edges like that of a beautiful succulent glowing in the desert sun. I knew I wanted the painting and that with it, maybe, I could forgive Never for what he’d done and loose some of the anger I felt when I thought of him. One of the portraits’ resembled Olivia’s profile and, in the end, Michael and I decided to hang both of the paintings prominently in our living room. On my way out I thanked the Attorney for her time and was surprised to see the last, and best, of Olivia and Never’s details, alive and well.

When the stained-glass front door scraped loudly against the ground, as it opened, it invited the blooming interest of a mischievous Irish Setter who entered the foyer looking to exit quickly. Hopper-Skipper was still living in the old home and awaiting his destiny under the wishes of the Will, according to the Attorney.

“No one seems to want him,” she said. “I have his leash and I have to take him walking everyday in case you’d like to do it today.”

I stepped away with the paintings under my arm and anticipated the long complicated walk home with the bulky items and a dog pulling me into the street before I was ready. The curbs turned busy while the sun set to an unfamiliar clay color and I noted that until the sun fades my own vibrancy, I took home the best of Olivia and Never’s final impressions on the world – and Hopper-Skipper.