The Day of Rest
Original Artwork
21 in x 25 in framed
If applicable, additional packaging & shipping fee will be invoiced.
Story behind the painting
The Day of Rest
a short story by Ebony London
She was the last one to leave the hospital room. Her younger sisters and her daughters had said goodbye and tearfully waited in the hospital hallway. Stella walked over to where her mother lay peaceful, yet lifeless. She took time to admire her mother's beauty one last time. Her skin was smooth. Stella’s mind began to think about how people, in general, don’t age like they used to. Her mother, even without her long gray wig to cover her bald head, looked much younger than a 72-year-old looked, back in the day.
A year prior, when her mother shared her diagnosis from her doctor, Stella remembered the feeling of her heart cracking. Now, as she stood alone in the hospital room with her mother, she felt the cracks in her heart shatter into many pieces. She was heartbroken.
“Thank you for being my mom and the grandmother to my children. Thank you for teaching me how to think and not what to think. Thank you for allowing me to ask you questions when I didn’t understand something. Thank you for simply being kind to me throughout my life. Thank you for the empathy you gave me; you never forgot how you felt during your childhood and that made you the best mother to raise children. Thank you for reminding me that I have choices and could choose differently whenever I want to. Thank you for reminding me that no experience is in vain because you’ve got to know who you are not, before you can know who you are. Thank you for teaching me how to control my imagination. Thank you for encouraging me to face my biggest fear; you taught me, that which I resist, persists. Thank you for teaching me to see you as more than just my mother. I hope you know that I saw you as a woman, a scholar, and a creative being. I saw you, Mom.”
Stella allowed her teary eyes to roam over her mother's face and body once more. She touched her mother's cheek as she slid her hand under her mother's head. She found the clasps that had kept her mother’s pearls around her neck for the past year.
‘Get me my mother’s pearls please.’ Stella remembered her mother’s request the day she shared her diagnosis. That evening, after the family left, Stella stayed and respected her mother's wishes to be alone in her bedroom. Stella helplessly listened to her mother weep as she stood outside her bedroom door. When her weeping stopped, Stella quietly opened her mother’s bedroom door and found her sleeping, clutching her mother’s pearls. Stella watched her mother sleep and realized that there was no age limit to a child needing their mother.
Stella gently pulled the string of pearls from around her mother’s neck and carefully adjusted her head on the pillow. ‘You will always be with me, with all of us.’ Stella kissed her mother on the cheek one last time. She took a deep breath as she picked up her purse and walked towards the hospital room door. As she put her hand on the doorknob and without looking back, she quoted the words of D Walsh.
“To a doctor and nurse, death is a failure. To family and friends, death is a disaster but to the dying soul, death is a release, a relief.”
Stella opened the door and whispered ‘Enjoy your release, Mom.’
That night Stella stayed up late listening to her mother's favorite songs as she re-strung her mother’s pearl necklace. When her daughters and sisters arrived the next day, she handed each of them a tiny box. ‘
As per Mama’s request, I will read her note address to us all.’ Stella took a deep breath and began reading.
‘To my bald head beauties! I still can’t believe all of you shaved your heads to show your support for me. Thank you. I felt your support and saw your support. I assume you all have in your possession a tiny box from Stella. In a few days, Stella has arranged a special day for all of you. This will be the day that you put me to rest. I ask that you wear those dresses that I made last year. You all look so beautiful in those brown dresses. I ask that you also wear that which is in that tiny box.’
As Stella’s sisters and daughters opened their boxes, Stella continued to read her mother’s letter.
‘I instructed Stella to cut up my mama’s pearls and re-string them so that each of you will have your own necklace and pair of earrings. My mama’s pearls brought me so much comfort during this last year. I hope they bring you just as much comfort. Please don’t save them for only special occasions. Every day is a special occasion. I love being your mother and grandmother. Feel free to talk to me anytime. The thing about death is you still hear that person's voice when you find yourself talking to them. I still heard my mother’s voice.
I love you all. Be courageous with your life.’
