I thought I liked control. I guess believing I had control made me feel safe and I liked that feeling. It was a way to metaphorically wrap my heart in barbed wire for protection. It's taken me a long time to realize the only thing I can control is what is happening within me.

I built a career as an artist, earning a BFA in Medical Illustration and a Masters in Instructional Technology. I spent days in operating rooms with my sketchpad, and later, when our children were born, I transitioned to graphic design.

In 2003, inspired by my daughter Sarah, I opened an art school for children and teens. Our goal was to instill a love of art in all students so they could use their creativity and imagination in every part of their lives. I also wanted to have some structure in place for myself, before our kids moved on and started their own adult lives. I wanted to create my community.

Everything changed in 2011. Sarah, almost 20 and loving college life, started experiencing jaw pain. After being dismissed as stress by physicians and dentists, she was eventually diagnosed as Rhabdomyosarcoma - a soft tissue cancer. She had a softball sized tumor wrapped around her jaw.

My experience and exposure to cancer was limited. I naively thought cancer was annoying - you go through treatment, lose your hair, and very often recover. Sarah lost her gorgeous red hair three times, and so much more.

Sarah's treatment lasted almost five years. We spent endless time in hospitals as she went through chemo, radiation (a total of 102 treatments), scans, and transfusions. We found amazing healers who worked with energy, vibration, and alternative therapies. These incredible people kept her body going and gave her some relief from her pain.

Many people would call this time a journey - Sarah and I were determined to call it an adventure. She never lost her essence: funny, sarcastic, direct, with every intention of putting this behind her and living a full life. We truly thought the ending would be a celebration. Her soul had other plans.

After two relapses and two marathon surgeries, Sarah's body had enough. She took her last breath early St. Patrick's Day morning 2016.

Not only did I lose my daughter's physical presence, but my beliefs were turned upside down. Any semblance of a future I envisioned was gone. Our little family was shattered. Nothing mattered. It was hard to breathe and hard to exist.

The next several years were spent searching - energetically for Sarah (energy and love truly never die), for reasons to get out of bed, and for purpose. I tried therapy, EMDR, energy work, mediumship classes, and eventually found a 22-Day Online Painting Meditation Challenge. At this point I knew it was time to sell the school and reinvent myself.

It was time for me to find and heal myself with art. Before I was ready and able to go within, I had to spend time searching and looking for answers. Mostly I had to learn to trust myself. During the class I lost myself in the process. Every night in my studio hours flew by and I started to find a way through my grief. Painting became my peace, and even fun. It felt right. I realized I could get that feeling back just by showing up at the canvas. Knowing I could create that feeling over and over by just showing up at the canvas changed my life.

Painting offers control in a whole new way. The canvas controls the outcome, and I enjoy the process - the adventure.

Before her last major surgery, Sarah filled out "Five Wishes", a kinder version of a medical directive, and wrote that if she died young, she didn't want us to be sad; she wanted us to celebrate her.

My painting practice keeps me present. It's a way to gently process grief, find relief, and paint possibilities. Through this work, I can discover the light that exists alongside the shadows and lead with love.

Providing a safe space for people to paint and start creating change in their life has become "My Heart's Why"—my purpose and offering to share. The canvas is opening my heart and allowing me to see the gifts of this physical world while honoring Sarah's wish that we celebrate life and her.