Marian Comes Home
“Marian,” by Shirley B. Froyd
My maternal grandmother was an elegant and beautiful young woman. Alas, Marian passed away from leukemia in 1931, at the age of twenty-six. My mother was only five then; her sister was merely three. Thus, my mother’s memories of her own mom were sweet but vague.
Decades later, my mom painted a watercolor portrait of Marian, based on a photo from our family archives. Art was one way for Shirley to connect with her mother’s spirit. It was a way of bringing new life to Marian, in realms beyond the purely physical. The resulting portrait was one of my mom’s most beautiful and emotional works.
Whenever Shirley’s masterful watercolors were displayed in gallery and cafe settings, she always marked that precious portrait “Not For Sale.” I treasured that painting too, as one of my best (and only) ways to connect to my grandmother’s spirit. After my mother’s passing in 2020, it became a way for me to connect to her as well.
However, when I went through my mom’s estate, Marian’s portrait was missing. It wasn’t within the vast archives of Shirley’s work at home, nor in any other known location. In her meticulous records, it wasn’t listed as having been publicly displayed since a cafe show a decade ago.
Where was Marian’s precious portrait? I spent five years wondering. I invented various wild scenarios, from gracious to nefarious. I asked key community members and family friends, to no avail. Many had seen the painting, but none had it. Its absence became as painful as a stone in my shoe, particularly as I began to write about my mother’s uniquely inspiring life.
As is often the case, I found what was seemingly lost when every known avenue of looking was exhausted. I found Marian when I wasn’t looking for her at all.
In our small town, I do business in person whenever possible. I cherish the human connection, even when inconvenient or time-consuming. So, when my fire insurance bill came due, I went to the local State Farm office, where we’ve done business for decades. They were in the process of downsizing and moving the office, after the retirement of our long-time family agent. I remembered that at one point, two other small paintings of my mother’s had been hung in a front room, lately only a storage space. Were the paintings still there? The daughter of our retired agent led me to that closed room to look.
No, nothing there. But we double-checked the empty offices and meeting rooms towards the back. There, to my amazement, Marian’s treasured portrait was on the wall, dusty but as elegant as ever. I still don’t know how it got there, but after my excited exclamations, State Farm enthusiastically handed me back the painting. And so, at last, Marian came home.
There is so much to celebrate within Marian’s return. I celebrate how art can connect family across decades. I celebrate how art’s beauty is timeless, persisting after an artist’s lifetime. I celebrate how most things that appear lost, rarely are. I celebrate how—in a small town especially—business and friendship overlap, creating personal connections that cross borders of many differences. In a time a challenging as this one, we need art, family, friends, connection, and beauty more than ever. Those too, never need be truly lost, as Marian now reminds me.