Original Artwork
21 in x 25 in framed
If applicable, additional packaging & shipping fee will be invoiced.
Story behind the painting
The Day of Rest
a short story by Ebony London
She was the last one to leave the hospital room. Her younger sisters and her daughters had said goodbye and tearfully waited in the hospital hallway. Stella walked over to where her mother lay peaceful, yet lifeless. She took time to admire her mother's beauty one last time. Her skin was smooth. Stella’s mind began to think about how people, in general, don’t age like they used to. Her mother, even without her long gray wig to cover her bald head, looked much younger than a 72-year-old looked, back in the day.
A year prior, when her mother shared her diagnosis from her doctor, Stella remembered the feeling of her heart cracking. Now, as she stood alone in the hospital room with her mother, she felt the cracks in her heart shatter into many pieces. She was heartbroken.
“Thank you for being my mom and the grandmother to my children. Thank you for teaching me how to think and not what to think. Thank you for allowing me to ask you questions when I didn’t understand something. Thank you for simply being kind to me throughout my life. Thank you for the empathy you gave me; you never forgot how you felt during your childhood and that made you the best mother to raise children. Thank you for reminding me that I have choices and could choose differently whenever I want to. Thank you for reminding me that no experience is in vain because you’ve got to know who you are not, before you can know who you are. Thank you for teaching me how to control my imagination. Thank you for encouraging me to face my biggest fear; you taught me, that which I resist, persists. Thank you for teaching me to see you as more than just my mother. I hope you know that I saw you as a woman, a scholar, and a creative being. I saw you, Mom.”
Stella allowed her teary eyes to roam over her mother's face and body once more. She touched her mother's cheek as she slid her hand under her mother's head. She found the clasps that had kept her mother’s pearls around her neck for the past year.
‘Get me my mother’s pearls please.’ Stella remembered her mother’s request the day she shared her diagnosis. That evening, after the family left, Stella stayed and respected her mother's wishes to be alone in her bedroom. Stella helplessly listened to her mother weep as she stood outside her bedroom door. When her weeping stopped, Stella quietly opened her mother’s bedroom door and found her sleeping, clutching her mother’s pearls. Stella watched her mother sleep and realized that there was no age limit to a child needing their mother.
Stella gently pulled the string of pearls from around her mother’s neck and carefully adjusted her head on the pillow. ‘You will always be with me, with all of us.’ Stella kissed her mother on the cheek one last time. She took a deep breath as she picked up her purse and walked towards the hospital room door. As she put her hand on the doorknob and without looking back, she quoted the words of D Walsh.
“To a doctor and nurse, death is a failure. To family and friends, death is a disaster but to the dying soul, death is a release, a relief.”
Stella opened the door and whispered ‘Enjoy your release, Mom.’
That night Stella stayed up late listening to her mother's favorite songs as she re-strung her mother’s pearl necklace. When her daughters and sisters arrived the next day, she handed each of them a tiny box. ‘
As per Mama’s request, I will read her note address to us all.’ Stella took a deep breath and began reading.
‘To my bald head beauties! I still can’t believe all of you shaved your heads to show your support for me. Thank you. I felt your support and saw your support. I assume you all have in your possession a tiny box from Stella. In a few days, Stella has arranged a special day for all of you. This will be the day that you put me to rest. I ask that you wear those dresses that I made last year. You all look so beautiful in those brown dresses. I ask that you also wear that which is in that tiny box.’
As Stella’s sisters and daughters opened their boxes, Stella continued to read her mother’s letter.
‘I instructed Stella to cut up my mama’s pearls and re-string them so that each of you will have your own necklace and pair of earrings. My mama’s pearls brought me so much comfort during this last year. I hope they bring you just as much comfort. Please don’t save them for only special occasions. Every day is a special occasion. I love being your mother and grandmother. Feel free to talk to me anytime. The thing about death is you still hear that person's voice when you find yourself talking to them. I still heard my mother’s voice.
I love you all. Be courageous with your life.’
