Barbara and Elaine 2008
In February, prednisone gave Vic a prolonged energy surge. He longed to be alone and taste independence, and I wanted to think about something besides the timing of medicine and doctor’s appointments.
Barbara Nowogrodzki, an artist, teacher, and close friend, suggested a three-night trip to New York City. Barbara stayed in close contact during Vic’s illness, writing his appointments on her refrigerator calendar and calling for a report after Vic saw a doctor or had chemotherapy. A few months earlier, Barbara and I shared an inspiring afternoon at the Corning Museum of Glass, but going to New York City felt ambitious.
We planned to take a bus from Ithaca and stay with Barbara’s father-in-law Mark on the Upper West Side. I stocked the refrigerator with soups for Vic and packed a small suitcase for myself. Boarding the bus, I worried about leaving Vic alone, but a few miles out of town, I relaxed into Barbara’s calm reassurance.
“He’ll be OK, Elaine. If there’s a problem, Richard will help until you get back.” Richard was Barbara’s husband.
Mark welcomed us to his apartment and showed me to a tiny bedroom just off the kitchen, a private space where I could withdraw to read or rest. Early next morning, Barbara and I walked south along West End Avenue, caught a cross-town bus, and strolled along the wide sidewalks near Central Park. Bookstores invited us to browse, but we pushed on toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
February longs for color, so we spent time with Monet and Van Gogh and then wandered through the Impressionists. We separated for a while, and I visited the Temple of Dendur and saw Central Park from the roof. We met for lunch in the cafeteria, grateful for beautifully prepared vegetarian food and hot tea. I was glad to be with Barbara, but felt removed from the beauty surrounding us.
Barbara wanted to visit the newly renovated Greek and Roman exhibits, so I followed her downstairs through a sculpture gallery. Statues and reliefs of Persephone, Demeter, Eros, Mercury, and other goddesses and gods greeted us. We’d studied many of these Greek deities in a mythology class, so I was honored to meet them face-to-face. While Barbara sketched a muscular torso, I wandered through side rooms, feeling flat, as though I were looking through a thick glass wall. I sat slump-shouldered in the main hall staring at Demeter, but it was no use. I got up one more time, hoping that something would stir me. Near the doorway, not far from Persephone, I found a damaged tomb sculpture of a matron tenderly holding an infant on her lap and read the inscription:
My daughter’s beloved child is the one I hold here,
The one I held on my lap
While we looked at the light of the sun when we were alive
And that I still hold now that we are both dead.
The deceased grandmother held and comforted her dead grandchild. Her hands were tender and soft, her face serene. The child was safe on her lap. My heart leaped in recognition, although I didn’t know exactly why.
In August, two months after Vic’s death, Barbara and I returned to the city. Again, we stayed with Mark and visited museums. Although I felt stunned and disoriented, I was on a mission to revisit the grandmother and child at the Met. I longed for the statue’s assurance that Vic was held tenderly on the other side just as I held him on this side. I needed to have my faith restored.
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Have you been healed by art? Did friends accompany you on your grief journey? For more stories about the Nowogrodzki family, see Engaging and Letting Go or New Year’s Resolution: Let loss open my heart to kindness.
Beautiful photos. Great story!
Another example of how art is a great medicine for healing troubled hearts.
Yes, Lourdes, art is great medicine for the heart. You know this so well as an expressive arts therapist. You inspire me to submit this piece to my LinkedIn group called “Grief and Creativity.”
When I was 16, a disoriented immigrant in NYC, I made a “friendship” with a 4th century statue of Maitreya Buddha that lives in the Met. I visited it often for solace. Now, so many decades later, I still stop by to say hi when I’m in NYC, and I keep a small photo of it in my living room. It continues to bring comfort…
How wonderful, Christi, especially in light of where your life has taken you. I want to see this statue and will give it a visit at the Met, too.
Thanks so much.
Thanks for sharing this experience, Elaine. I can identify both with your “flat” experience in the museum as well as the comforting aspect of art. For me, it happens when I make the art. Without that, I would be lost.
Lynne, creating my own images almost always brings some inner quiet for me, even though I’m a complete amateur. You remind me to blog about the experience of painting my dreams and various images from mythology. This was especially helpful when grief was most intense. Thanks for reminding me.
Stay warm.
Thank you for sharing this piece of your larger story. One day I must visit the grandmother & child at the Met. Surely they will bring comfort when I long to hold my own passed child. And, of course, I will think of you and Vic.
I love the poignant photo of Barbara and you. Sweetly, your blog gives an impression (at least to me) that the two of you scheduled a presentation on “Feminine Healing” at the Metropolitan Museum of Art! Not an impossibility.
Love,
nanci
Thank you, Nanci. That piece was moving for me, so I hope you get to see it at the Met someday. Wow, a presentation at the Met? In my dreams–and in your mind. Never know, but it’s not on the schedule.
with gratitude and love, Elaine