What Color Was Their Life?
More importantly, what color is yours?
Sometimes I write these posts days in advance and schedule them to go out on Wednesdays. Other times, I’m completely uninspired and procrastinate the hell out of writing.
I owe all of my inspiration for today’s post to Michael Shook. He’s one of our subscribers and this morning he published a story that really made me pause and consider.
I’m glad I procrastinated today.
I’ve been existing in beige.
Michael’s story was about living a stoic life, void of feeling and color. I’m unsure whether he was referring to grief or not but reading what he wrote made me think of color association with grief.
I used to call it “a state of blank” because blank described my soul perfectly for a long time. No joy, no happiness, no reason to look on the bright side.
And certainly NO color.
Beige is an accurate description of the state of blank.
But all this talk about dull colors also made me think about my son who was the most colorful human I knew.
In fact, I have this photo hanging on the wall above his urn and it is the perfect depiction of who he was.
He was one big paint-splattered menagerie of color with graffiti-esque edges outlining every aspect of his personality.
We found that graffiti wall in a grungy alley in downtown Vancouver and thought it would make an awesome photoshoot backdrop.
Both of us posed in front of it, putting on our best “cool face,” trying to look all supermodel-ish.
It was a fun day.
After he died, he was given two different colors.
His angel color is blue. He told me that himself. I took his word for it and have since gone on believing it and associating who he is now with the color blue.
However, I have also assigned him a color.
His life color was red because when he was alive, red is the only color I can think of that best represents who he was. Vibrant, bold, and making a statement.
No one mistakes red. It speaks loudly.
Assigning colors to your life through grief.
Doing so might help you recognize where you’re at.
My colors have changed ever so slightly over time. I’m still beige in the center of the canvas but other colors are beginning to bleed through around the edges.
Not bold ones yet, I’m certainly no kaleidoscope. Just soft, comforting, muted tones peeking through.
My painting isn’t finished but it’s a work in progress. The point is that I’ve picked up the brush. It took Michelangelo five years to paint the Sistine Chapel.
Every brushstroke counts toward the finished work.
Maybe you’ve never even given any thought to the colors of your life associated with grief but it could be an interesting exercise to go through.
Care to share what you come up with?
Susan's was green. She helped many people with their healing in her life, including me. Kind of greenish blue, healing mixed with peace. Mine's usually purple with some blue. We had our aura photos taken at our local psychic shop. It was quite an experience.
Thank you very much for your kind words and for sharing my story.
Yellow - bright yellow sunflowers. In meditation, I always see my husband and I as a pair of giant sunflowers, swaying in the wind and dancing through time together. For 35 years, he made me laugh every day and took me to the most beautiful places in Idaho. I shall remain yellow, photographing and writing about all the wild places he gifted me. It takes all of my will, but I will not let him fade.