Decades Painting

My father passed away from lung cancer a decade ago on March 19th. We didn’t have the best relationship for the majority of my life, but as we both aged, it got much better. I found that we were on an upward trajectory when he was suddenly diagnosed with advanced stage 4 cancer. I moved into his house, helped get him to doctors appointments, and tried to keep him as comfortable as possible. I could suddenly see and hear the regret he had for living life the way he did, instead of being a better father and husband. We found a brief diary in a notebook after he passed, which is very unlike him — he wasn’t the emotional sort, which professed his love for my mother, myself, and two sisters, and how she was the greatest light in his life, that he was sorry he ever left. It really jabbed me. Why not just say this when you’re alive? It wasn’t a pretty process. I was there when he went. I remember being in the room with his body after he’d gone. I had a distinct thought to myself. He’d been in an induced coma, I hadn’t talked to him in a week. Both of us didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last time we’d ever speak. I was there when they put him under. By myself. The child he initially said wasn’t his. Of course I was. He told me he loved me. I thought about how someday I’d reflect on that, and it would be decades not days since I’d heard his voice. As this is the decade anniversary of his death, and the memory remains vivid but tolerable, I took this opportunity over the course of a week to work this out on the canvas. This is that process.

Painting:Oil on Linen

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:18 W x 24 H x 1.5 D in

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