Give Them All A Hug - Tumblr Posts

Day 5: Kate and her 3 parents (Watercolors)

[TW: dying parent (canonical) and the grief that causes]

Kate did not paint portraits. Watercolors were a notoriously tricky medium and getting a person's likeness was no easy task. She'd really only tried once.

Her father had been ill for several months. He wasn't confined to bed (that would come later) but his movements were no longer smooth and graceful. He would get winded easily and often spent much of the day reclined.

It was hard to see him like that. Miles Sheffield had been strong-- vibrant and active and full of energy. The illness had taken that from him.

But it hadn't taken his smile. It was obvious to Kate that her father was in a great deal of pain but his eyes still twinkled and his laughter was filled with mirth as he teased his wife and daughters.

The doctors had warned that he would only get worse and Kate wanted nothing more than to capture that smile before it was gone. Only she couldn't seem to get the likeness right. It was lifeless and muddled and the colors blurred before her eyes.

"Kate." Mary's voice cut through her gaze and she looked up from her easel in confusion. "Oh Kate, what is the matter?"

Dimly, she realized the room was still blurry, that she was crying. "I--" The words caught in her throat. "I am trying--" she choked, "not to forget."

Mary embraced her. "Oh Kate, you will remember him. I promise you will."

"But I have already lost--" Kate cut herself off, eyes wide with horror. The words my mother hung unspoken between them.

Mary only held her closer, hands rubbing soothing circles around her back. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

Storms aside, Kate did not cry. Not when she fell and skinned her knees, not when being punished for misbehaving, not when their beloved corgi Kepler passed. Just this once, she indulged herself.

After a spell, her gasping breaths calmed to sniffles. Kate pulled away from Mary and wiped her eyes. "Sorry, I just… I cannot let him fade away too." Her aching heart couldn't take it.

Mary took her hand and squeezed. "Never apologize for loving someone, Kate. It's a beautiful gift."

Her throat felt dry and Kate had the distinct feeling that, if she let herself, she might crumble. So she straightened her spine and pulled her hand back. "Thank you, Mary." She truly meant it but the words didn't sound right.

"Of course, darling," Mary replied, voice tinged with lingering sadness. "What will you do with the painting?"

Kate pulled it from the easel-- ironically dry because Kate's face was wet-- and folded it. Rather than answer, she said, "I believe I shall return to landscapes for the time being."

Recognizing the obvious subject change, Mary nodded. "Somerset is lovely this time of year."

"It is," she agreed, unable to keep the obvious relief from her face.

They spoke for a few more minutes about nothing of import until Kate excused herself. She went to her room and placed the still folded failed portrait on her dressing table. Part of her wanted to destroy it (she'd captured her father so poorly) but something inside her chest squeezed in protest at the thought.

She placed the folded paper into her trunk instead. It felt right, sat next to her other special keepsakes. She ran a hand over it one final time. Perhaps someday she might even be glad she'd painted it.