Gratitude: How Grief Changes

Gratitude

The piggy bank was a gift from a dear friend. I met her while on a walk with my daughter through our neighborhood when I noticed her throwing ceramics out of her garage. We got to talking about art and, having been looking for a creative outlet in my new stay-at-home mom life, we became fast friends. She taught me how to solder stained glass, work clay, and eventually convinced me to start my art business. She was a huge impact on my art practice. I literally would not be where I am today without her mentorship.

 When she moved across the country, it felt like a major loss. As she was using all her clay molds for the last time, she made this sweet pink pig as a sort of parting gift for my daughter. The little pig sat dutifully on our entry table.

My daughter, maybe a year old, took great pride in putting all of our spare change in there. Sometimes she'd ask why we didn't visit the artsy neighbor anymore but she was too young to really understand. Every grocery trip, gas station stop, and outing was punctuated with the clinking of coins in his little belly. Each time, I'd mentally thank my friend for the joy she brought my baby, even in her absence. Once, because that’s all it takes, my daughter ran into the house, eager to offer her little bit of savings to the pig. The table was knocked, and the piggy bank fell, breaking into several large chunks.

I was devastated. Fresh off the loss of my only real friend at the time, I cried. I might have raged if my sweet girl hadn't felt so sorry for hurting the clay creature and making me sad. It felt like I'd lost my friend all over again. We picked up the pieces together and, unable to let go of the little memento, I tucked away the porcelain shards. Without the little figure, I felt the weight of my friend on the other side of the country. I'd likely never see her again, and with our busy lives diverging, I knew we'd rarely speak.

It wasn't until well after a major downsizing of our house, and a very hectic move, that I was able to excavate the remains, sit down and paint the piece. The time had cooled my emotions around it, and I noticed how my feelings toward the little pig had changed. Rather than regret over the loss of my friend and the ceramic she made for me, I felt so thankful. 

I was grateful for her and the impact she had on my life and art journey. Thankful for the thoughtful gift for my daughter, who she showed so much love. Above all, I felt grateful for my daughter—how happy she was and how healthy; healthy enough to run excitedly into our home and break the pig in the first place.

Sitting in my grief allowed it to fade into something else entirely. At the time of painting, this was the hardest loss of an object I'd faced, but now I see that's because it was the most impactful. Once the memorial was finished, I let go of the broken pieces, finally able to throw away the feelings of loss and make room for the love and gratitude that it had come to represent.