My last post was a little melodramatic and self-pitying, and I’m kind of laughing at myself. But this post is about something that really hits close to home.

I’m assuming you can read, which means you’ve read the caption of this article and you know where this is going…

Creativity seems to die when you lose a reason to be creative. My reason used to be a person and frankly, I believe she’d be disappointed if she knew I gave up anything because I was just sad. 

When I was younger, I was taken in by a lady that didn’t even know me. My parents weren’t too fond of me and my character and basically kicked me out (in the fifth grade). This woman took me under her wing and pretty much taught me what I know up to this point in my life.

She taught me how to paint, how to make jewelry (and not just that plasitc bead crap you’d expect every 5th grader to be obsessed with), how to crochet and countless other things. Every day after school we’d do my homework together and do something fun afterwards.

She was such a unique woman. She had 8 dachshunds, 12 birds and 3 tattoos. Not your “typical grandma”. Her only son was locked away in prison and his first grandchild never got the privilege of meeting her.

Unfortunately, she fell victim to the nasty disease of COPD and passed away 11 days before my 12th birthday. I was devastated. The night she passed away I was in the room with her and as I’ve become older, I realize that I wish I wasn’t. I had to see her for the last time completely miserable.

A slow, steady breathing pattern. A faint beep in the distance of a machine counting her heart rate. A cold, fragile hand intertwined with mine. Tears running down my face, yet no sound could escape from me.

Then suddenly, a steady beep. A limp movement of her hand. Her chest no longer moving. Not even a little. And screams that could be heard from the other side of the city.

 Everything I had left taken from me in an instant and with it went my creativity.I became depressed. I would go to school but I wouldnt do anything. I started lashing out more. I wouldnt leave my room unless I absolutely had to. There was no talking to me. There was no convincing me. I threw away all my paint and canvases. I threw away all my jewelry sets.  I even went as far as undoing the little bit of a crochet piece I had started because I was so angry.

Here I am, almost 8 years later realizing that I should have never given up the only gift she gave me that I could carry with me the rest of my life. If I could go back and tell myself anything that I know now, it would be to carry on and let her live inside of me. Happily, like she would have wanted.

I know its not too late for me to try to start over, and it may take awhile.. But damn, if there’s anything I know that she would’ve wanted, it would’ve been for me to be happy and to shine like the “star of her life” that I was.