Mother loved hummingbirds and kept a hummingbird feeder outside her kitchen window. These unusual birds are colorful, feisty, and industrious; all words I could use to describe Mom as well. No wonder they were her favorites!

       Mom was quick and I was slow. We had always had our differences. She was practical and down to earth; I have always been an artist and a dreamer. But the love we had for each other was beyond measure. Through all our conflicts there was never any question about that!

       One day, I called Mom to tell her that I had received a commission to create an oil painting that included the image of a hummingbird. My new client was a lovely middle-aged woman who wanted a memorial painting, and she told me the heart-wrenching story behind it. Four years earlier she had adopted twin boys and one of the infants had died in his crib of SIDS, (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.)

       After the funeral, overwhelmed with grief, she sat alone on her patio, crying. Like all SIDS mothers, she wondered if perhaps she could have done something to prevent her baby's death. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she prayed for peace, and for faith to believe that her baby was now safe with God.

       Suddenly, she looked up to find a hummingbird hovering right in front of her face. The hummingbird took one of her tears, and then flew away. She felt awe, and a deep sense of peace, believing her prayers had been answered. Now, four years later, she wanted to memorialize this experience with a painting of her two sons; one in the arms of an angel, the other one walking alongside and holding the angel's hand. Overhead, in a bower of wisteria, I would paint the hummingbird.

       I was actually a little worried about what Mom would think of this mystical story. But I had completely misjudged her. Her mother's heart embraced it. And she wanted this painting to be the best thing I had ever done!

       Every year, Mom, Dad, my older brother and I got together in Maui for a two week family vacation. I brought my "work in progress" that year, setting up my easel outside on the lanai overlooking the beach. Over my shoulder, Mom watched me paint with a critical eye. "Can't you make that angel a little thinner? Her robe is too poufy," she said. "I don't like that tree," and, "Can't you use a different shade of blue?" It made me feel self-conscious. I found it hard to take, even though I knew that she only wanted me to succeed.

       I gave the painting my very best effort. The finished work was well received by my client. Mom was moderately pleased. What pleased me most about the painting was the way the colors seemed to glow.