Four months ago, I lost my mom unexpectedly. In the months that followed, painting flowers to grieve after loss became a quiet, unplanned part of my healing journey.
In the weeks that followed, I was deep in grief and found myself constantly searching for something… anything… that would make me feel close to her again. I kept hoping for a sign. A dream. A feeling. But for a long time, there was nothing. Just silence — and the kind of heartbreak that lingers in the background of everything.
And recently… I think she finally gave me one.
It came not through words, but through dreams.
And through flowers.
In those early weeks of grief, I didn’t feel creative — not in the way people usually think of creativity. There was no joy, no spark of inspiration. Instead, I picked up my brushes because I didn’t know what else to do. I started painting flowers — not because they were beautiful, but because they felt safe. Familiar. Gentle. Something to focus on while everything else felt overwhelming.
At first, they were just chaotic sketches. Frustrated brushstrokes. Color therapy on canvas. I wasn’t creating with intention — I was creating to cope. But even though I didn’t realize it at the time…
these flowers were becoming something sacred. They were carrying my grief.
Weeks later, something happened that shifted everything. I had a dream that changed everything. It was one of those dreams that felt more real than reality — like I had crossed into another world for a moment. In the dream, I looked out the window and was completely stunned.
There were flowers everywhere.
Flowers completely covering the ground, every inch of the landscape was blooming — vibrant and alive in a way that felt almost magical. But i was confused by this and I remember saying out loud,
“Those weren’t there yesterday… they must’ve bloomed overnight.”
A little later in the dream, my mom appeared. She was sitting beside me and my siblings, calm and comforting. She looked at me and said:
“I’m here. I’ll always be here. Not everyone will understand, but you do. Keep looking for the signs.”
When I woke up, I was crying — not from sadness, but from something I hadn’t felt in a while: comfort.
For the first time in weeks, I truly felt her presence.
I talk more about this dream on my Instagram reel if you’d like to check it out
That same day, I walked into my art room and stopped for a second when I realized what was in front of me. The floor was covered in flower paintings — paintings I had made during the hardest months of my life.. without even realizing how many of them I created.
vibrant colors, messy layers, different styles… but all of them flowers.
And in that moment, it hit me:
This was the sign. She had been with me all along.
I started to look at each painting differently. They weren’t just doodles or messy colors anymore — they were a visual record of how I had been surviving. Every petal held a little bit of my grief. Every canvas was a conversation I didn’t know I was having.
After that, I started to look at each painting differently. The flowers weren’t just a creative habit — they were a visual record of how I had been surviving. A way to express things I didn’t have words for. Every brushstroke carried a bit of sadness, a bit of love, a bit of memory.
They represented softness in the middle of something hard. Growth in the middle of grief. Beauty that bloomed, not because everything was okay, but in spite of the fact that it wasn’t.
I share other art I created while grieving over on this blog – Healing Through Art After Loss & Navigating Grief
I decided to call the collection Blooming Through Her because, without realizing it, that’s exactly what I had been doing. I was growing through the grief. Blooming through the pain. I was surviving one brushstroke at a time, even when I didn’t feel strong.
The dream — with its overwhelming bloom of flowers — felt like a message from my mom. A reminder that I am blooming. That I can keep blooming, even in the aftermath of loss. That growth is still possible, even when everything feels heavy.
This collection became a symbol of that resilience. It helped me feel close to her when I was at my lowest. Every painting was a small act of becoming. A quiet transformation. Proof that I was healing, even when it didn’t look like it from the outside.
Blooming Through Her isn’t just about loss. It’s about love, memory, and growth — the kind that happens in the dark, when you least expect it, and somehow still leads to something beautiful..
Not blooming despite the loss.
Blooming through the love she gave me.
Through the memories, the signs, and the connection I still feel when I paint.
This collection became my way of healing through art after loss. It’s emotional. It’s honest. And it’s full of imperfect, deeply personal pieces that helped me move through something I never imagined facing.
If you’re grieving, or going through something heavy, I want you to know that your art still matters. You don’t need to feel inspired. You don’t need to make something perfect. You’re allowed to make things just because it helps you feel something — anything — when the world around you feels too much.
Healing through art after loss doesn’t mean fixing the pain. It means honoring it. Giving it somewhere to go. That’s what painting did for me.
If you’re feeling a little uninspired or in a rut – check out this blog, it just might help. ♡
Make Creativity a Habit and Let Go of Perfectionism
I’ll be sharing more pieces from Blooming Through Her in the weeks to come, and I’m preparing for an upcoming art show where the full collection will be on display. It’s vulnerable to share something this personal — but it’s also incredibly meaningful. I’m proud of this work, and I’m grateful for the chance to connect with others through it.
If you’ve been looking for a sign, maybe this is yours.
Thanks for reading my love! Remember to stay shining and stay creating! ☀️
sincerely, your artsy friend that is rooting for you