Christmas in July

Sara's World

Sara’s a real little girl. When I first met her, Sara was nine years old, raven haired, green-eyed and confined to a wheelchair. She’d never walked, nor would she—ever. She had no use of her hands or arms. As she would say, “I’m just a head attached to a body that can’t do much. But—I’m ahead of so many people I know.”

Oh, and she was. She loved to sing. She was tone deaf, never was on key and she flat out didn’t care. “I sing for me. If I’m happy, that’s what matters. “ She had a terrific imagination and would spin stories about everyone she met.

Another thing about Sara? She could paint. She’d hold the paintbrush in her teeth. When asked, she say, “I paint my world as I’d have it be. I paint so I can dance, be the royal princess or fly with the sparrows.

No one ever ‘taught’ her to paint. She tried it one day and found that she could whether it was people or landscapes or birds or fairies.
Fairies. She loved painting fairies. She’d insist they were real. She said she saw them all the time and that they helped make wishes come true. She’d also tell me that “fairy interpretation of a wish were never what she thought she meant when she made a wish, but it always worked out.
Sara brought worlds to life and then, I think, when no one’s looking, she disappeared into those worlds for a while. There she could run and dance and fly and simply be.

Come with me. We are walking down the hallways at Sara’s hospital. See all the murals? They were made from hundreds of Sara’s paintings. All the places she would love to go wander; all the imaginary places she’d created. She visited the children and told them stories as their nurses wheeled them down the hallways.

Come with me. We are at an exhibition of Sara’s work.

We wander to a framed painting named Freedom. A mermaid swims with the dolphins. The resemblance to Sara is eerie it is so perfectly executed. She is swimming with little fairy fish under a turquoise sea. Her face is uplifted, her arms graceful, and she is her own source of light.
You look towards one of a young woman walking with two older people down an autumn lane. They all hold hands and a puppy frolics alongside of them. Red and gold leaves dance in a breeze. The painting’s name is Walking and it is of Sara with her parents. See there? Up on the branch? There’s her fairy. She’s hidden or visible in every painting Sara paints.

This one, over here … see the painting of the girl in the red velvet gown? The painting is called The Dance. That’s Sara. See the fairy? That’s Pharia. Sara painted that picture for the Christmas Ball the year she turned sixteen. Yes, she did physically go to the Ball and yes, that’s the dress she wore. Her father lifted her from her chair and danced her round the room as the orchestra played waltz after waltz.

A young man came up to her father and stole her away for a dance. He returned her to her chair, brought her a drink and held the straw for her.
Another young man took his place. He’d been a patient at the hospital. He was very depressed. The doctors weren’t sure if he’d ever walk again after he fell from his horse going over a jump. She’d painted him a picture of riding his horse again. After a long time and much work, he was able to walk. He picked her up as if she were a feather. He twirled and swirled with her all around the room.

Others came and danced with her. She looked so happy that evening, even though it really made her tired. She couldn’t have visitors much after that. But oh, she was the belle of the ball. She made it magical for everyone who attended.

The painting of Sara in the wood was one she told me was little glimpses of many of the important things in her life. Notice how she used the ball gown again in that painting. She named that one Family.

See the painting named Tomorrow? The colors in the mountain sunrise dance with Sara as she’s twirling in the meadow full of flowers? The one where Pharia is asleep on the flower? That was the last one Sara painted. Sara always said she’s going there someday.

I like to think that is where she is…

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http://nine9nine9.deviantart.com/art/The-Christmas-Fairy-126788830

This piece, prompted from the picture in the link above, is a mixture of truth and fantasy, truth and fiction, fantasy and reality. Which is which, I shall leave up to the reader, but the truth shines through...