Many years ago, I heard a story about a widower who got up every morning and mended fences all day. It wasn’t his job, but it gave him a reason to get out of bed and do something after his wife’s death. Mending fences was the manual labor that kept his body busy while he processed his grief. My version of mending fences involves taking on small home improvement projects that keep my mind and body busy but aren’t overly challenging or likely to cause frustration.
In 2009, I turned to home improvement projects as a way to cope with grief during my divorce. I repaired and refinished a free dresser I found at the end of my cul-de-sac and a library desk I purchased at a local flea market. This furniture would accompany me into the next phase of my life as a divorcee. Stripping, sanding, cleaning, and refinishing these pieces became therapeutic outlets for me. As I worked, I allowed myself to experience the pain, disappointment, and grief from my failed marriage. This physical work was a distraction, allowing my heart, mind, and soul to heal.
In 2016, I painted four rooms of my house, one for each year I had shared my life with a man who ended up cheating on me. I worked through my grief with loud music, brushes, and rollers, waiting to uncover what moving forward would look like. The paint helped cover the empty space left by his absence, creating a fresh, blank canvas for the life that would come after him.
In the summer of 2020, I threw myself into another round of minor home renovations following a series of personal losses and the onset of the pandemic lockdown. I redecorated my bedroom, bathroom, and office. I gave the walls a fresh coat of paint, assembled IKEA furniture for my office, and hung floral grey curtains in the bedroom while listening to audiobooks and podcasts on a portable Bose speaker. I was not only processing grief for the loss of friends, family, and the world I had known but also uncertainty about the future and a world that would never be the same again.
It’s March 2024, and I am again painting away my grief. I had been planning to repaint the kitchen for more than a year. This is the only room in my house that I haven’t painted since I moved in more than a decade ago. It costs $221.13 to purchase the angled paint brushes, rollers, plastic drop cloths, and paint to start work in the kitchen. I chose oak moss, unusual gray, and aloof gray to cover the walls and cabinets months ago. I had no idea these colors would match my grief.
I started painting the adjacent sunroom in January to combat cabin fever during a polar vortex and blizzard. I ran out of paint during the second coat and decided to finish it later. Later has arrived. My nights and weekends are open now that I no longer spend hours a day on the phone getting acquainted with My Love. The paint again coats my grief as I process a future that will not be. My hands work as my heart, mind, and soul do their own interior remake. I have heard that grief is love with no place to go. Painting is at least some place for me to focus this energy. A place to pour out the unrealized dreams and plans. The walls and brushes don’t mind if my face leaks. They are indifferent to my emotions.
They let me be where I am and help me get onto whatever is next.