Did he notice the texture of the paint as the brush touched the canvas? I was not specifically intended for the painting. Leaning against the wall, waiting to be hung, placed where the gift can easily be viewed each day. Did the depth of the colors touch his heart the way his compassion has surrounded me even years after his death?
He did not sign the painting by the name I call him. Guardian Angel. Listening, watching for me, expressing a wide hue of compassion.
He saw in me what has taken me years to acknowledge.As the picture waits to be hung in my home, I can thank him. Not just for brushing the paint on canvas, or the generosity of gifting me a heart felt expression, but for holding a belief in me until I had the courage to remove the blindfold of my disbelief.