Moving Forward from Loss

Loss has a way of settling in the spaces we least expect. It lingers in the quiet moments, in the empty chairs at holiday gatherings, in the memories that surface when we least anticipate them.

I once painted a portrait in blue and green—a reflection of someone I barely knew in the way we often define closeness. We only shared fleeting moments, conversations woven into holidays and vacations. Yet, despite the distance, she never failed to show her love and support. She was one of those rare people who made their presence known not through grand gestures, but through steady, unwavering kindness.

She left too soon. Forty-seven is too young. One of those losses that makes you pause, shake your head, and wrestle with the unfairness of it all. But grief, like life, doesn’t wait for us to make sense of it. We move forward, carrying the weight of absence alongside the gratitude for having known them at all.

This painting, like my memories of her, is my quiet tribute. Blue for the depth of loss, green for the life she lived and the love she left behind. I may not have known her well, but I know she mattered. And sometimes, that is enough.

I didn’t get to spend much time with my sister Rosemarie, who was eight years older than me. When I was in high school, she was already away at college, and by the time I left for college myself, she had immigrated to the United States. Because of this, I don’t have many shared memories with her, but what I do carry is a strong sense of who she was—quietly resilient, steady, and strong.

Every time I sit by the rosemary bush in my garden or take a sprig in my hand, I’m brought back to a moment I will never forget—the day I picked rosemary sprigs for table flowers at her daughter’s wedding. Rosemarie had already passed by then, but as I stood in her garden, I felt her presence so strongly. It was as if her spirit enveloped me—quiet, comforting, and unmistakably there—sharing the day and those small, meaningful moments with me.

That feeling has stayed with me. It reminds me that time isn’t always linear, and that love and connection can bridge even the deepest gaps. I didn’t spend much time with her but her presence continues to linger in those quiet, ordinary moments—like the gentle scent of rosemary—bringing calm, connection, and quiet wisdom that still adds a spring to my life today.