Working with a recreational therapist, I was having a harder day with my back. But I wanted to work with her. She brought paints in my room and a vase to paint. The vase was a copper color. I had shared with her that one of my goals was to sit up and paint again, something I hadn’t done in months due to my back. It didn’t feel the same as painting on a canvas, but I didn’t care; I was sitting up and painting again.

The paintbrush was skinny, with a blue handle and black bristles. I held it for a few minutes before I started to paint. It had been so long since I had held a brush in my hand. I poured a couple of colors onto the round pallet. I chose green, white, silver, black.

The color green is sentimental to me. Before my grandmother passed away, we painted one more time together. She was a fine artist. She chose the colors green, black, and white.

For the next forty-five minutes, my recreational therapist and I painted and talked about how our weekends had been, laughing at various stories. I felt at peace, doing what I truly loved.

As we finished up, the therapist looked at me and said, “You accomplished your goal to sit up and paint. I’m really proud of you.”

Hearing that put the biggest smile on my face. It felt so good to be able to do something that I had missed oh so much. You don’t realize how much we take for granted in life until it’s taken away from us. I never realized how much I’d appreciate sitting up and painting. I will never take this for granted.