The Yellow House

Cousin Liza came across this painting at an art exhibition in Taos. It was about 3 months after her dad died. It spoke to her, she thought the windows looked like Grandma’s eyes, as Grandma depicts in many of her drawings.

Through most of our childhood, Grandma’s dining room table was the center of the family’s world. While the children played, the adults would gather at the table and discuss everything from politics to religion to family matters. It was such a comforting memory for me. I never remember thinking I couldn’t wait until I was an adult to join them. It was their domain, and I was good with that.

When Liza showed us this picture, she shared that this is where she believe all those that have left us gather. Again, meeting around the table, discussing, laughing, waiting. Carla and I got chills when Liza told us that, and it has proven to be our go to while grieving. The most wonderful part of The Yellow House is that everyone I love is there. Anyone I chose is there. Mom and Kathy, Grandma, mothers and daughters together again. So many more.

​I realize this could be someone’s idea of heaven. I find that too restrictive. Too much forsaking, obedience, penance, wrath of god, blah, blah, blah. The Yellow House is filled with love, laughter and light. I know Nibbles and Cocoa are there under the table, punching legs for a treat. On this anniversary of Mom’s passing, I find solace in this painting. This is what art
​can do.