Heart beat and Steve

So, in Colorado I hung out with Steve. He looked great. I painted him on a Boulder city map, with his twig tea and his long distance chess game. Behind him is a sketch of one of his grandest, deliriously lovely paintings of the range with Eldorado canyon at the bottom...and a poignant carefully painted smudgy spot where tradition has it climber's ashes are flung. So will his be flung. On another day I painted his art table, and so snuck in another peak at a mountain painting. Flatirons? The heart monitor strip weaves through out the picture. Steve says he won't miss his body- he thinks of it as just a vehicle and that soon he will move into another, less painful form. But I will miss his body- especially the way he stands with his feet splayed out when he takes a long look at something, the way his hands firmly orchestrate in conversation, and the way his eyebrows raise as he waits for his point to hit home. I'll miss his laughter, which often follows, and the long mischeviously-drawn out stories that ramble and slap you with the punch line.
I wish I were better at trusting Time, and able to graciously accept settling for memories. I hate that Time marches on. I want to ignore the new weaknesses. (I left out the oxygen tubes, tanks, the medications, etc) I've always hated saying goodbye, and I want to do this well and I don't know what the hell I am doing! Will the maps, the monitor strips, any of it help? The daily painting does help me slow down and commit to find symbols for each day...
Both pictures are 9 x 9 3/4 watercolor and pencil and ink with maps and collage on paper. Not for sale.