I always cherished the moments when I would walk with my grandfather down the railroad tracks on our way to the Saint David River. This land was always special to me because we had this unspoken understanding that we walked on sacred ground. We shared a bond because we both knew that dreams sprouted from the earth here. From my five-year-old viewpoint it felt magical.

One afternoon we were walking down the train tracks to the river in St. David. I looked up at my grandpa’s face to see his twinkling eyes surrounded by the light of the sun in a blue afternoon sky. He called me his “grand-chicken” as he teased me about dragging him through the moss-covered mud with it squishing between our toes. My hand was safely wrapped in his as I pulled him along laughing. My Grandpa was a dreamer, a wordsmith, and my protector.

Years later when he passed it became heart wrenching to think of his St. David land sitting there empty without him, and his dreams for the land unfinished. I avoided thinking of that place so that I wouldn’t have to grieve him all over again as I had done so often these past twenty plus years. Yet again I felt the sadness of his memory overtake me as I sat alone to process my grief, and I asked a question out loud: “how many times do I have to grieve him before I can remember him with happiness? I was so frustrated that the darkness of grief all these years had overshadowed the joy of our memories. I had an immediate answer come barreling into my mind: “paint”. It was such a distinct answer that I sat down straight away to try watercolor painting for the first time. I allowed my grandpa to be with me in that moment, and it was the first time the grief gave way to joy in over 20 years.

I chose colors and textures that felt like him. I used the shape of a miniature saw to shape the center of the painting. It was a purposeful choice, and more than a coincidence that I had just found the saw blade that day on my hike, because it was an exact replica of a larger saw that my grandpa chose to have a mural of St. David painted on. Through painting, I felt that Grandpa’s spirit came to life, and the once empty place in my heart was forever filled with joy. I felt that I could carry on the legacy in a way that felt right to me. Instantly, I knew that I was meant to paint for others, so they too can experience the light of joy that heals grief in the way that my grandfather’s painting did for me.