This painting wasn’t planned.
It came from one of those heavy days where your brain won’t shut up and every thought loops back to the same place. I was stuck in it, thinking about my ex, so I grabbed my dog and drove just to get out of my head for a while.
While I was crying at stoplights I kept noticing green butterflies.
One, then another, then again.
My mom always said butterflies were my sister’s way of visiting, and green was her favorite color. I didn’t suddenly feel okay, but I felt noticed. Like someone was sitting with me in it instead of me being alone in my thoughts.
When we got home I left a painting drying on the garage floor. My dog stepped right across it and I got mad and yelled at my baby — it felt like the only small thing I had control over that day and now it was ruined too.
Later I went back out to clean it.
His paw print had made a middle finger. And right next to it was a butterfly.
I just started smiling.
That was exactly her. Not soft comfort, just her telling me to tell him to fuck off and stop hurting myself over something that wasn’t going to change.
So I outlined it. Not to create the image, just to keep it from disappearing.
My dog is gone now. He was the best dog I’ll ever have. I like to think wherever she is, he found her immediately.
The painting isn’t really about anger. It’s about being reminded you still have people on your side, even when they aren’t here in the same way anymore.
Sometimes support doesn’t feel gentle. Sometimes it feels like someone who knows you well enough to snap you back to yourself.
And yes I did say sorry to my sweet beary boo for yelling at him, he got treats and lots of love afterwards.