Soon after Todd was killed, I told a journalist who came to the house for an interview that I needed to nurture Todd's death in the same way I nurtured his life. A few weeks after Todd was killed, our family sat in the living room discussing what we might do to create a legacy in memory of him. Many meaningful tributes honoring Todd's life and service to our country came to fruition from that conversation. 

 

I remember saying, “What will I do?” They answered in unison, “Mom, you will paint!” Visions of fire, anger, ugliness filled my mind. I thought, "I can’t paint that. Todd was too special." But as time passed and I began to listen to others' tributes to Todd, those early visions were replaced with reflections on beauty, honor, and love. In time, with the grace of God, I began to paint.

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The studio had been closed on the day we received the grave news. Canvases were unfinished. Paint brushes were caked with dried paint. 

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Four months after Todd's death, I reopened my studio and began to paint in memory of my son.  I did not know its purpose. I did not think about its healing benefits. I just knew I had to paint.