1027
Grief has a way of finding unexpected places to live, and sometimes, unexpected ways to heal.
1 July 2026
This painting began on February 12, 2026.
On that day, I was thinking about my Mom, as I so often do, and I became overwhelmingly sad. I miss her so much.
The house was quiet except for Ginger, sleeping peacefully and completely unaware, while I sat in the living room and let myself have a long cry. No distractions. No holding it together. Just the ache.
When I finally wiped my eyes and looked up, the clock read 10:27.
“Thank you,” I whispered out loud. “I love you. Thank you.”
October 27th was my Mom’s birthday. 1027 has become a number that means something entirely different to my sister and me. Whenever we see it, we feel like she’s with us.
This isn’t the first time it has happened.
A few weeks prior, I quietly launched my jewelry website. It was technically live, but I hadn’t announced it yet. I wanted to test everything first: ordering, payment, shipping, and notifications before announcing it publicly. A friend helped me place a test order so I could make sure the entire process worked from beginning to end.
However, the next morning, I woke up to an unexpected order notification. My Mom’s best friend, Arlene, had purchased a jewelry set. My first real order!
Seeing her name filled me with so much joy. It felt like my Mom was also cheering me on from above. But that wasn’t even the most incredible part.
When I looked at the internal item number of the piece Arlene had chosen, it was Item #1027.
I just stared at it.
Coincidence? Maybe. But I choose to believe it was my Mom whispering, “I’m here.” A small nudge. A gentle reassurance. A reminder that love doesn’t disappear.
I felt her support so clearly that day.
And this morning, when the sadness felt heavy again, she showed up once more.
So I painted.
No plan. No structure. No expectations. Just feeling.
I started with long streams of blue to represent my tears falling and falling. I added yellow for warmth, for sunlight, for the color of the flowers she loved most. Then I reached for tools I’d collected but hadn’t fully explored and began layering, pressing, scraping, letting things overlap in ways I couldn’t control.
The more I painted, the lighter I felt.
In time, I added a weeping willow tree. It was her favorite type of tree. I still don’t feel I’ve done it justice. As my skills improve, I hope I’ll continue returning to this painting, adding a little more of the beauty my Mom still brings into my life each day, even though she is no longer physically here.
What began as grief slowly transformed into something that felt like life and death meeting in the same place. The colorful dots began to feel like little reminders that the people we love continue to shape us long after they’re gone.
Love and sadness. Loss and warmth. Memory and hope.
I’ve titled this piece “1027” in honor of my Mom.
Maybe grief isn’t something to push away or fix. Maybe it’s something we move through; like layers of paint, until we see that what remains underneath it all is love.
And love, it seems, has a way of finding us.
Grief still comes in waves, but so does love.
And somehow, that feels like enough.
I love you Mom. Thank You for being with me always.