Our 25-year-old daughter, Laura Conroy, helped lead the Wild Rumpus in 2016. Then she performed gracefully on the trapeze by City Hall, but grew dehydrated and exhausted. Later, after an intense argument with her partner, Laura took her life in the early hours of Oct. 30.

My husband and I value the memories of Laura that enter our thoughts unexpectedly, especially in the fall. Could the ancient belief about the veil between the living and spirit worlds thinning in autumn have something to it? Perhaps it is a special time for connections to occur and memories to flow.

I also understand more about how the arts provide windows into the beauty of life, the reality of death and memories of loved ones. As I enter my own autumn years, I realize how the arts help magnify moments of intense feelings. 

Near the end of September, I headed down Tallassee Road for my Friday morning YMCA pilates class. My mind centered on whether I had brought my water bottle. Suddenly, the sky turned brilliant gold, and bright rays of sunlight spread through the treetops. The warm glow filled me to the brim. At that moment, Ronnie Milsap’s comforting voice rose from the radio with “I Wouldn’t Have Missed It for the World.” He sang:

“I wouldn't have missed it for the world

Wouldn't have missed loving you, girl

You've made my whole life worthwhile with your smile

I wouldn't trade one memory

’Cause you mean too much to me

Even though I lost you, girl

I wouldn't have missed it for the world”

The synchronicity of the gold sky, sunlit trees and sweet country song unleashed a torrent of tears. The music brought out my longing for someone I loved with all my heart and lost too soon. 

I got to the Y in time to hop in a shower before class and let the cool water soothe my red, puffy eyes. Pilates, yoga and other mind/body classes often help during times of grief, because of the need to breathe rhythmically and mindfully. It is calming. This class was no exception, and I found my center again. Yet a wound was now reopened. It felt raw and needed to be closed. I feared heading downward into depression. Once down in those depths, it’s a struggle to pull back out again.

Fortunately, my neighbor welcomed community members to her “Drawing in Sacred Space” art class on Oct. 1. Jessica Magnarella said to just bring ourselves—she’d supply brushes, paper and paint. I hesitated. Brushes? Paper? And paint? Oh my! I have little experience in creating this kind of art. I just like to look at what someone else has created. 

But Jessica showed our small group—ranging from a preteen to seniors—how to use water, little dabs of paint and different-sized brushes to paint whatever was on our minds. With her gentle coaching, our paintbrushes glided across our blank sheets of paper. No one held back. Those were joyful moments of neither judgement nor grades, just freedom to create. A candle glowed on the table as Jessica played chimes that sounded like a breeze passing through a distant temple. A couple of does and their fawns ambled outside by the window. We enjoyed their gentle presence.

At the end of the evening, we shared our creations with one another. Those of us who had arrived stressed seemed relaxed. We had all used completely different approaches and colors.

My painting, done in orange, yellow and green strokes of paint surrounding a dark road curving into a sunrise, captured my recent experience. Now, I could share it with others. The picture is simple and bright, and I look at it during sad times. On those days, I sometimes sing some of Ronnie Milsap’s words, especially when I’m walking our dogs in bright moonlight. 

Many of Laura’s friends and fellow instructors at Canopy Studio recall that one of her favorite songs was “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case. I’m not ready to sing that one yet. For now, I’ll enjoy the older country tune and the trees beneath moonlight at night or the sunlit sky at dawn. I’ll also have a much greater appreciation for what paint, paintbrushes and paintings can do for the soul. Even for beginners.