My Grandma Liz's paintings hanging around my house provide me with pristine comfort. Not until the last few months had I given any of these paintings a second thought. I actually had never really ever thought much about my late Grandma Liz, beyond the fact that she passed away when I was six years old. She died in what seems so long ago and in what was such a peaceful manner that, beyond a funeral I don't remember, there was never anything to bring her to the forefront of my mind.
A while ago I really looked at the picture of me in her arms that overlooks my dining room. I guess that's where all this started. She was extremely sick with emphysema when the picture was taken. I have vivid memories of visiting her in her and my Grandpa's village apartment. My Grandma looked so fragile lying in her bed bombarded with all kinds of tubes and devices that were keeping her alive. I remember being afraid to hug her because I did not want to hurt her. She has the warmest smile in the photograph (the same smile can be found in every picture of her). And I, in the form of a five year old, look uncomfortable, but so very comfortable at the same time. I want to be there in her arms but I am afraid that I will do something to hurt her. It's her smile that really gets me though. When I talk to my Grandpa about the past or when he's telling me a story with Liz involved, it always lifts me up when he can just laugh, smile or simply be himself while reminiscing on something about her. It's not that I expect anything else, it's that he was/is so happy to think about her and I get a small taste of how wonderful she must have been through him.
Her paintings that hang around my house are what I still have of her. I will never know how much she could have taught me or how exactly much we would have loved each other. But I do know that she would have loved me, or maybe still does. And that's enough to comfort me right now.