Loss and Grief
Trigger warnings.
Loss of friendship, loss of a parent, Anger, Homophobia.
This story is loosely based off my year so far.
Loss and Grief
By Stacy Malm
Elara crumbled up the clipping of her latest art review. “What did they know about her work?” She screamed, tossing the crumbled ball onto her paint board. Looking at her easel with its canvas of muted color and soft blended lines. A far cry from the work in her reviews. There was no vibrance left in her. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks stained from this morning’s eyeliner, or was it yesterday? The painting in front of her was a distraction that failed to keep the turmoil at bay. An attempt to forget all the loss that has hit her this year, and it was only February!
Grabbing the crumbled-up review from the board, she uncrumpled it, reading and then rereading it again with the paint staining the edges and a slash or crimson across the middle. She slapped it onto the canvas watching as it stuck to the paint. Next, she grabbed another printout. This one a text message from her best friend and muse Gwen. Wiping the tears away only to leave paint smears instead. Elara read “I can’t believe you got so jealous like that. You have no say over who I date. We are not a couple, nor will we ever be one!” She slapped this one onto the canvas as well. Leaning her head against the wet paint she cried over letting her jealousy bring resentment and distrust into their friendship. The bond had seemed unbreakable. They had so many late nights filled with laughter, deep talks, where they understood each other like no one could.
But that was before the biggest flaw in her character came roaring back from the dark crevices, she had shoved it into. Jealousy had lurked in the corners of her mind, whispering doubts and insecurities. Her ex-fiancé Marina’s words echoed. “It’s not cheating. It was only sex, not love.”
Dipping her finger into her prized Black 3.0 paint. Elara wrote, “You will never be good enough.” Elara thought of Gwen, with her charming personality and kind heart, which attracted many people, both men and women. If only her jealousy hadn’t been festering, turning her thoughts dark and irrational. The night of the gallery opening may never have happened. As she lay there Elara thought back to that night. Gwen had been talking animatedly with a woman she had never seen before. Her laughter rang out, and Gwen’s eyes sparkled with joy. A joy that she had never been directed toward Elara. That’s when the long-forgotten beast emerged from its darkness, to wrap itself around Elara’s heart. She couldn’t hear the conversation, but her demon filled in the gaps with unfounded suspicions.
Elara remembered how she was unable to contain her emotions. How she confronted Gwen after the opening. With her sharp tongue laced with accusations, and in that moment of anger, Gwen walked away. Leaving Elara alone with her regrets.
Kicking the easel’s leg Elara watched as her painting fell to the floor next to her. It didn’t matter if this piece was damaged, her soul was damaged what’s the point of a pristine painting? So, some rich art collector would buy it and stuff it in a storage unit waiting for the day they could resell it at a significant markup like all the other artwork rich people bought. She found a paint bush on the floor, that had been knocked over with the easel. and dipping it into her crimson blood paint she signed the painting as “The jealous bitch Elara”. Picking up her painting she leaned it against the wall.
Grabbing another half-finished painting. This one, of two adult women enjoying a laugh together. One in her senior years while the other in her late 20’s or early 30’s. Elara had intended this to be a painting of her and her mom reconnecting after years of no contact. She dug around in her stack of printouts until she found a series of clippings. Where she then proceeded to slap them at random onto the painting. Being sure not to obscure the mother and daughter duo on the canvas. Each clipping a screen shot of a text message. “The cancer has returned”, “Sis moms in the hospital, dad has called a priest for last rights.”, “Mom passed away this afternoon!”, one from her uncle saying, “Don’t come to the funeral.” Another text from her sister. “You know how the family feels about LGBT people.” Taking her red paint, she slashed through the unfished portrait of herself. Giving the effect of herself being cut in two. Elara looked at the painting and grabbed her special blank paint and she put an X over each of her mother’s eyes. Then signed this one. Elara the mentally ill. Something her mom had called her several times after coming out as a lesbian.
Having now finished her second painting. She slumped to the floor and grabbed her knees up to her chest and cried into them. In the last month she had lost her best friend to her own trauma and stupidity. Something she greatly regretted but had no way of fixing. Hell, she couldn’t contact Gwen had she wanted to, and she did want to. One night, a few weeks back she had deleted all of Gwen’s contacts so she wouldn’t be tempted to send her anymore texts. That was before her mom had passed away.
Elara set that crying for a long, long time. Thinking of everything that she had lost. How her family had told her to not attend the funeral of her mother because she was a queer woman, unless she was willing to reject everything about her queerness and return to the loving church. Her religious family who wouldn’t know the first thing about true love. How she had always dreamed of fixing things between her mom and herself. How her best friend told her she had broken their trust. And it was all true, she had ruined everything.
Elara looked around her art studio, covered in paintings some finished many not. All were supposed to be cathartic releases. All of them pieces of her soul on display for the world to see. Would the people who saw them see her love, or her joy? Or only the pain she had felt in the last month. These weren’t cathartic, they were her truth. In all of its joy, and pain. Regret and cheer.
Still covered in drying paint from her head all the way to her toes. Elara walked into her shower fully clothed, letting her tears blend with the cold water, and paint washing down the drain. Had her phone not buzzed with a text notification, she may have stayed in that shower until she died of water rot. Upon getting out and checking the message she sighed with a smile. It was from the only person that still meant something to her. “Mama E. can you take me dress shopping tonight. Mama S is sick and can’t go. My GSA dance is this weekend.”
Elara replied. “Yes luv, I’ll be by to pick you up in an hour. I know the perfect shop.”
— — — — — —
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”
Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
“The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief — But the pain of grief isonly a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love.”
Hillary Stanton Zunin
I miss you bestie, and I miss you mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend or the child you craved.
-Stacy
