I was supposed to be an artist.
She asked me.
On her deathbed, she told me.
She told me that art was my calling. She told me that I need to do art to be the great success she knew I was to be.
But I did not do art.
I did business.
Because she told my dad to do business and he did business.
He asked me to do business with him.
He put everything into his business. Failing, he put more in.
Failing, no, doomed to fail, he put in more and more. He put in everything until he had nothing left.
And I ran his business.
I ran and ran and ran until there was nothing left to run.
I ran past him telling me he couldn’t pay me anymore. I ran his business until we ran out of money.
Because she told him to do it.
But that is love, isn’t it? That is what family does for love, and for family.
Because a dying wife and mother told us to do it.
Now the surviving husband is broken and broke.
And the daughter isn’t an artist. She is a broken mom with a laptop and a voice.
Is that art?
Because I was supposed to be an artist.
I’m Sara Eatherton-Goff, a non-fiction and fiction writer, visual artist, and entrepreneur mom-person currently writing on Medium and for other publications. Check out some of my collective works on my website, and join my journey from writer to published author right here.