Last week I saw a story in the news about a man living in Rhode Island who had lost his 15-year old daughter in a car crash. About a week after his daughter’s funeral, the man noticed a monarch butterfly floating around his back yard. After mentioning that the butterfly hung around for a while, friends suggested that he plant a butterfly bush to memorialize his daughter and attract more butterflies.
But the bush was just a start. What began as a single planting became a butterfly garden complete with an angel statue, butterfly-friendly blooms and lots of milkweed, which is critical to the monarch butterfly life cycle. This man, Frank O’Donnell, saw butterflies as a link to his daughter, and in planting the garden, he found a way towards healing through the creative process. Now Frank offers small packets of milkweed seeds to anyone who requests them, including many 
strangers who share their own stories of loss and how a butterfly has brought them comfort from their grief.
I understand Frank’s connection to monarchs. You see, I lost my 28-year old son to cancer three years ago this week. And during his outdoor memorial, a monarch butterfly fluttered behind the speaker’s podium throughout the service. So yes, butterflies are special to me, too. They’re beautiful, otherworldly and transformative. And they remind me of my son.
I also have found a path to healing through creativity, but not by planting a garden. In the first year after we lost Andrew, I was completely adrift. I had no real direction or a way to spend my time. So I began looking at landscape photographs I had taken from my travels, and decided to make greeting cards. It was simple, mindless and satisfying. Soon, I pulled out paints and brushes and began stenciling around the borders of the cards, at first throwing away more rejects than winners. By the time I had a shoe box full of cards, I began to feel some of the trauma of the previous two years soften a bit.
In time, I was able to turn my attention to writing, which along with photography are my primary creative outlets. I found myself writing about Andrew and the deep grief surrounding his loss. As hard as it was to write, it seemed that leaning into the painful memories actually helped me 
process all that happened. By combining my writing with Andrew’s journal entries, I was able to tell both of our stories. The result is a book, called Love Pain: Stories of Loss and Survival.
I’ve found that tapping into creativity is healing on a number of levels. It helps you express thoughts and emotions that may be hard to articulate. Creative projects are a way to shift your focus, and can offer some relief from stress, anxiety and trauma. Engaging in creative work can also bring people to a deeper level of meaning and help them process tragic events. Using your creativity can promote a sense of accomplishment and help you form connections with others—something that can be challenging for people who are grieving a loss.
On what would have been Andrew’s 30th birthday, family members gave both my husband and I wearable glass beads that contained small amounts of Andrew’s ashes. We were both amazed that such a thing could be done and grateful to be able to have Andrew close by in the form of a beautiful glass bead.
Over time, we had more beads made, which brought us into contact with artist Zina Balbo—another person who heals and helps others heal through her creative artwork. Zina was first approached by a co-worker who asked her to blow a glass bead with the ashes of her recently deceased dog. Zina’s first reaction was, “No way!” She didn’t blow glass and she had no idea of how it could be done. But the idea was intriguing and stuck in her head throughout the day while she was working. At the end of the day, she called her co-worker and offered to experiment. After several failed attempts, she came up with a process that enabled her to encase the cremains into a glass bead. After those first experimental trials, Zina was unsure how the beads would be received by others, so she did a test by making and 
giving a bead to each of her family members in memory of their father. She received incredibly positive feedback, and Memorial Beads was off and running. Even now, all of her family members wear their beads daily as a way to remember their father. People who have her beads have told Zina that to hold and wear a bead brings a sense of peace and unearths memories of their loved one.
Zina admits that sometimes it’s hard to find the right thing to do or the right words to say to someone who is grieving. However, making a Memorial Bead offers a unique way to show compassion. It provides a tangible keepsake for someone who is grieving, but it also brings Zina incredible joy to make the beads. It elevates her craft from typical glass bead making to a meaningful art form, bringing her a close personal connection with people she doesn’t even know. About making the beads, Zina says, “While I’m sitting before a 1,200 degree flame working with molten hot glass, in the company of someone’s sacred cremains, I often feel loving energy. To me, this is an uplifting gift.”
I’ve learned firsthand the power of creativity to heal. While it may seem incongruous that a creative project can help you heal from grief, the reality is that creative work takes you to a deep place within yourself and allows you the space to process the loss of a loved one.
