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Creativity in grief

Lynne Baab • Thursday September 10 2026

Creativity in grief

Three years and two weeks ago, my husband Dave went fly fishing with a friend. Dave brought both his fly-fishing gear and his painting equipment. They drove to the middle fork of the Snoqualmie River, an hour east of Seattle, beside the Gateway pedestrian bridge. Dave fished for about 45 minutes but felt unstable the whole time. He retreated to the shore, sat on his folding stool, and painted his friend as he fished.

Dave was 77 at the time of that outing. He had been a passionate fly fisherman in his 50s and 60s. After he got a chronic lung disease at 69, he fished only a few times because of feeling unstable in rivers. This was a huge loss for him. That day on the Snoqualmie River was Dave’s last day of fishing.

You can see from the photo taken by Dave’s friend that Dave is still wearing his waders while concentrating on his sketchbook. He could typically paint on scene like that for about two hours before his body rebelled at sitting still on his clever folding stool.

On that day three years and two weeks ago, Dave was coping with his grief over losing the ability to fly-fish by doing what he could still do: paint. A year after that day on the river, Dave’s lung function started declining precipitously. Fifteen months after that fishing day, Dave was prescribed supplemental oxygen. Two years after that day, he began experiencing severe pain in his left hip, originally diagnosed as bursitis. A few months later, he was diagnosed with stage four cancer that had spread to the bones of his hip and back. Two years and seven months after that fishing day, Dave went to be with Jesus.

Throughout all those months of intense loss, Dave painted. Outside, in parks and other scenic places, when weather permitted. Later, when he wasn’t comfortable driving very far, he painted on our back deck. In his last months, he painted from numerous black and white photos from his childhood, a marvelous form of life review for a man with a terminal illness.

In pain and loss, Dave’s painting anchored him. I wrote two weeks ago about how nature soothes us when we are grieving. Dave focused so intently on what he was painting in nature: flowers, trees, water, rocks, skies, hillsides. That focus centered him and helped him feel God’s pleasure. Even when Dave was painting off old black and white photos, he felt God’s pleasure. This sense of God’s nearness comes from our call to be creative like our Creator. Dave felt this keenly, talked about it, and hoped that he could keep painting until the very end of his life, a hope that came true.

When we create anything, we are mirroring the creativity of the Maker of everything. A few weeks ago,I mentioned a man in my grief group who, after the passing of his wife, came up with a creative idea to connect with neighbors. He bakes cookies for the kids.

A creative outlet for me in grief is a string of haiku, especially in the first weeks after Dave’s passing, when I couldn’t write blog posts. In the past five months, I’ve written almost 60 haiku. At first, each haiku mentioned how many days or months it had been since my new life as a widow began. I’ll give you three from the day of Dave’s burial.

Sixth day. Umbrellas
bob at the cemetery.
Eleven of us.

My feet are so wet.
I am filled with gratitude
for Dave’s life of love.

For this day, this place,
this family, these friends. Juggling
soggy umbrellas.

And here’s a later haiku:

One month tomorrow.
How do I feel? Free and sad.
Grateful. A bit lost.

Whatever losses you are experiencing, I encourage you to think about the ways that creative activities help you feel God’s pleasure. Arranging a bouquet. Setting a table. Reading recipes and cooking a meal. Playing an instrument, singing, or listening to music. Getting out the colored pencils or pastels. Arranging the refrigerator magnets that you bought for a child or grandchild, but which you enjoy moving around. Baking cookies for neighbors, painting a watercolor sketch, or writing haiku.

God of stars and trees and roses, you created so much beauty that soothes us and lifts our hearts. Thank you for the honor of your invitation to express our own creativity, mirroring yours in a very small way. Help us find ways to be creative that fit our personality and gifts. We thank you for the many ways you bring healing to us in loss and grief.

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Next week: More about my grief journey.  Illustration by Dave Baab: Gateway bridge, middle fork of the Snoqualmie River.

Previous posts about creativity

A book of Dave’s watercolors is here. You can buy cards, T-shirts, bags and other items with Dave’s watercolors on them here.

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