Many times, I post things on my blog to help release the feelings I may be having, or to help people understand just how screwed up my thinking is. This time, this post, I want to express some of my demons without disrespecting the memory of a good man who had an amazing gift.
Recently a very good friend, best friend, of my brother's past away. This friend wasn't just a best friend, in some ways I believe he helped my brother through some of the hardest times in his life, and even though my brother still had many more hard times to come and go through before he became the man he is today, I credit some of his sanity (what little sanity my brother has) to this friend.
On top of being a good friend to my brother, he was an AMAZING artist. He and I had many conversations about his art. He had a gift and over the years we would make plans to do different projects. Our first idea was to do a "child's" nursery book, it was going to use all the old mother goose nursery rhythms, and he was going to do the illustrations, but in his way, in his style. Another time he offered to come and do a mural on my son's wall, we didn't own the home so that never happened. Over the last 23 years we had made plans and they all fizzled out, I blame myself for that, maybe if I followed through more, one of our ideas would have happened, maybe.
About a year ago, I contacted him and told him of a painting he had done that I very much wanted. Since I have always wanted to own a piece of his art, he promised me the work of art. We made plans to meet so I could get the painting, but they fell through, over the next 12 months we must have made 5-7 appointments to get together, each time he or I would cancel or reschedule. No biggy, there was always tomorrow, until there was no tomorrow.
I am now unable to get this painting, and the feelings I have about that is a jumbled mess.
It is really upsetting me that I am upset about not getting the painting. I feel like I'm selfish and disrespectful toward him and his death for even wanting the painting. I am so angry at myself for not putting more effect into getting the painting when I had the chance, and I'm angry at myself for being angry.
Before his death it was all about wanting a piece of his art, but now it's about wanting a piece of who he was, a piece of what he meant to me. I will miss him always.
