My dear mother, Janet Trostrud Walker died on Sunday evening, October 4. As she lie in hospice, after a full day of visitors, I played “Be Thou My Vision” on her out-of-tune baby grand piano. Then my sister Johanna read two Mary Oliver poems. And then my mom took her last breaths. She was 95 years old. She died in her own living room surrounded by her four children and one of her granddaughters.
For as long as I can remember, my mom always had a sketchbook. Wherever they were in the world, my dad loved to find a porch to sit and read theology and my mom loved to find a scene to sketch. I spent all those years convinced that I couldn’t draw and not ever giving it a try. In fact, at the top of the page of an early drawing I did about two years ago, I wrote “Will I always suck at drawing?”
For the last couple years, I’ve been on a journey of putting the pen to the page and drawing from life. I love it now. In honor of my mom, I’d like to take you on a little tour of my sketchbook. . Every time I did a drawing, I would send a text photo to my mom. She was always my biggest fan. I miss her so much. Often in the evenings, I cry out in tears, “Mommy…” I never used to think of her as the most comforting of mothers, but now that she’s gone, I realize how much comfort her presence in the world provided me.
My mom was a true artist. I always felt like she deserved a one woman show of all her work, but it never happened. After all these years, I’m glad to have discovered the joy of sketching in a sketchbook. I give all the credit to my mom for passing it on to me. ❤️
My most recent drawing is a drawing of my stair glide. This thing has saved my life. I have an electric wheelchair upstairs and an electric wheelchair downstairs and a stair glide connecting the two. I remember weeping the first time I ever took a ride on this thing. I still sometimes weep, but I take it for granted these days. It gives me the freedom to live on two floors. At 95, my mom was never willing to ride that stair glide. I miss hearing her huffing and puffing up those stairs to come visit me.
This is my downstairs wheelchair — The Falcon. I put that blue chair through a lot. For me, it was an all-terrain vehicle. Sadly, it recently died. When I learned that a new motor costs half as much as a new wheelchair, I opted for the new chair. I recently received a new updated model of the Falcon in the color of yellow. It’s even smoother than the first one. It’s a rugged machine and I would highly recommend it to any electric wheelchair user. (Except for the fact that my blue one died after 5 good years of use). As a two wheelchair owner, I will always relish the time that my mom and I rode those chairs into town to witness the full solar eclipse of 2024.
This is a drawing of my upstairs wheelchair from about two years ago. I’m glad I stuck with drawing. I remember how painful it was to pick up a pen or a pencil and try to draw something from life. I didn’t really enjoy it and it felt so difficult but I felt an inner calling that told me it was important to keep going. The voice inside was so strong that said, “You’re not good at drawing, Hal.” After a couple years of drawing, I have discovered a wonderfully meditative practice. It’s still not easy, but when I’m well enough to do it, there’s not much I enjoy more than pushing a fountain pen around on some paper.
This last summer, my mom treated 15 of us to another Walker Family Vacation. She rented a big mansion near the lake in New Buffalo, Michigan. One memorable night before dinner, we went around the circle and everyone shared something they appreciate about my mom. It was wonderful to hear all the sisters and the brothers-in-law and the grandchildren speak so beautifully about my mom. She was an amazing woman. On the first night that we arrived there, I sat down at the kitchen table and drew what was in front of me. I remember feeling such a wonderful sense of calm and presence and family.
This is the small house next to the big house in New Buffalo. As I sat in my wheelchair to draw, my nephew Lucas sat nearby and drew me drawing. I really enjoyed the quiet connection that he and I made during the week. We had an art table in the main room of the big house and Lucas and I were the most regular attenders of that table. One of my favorite days was a rainy day when the art table was full of people the whole day. Sadly, my mom never sat down at the art table. She had lost much of her sight and at 95, had given up on her legendary status as a sketchbook artist.
I remember battling the decision about how to get to New Buffalo. I had this great desire to drive by myself and be free. I didn’t want to be weighed down by my mom and my sister. I wanted to experience the old days of having the window rolled down and to be on my own and on the road. But the reality of my illness meant that I needed to let someone else drive. It turns out I’m SO glad that I drove with my mom and my sister. I had a couple pillows in the back, Johanna was the driver and my mom was the passenger. I enjoyed drawing this little picture of Jo and mom. That’s my mom’s hand holding her beloved phone. I lovingly say that my mom was addicted to her phone and her ipad. She rarely went a few minutes without looking at one of the them. On the drive there and on the way back, we stopped for my coffee. That was another one of her addictions. :) I enjoyed joking with her on those drives about how bad she was jonesing for her fix. I loved joking with my mom. She had a wonderful laugh and she always laughed at my jokes.
We stopped at a service plaza in Indiana and saw these grain silos off in the distance. Johanna drove all the way to the back of the service plaza so I could get a good picture of these silos. It had been a while since I’d been to one of those Indiana service plazas on the turnpike. Born in Hyde Park (Chicago) and going to college in Evanston, the drive from Kent to Chicago through Indiana was a big part of my growing up years.
This is a drawing of my sister Caroline taking a rest on the couch in our Airbnb. It turns out that this was the last ever Walker Family Vacation with my mom (Bestie). Walker Family Vacations have been a bi-annual tradition since 2002. My mom and dad were so dedicated to the family. They were so generous and made these family trips a priority. Hallie’s whole life has been grounded by the 10 or so “family vacations” we’ve had since her birth. I’m so glad that we had this last one before my mom died. I’m also grateful that my condition was in a much better, more stable place during this trip. I was even able to jump into Lake Michigan. Every night, we walked as a family to watch the sunset.
There was a big chandelier in the main room with very high ceilings. The windows looked out of a beautiful wooded river valley. I enjoyed the meditative peace of drawing each one of the lightbulbs.
Back at home now, this is the view I have from the “Big” bed. The big bed is the one I go to when I want to stretch out a little bit. I’m not well enough to actually do any stretching though. I mainly just go to that bed to bury my head in a different bed. I have a third bed that for a while I was calling my “art bed.” It’s where I would sit up to make art and all my supplies were ready to go. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been to the art bed in a few weeks. My mom’s house is full of art and a few years ago she gave me this peace by C. Stodder to fill this wall.
I’ll end with this self portrait. I know it’s been a while since I posted. When I’ve been well enough to post, I’ve been kind of obsessed with learning art. This was a fun episode to make though. Maybe I’ll post some more drawings next time.
It’s been a brutal month since my mom died. I’m experiencing levels of illness that I’ve never experienced before. ME/CFS is a brutal illness and I’m getting a serious taste of its brutality. Fully housebou…
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