On two different days during the past week, an article about my late husband’s art and his paintings has been published in two different Armenian newspapers. The article refers to his work from the start in the little village of Ainjar in Lebanon, to his work in Dubai, and then in Canada until the day he passed away in Montreal. And after reading both and seeing some of his paintings in print I could only wish that somehow he were alive to see and read what was written about him.
Ernest Hemingway writes:
“Every man’s life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”
The article made me proud and sad at the same time. Proud that I shared my life with such a wonderful man with such great talent. Sad not only because he is not here anymore to enjoy his children but also because as a distinguished artist he won’t give anymore to this world. In the words of Ray Bradbury:
“And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn’t crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them the way he did. He was individual. He was an important man. He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on.”
My late husband, to use Bradbury’s words, did things to the world. He gave us, his loved ones, his family, so much but he also gave the world more with his art, his creations. And to think that his brush stopped at a time when he had yet so much to give saddens me more than one could imagine.
Today is the 16th of January. It’s been exactly two months since he passed away. It’s too early for me to say that I’ve never gotten over his death. I don’t think I ever will. I don’t think anyone can get over the loss of a loved one. And I don’t think that the pain just goes away. And yet somehow I have to find a way to live my life without him. I know I can’t but I just have to.
Until now I receive condolence messages and emails and phone calls from people who have met and known my late husband. The biggest consolation I have though is that they all say what a true gentleman and a great man and artist he was.
Ray Bradbury wrote:
“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.”
You were one hell of a cup my darling. May you rest in peace :’(