Original Artwork
21 in x 25 in framed
If applicable, additional packaging & shipping fee will be invoiced.
Story behind the painting
The Day of Rest
a short story by Ebony London
She was the last one to leave the hospital room. Her younger sisters and her daughters had said goodbye and tearfully waited in the hospital hallway. Stella walked over to where her mother lay peaceful, yet lifeless. She took time to admire her mother's beauty one last time. Her skin was smooth. Stella’s mind began to think about how people, in general, don’t age like they used to. Her mother, even without her long gray wig to cover her bald head, looked much younger than a 72-year-old looked, back in the day.
A year prior, when her mother shared her diagnosis from her doctor, Stella remembered the feeling of her heart cracking. Now, as she stood alone in the hospital room with her mother, she felt the cracks in her heart shatter into many pieces. She was heartbroken.
“Thank you for being my mom and the grandmother to my children. Thank you for teaching me how to think and not what to think. Thank you for allowing me to ask you questions when I didn’t understand something. Thank you for simply being kind to me throughout my life. Thank you for the empathy you gave me; you never forgot how you felt during your childhood and that made you the best mother to raise children. Thank you for reminding me that I have choices and could choose differently whenever I want to. Thank you for reminding me that no experience is in vain because you’ve got to know who you are not, before you can know who you are. Thank you for teaching me how to control my imagination. Thank you for encouraging me to face my biggest fear; you taught me, that which I resist, persists. Thank you for teaching me to see you as more than just my mother. I hope you know that I saw you as a woman, a scholar, and a creative being. I saw you, Mom.”
Stella allowed her teary eyes to roam over her mother's face and body once more. She touched her mother's cheek as she slid her hand under her mother's head. She found the clasps that had kept her mother’s pearls around her neck for the past year.
‘Get me my mother’s pearls please.’ Stella remembered her mother’s request the day she shared her diagnosis. That evening, after the family left, Stella stayed and respected her mother's wishes to be alone in her bedroom. Stella helplessly listened to her mother weep as she stood outside her bedroom door. When her weeping stopped, Stella quietly opened her mother’s bedroom door and found her sleeping, clutching her mother’s pearls. Stella watched her mother sleep and realized that there was no age limit to a child needing their mother.
Stella gently pulled the string of pearls from around her mother’s neck and carefully adjusted her head on the pillow. ‘You will always be with me, with all of us.’ Stella kissed her mother on the cheek one last time. She took a deep breath as she picked up her purse and walked towards the hospital room door. As she put her hand on the doorknob and without looking back, she quoted the words of D Walsh.
“To a doctor and nurse, death is a failure. To family and friends, death is a disaster but to the dying soul, death is a release, a relief.”
Stella opened the door and whispered ‘Enjoy your release, Mom.’
That night Stella stayed up late listening to her mother's favorite songs as she re-strung her mother’s pearl necklace. When her daughters and sisters arrived the next day, she handed each of them a tiny box. ‘
As per Mama’s request, I will read her note address to us all.’ Stella took a deep breath and began reading.
‘To my bald head beauties! I still can’t believe all of you shaved your heads to show your support for me. Thank you. I felt your support and saw your support. I assume you all have in your possession a tiny box from Stella. In a few days, Stella has arranged a special day for all of you. This will be the day that you put me to rest. I ask that you wear those dresses that I made last year. You all look so beautiful in those brown dresses. I ask that you also wear that which is in that tiny box.’
As Stella’s sisters and daughters opened their boxes, Stella continued to read her mother’s letter.
‘I instructed Stella to cut up my mama’s pearls and re-string them so that each of you will have your own necklace and pair of earrings. My mama’s pearls brought me so much comfort during this last year. I hope they bring you just as much comfort. Please don’t save them for only special occasions. Every day is a special occasion. I love being your mother and grandmother. Feel free to talk to me anytime. The thing about death is you still hear that person's voice when you find yourself talking to them. I still heard my mother’s voice.
I love you all. Be courageous with your life.’
