‘My drawings of hope’ How one reader came to terms with grief by sketching
Through her darkest times, Billie Bacall found solace in art. Now, she wants to reach out to others
‘It was my second chemotherapy session and, pulling out my notebook, I settled back into the chair. I carry paper with me everywhere I go, scribbling down ideas and drawings with whatever I have to hand. It’s something I’ve always done but, this time, sitting there in the hospital, all my pent-up emotions and thoughts of the difficult past few months began to flow out of me. They took the form of pictures of nature and sunshine alongside inspirational words.
I was being treated for ovarian cancer and the diagnosis in 2015 had left me feeling isolated. I found that the drawings I was creating now lifted my mood and gave me a chance to express my thoughts. It felt like a turning point.
However, I’d already been through the darkest of days. Just a year earlier, in 2014, my husband had died suddenly. We had been together for 24 years and had three children, who were then aged
15, 11 and four. We had been a close family, and the shock of his death took an overwhelming toll on us all. It was an incredibly traumatic time.
To begin with, practicalities kept me going. Shell-shocked, I slipped into emergency mode, scrambling around trying to make sure everyone else was coping. I found myself a single mother and facing a sudden change in our family situation that seemed impossible to comprehend. Grieving and struggling, I knew the children were my priority. I couldn’t fall apart; I had to look after them.
When couples split up, most often the children will still see the other parent.➺
‘The drawings I was creating gave me the chance to express my thoughts’
But when that person is no longer there, it’s a completely different dynamic. For a long time, our household was like a set of scales. If one of us was off-kilter, the scales would tip, and the fragile balance was constantly shifting. We became so deeply intertwined that each of us would pick up on the smallest changes in mood and emotion.
Grief is a labyrinth – emotional but also physical. There were certain triggers I had to move away from in order to avoid breaking down. For a long time, I couldn’t handle loud noises, so I couldn’t manage going to the cinema – the sensory overload was simply too much to bear. I also woke each morning with a physical tightness around my heart.
LEARNING TO COPE
On the surface, I was functioning, taking the children to school and carrying on with as much semblance of normality as I could muster. However, internally, I had completely withdrawn, spiralling into an inner world of blackness and despair.
Slowly, our family began to heal. But just when we felt we were coming up for air, the next shockwave hit. After feeling discomfort in my pelvis, I sensed that something wasn’t right. I booked myself in for a scan, knowing to trust my own instincts about my wellbeing, and was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Once again, life was turned upside down.
Within two weeks, I’d had surgery. Chemotherapy followed, weekly sessions over four months. The effect was like being in a plummeting lift – my energy levels plunging from the 30th floor down into the basement, leaving me utterly drained.
It was hard to juggle the responsibilities of motherhood with taking care of myself. The day after each treatment, my energy was so depleted that all I wanted to do was lie in bed. However, my children needed me – and I needed to be there for them, too. Every morning, I dragged myself up at 7am to help them get ready for school. The power of maternal love kept me going – that and, of course, my art. Those drawings I did during treatment became my personal help and comfort.
I’d always loved art. As a child, I’d sit in trees and sketch, and I loved learning about it, too. I eventually went on to study fine art at art school. When my life felt like it was in such a precarious place, it helped me express emotions I couldn’t put into words. It gave me the feeling of moving forwards, creating something new.
My drawings were simple and Zen-like, using only two or three colours – including yellow to symbolise positivity. They took on a free and easy form, flowing so naturally.
‘The power of maternal love kept me going – that and my art’
Then, at the start of 2016, I was given the all-clear. Consultants told me that had I come in for that scan just three months later than I did, I would have been facing a completely different scenario. The relief was overwhelming, but grief for my husband still remained.
By this time, I had a collection of
100 pieces of artwork. One day, I laid them all out on the floor. There were so many lovely drawings, all with such positive words, and over the next few days I kept coming back to them. I found them uplifting, giving out a message of hope and happiness. Looking at them made me feel really good; suddenly, it sparked an idea: if they made me happy, perhaps they would make others happy, too. My art held power and positivity; it was like a door had been opened.
I pulled a collection together by picking my favourite ones. I felt the moment was right to get my work and message out. Rather than wait to find a publisher, in January this year, I self-published my first book, I Am
Your Friend. I called it that because I wanted anyone who felt low or in need of inspiration to be able to pick it up, flick through it and feel instant gratification when they saw a page that spoke to them.
I’m really proud of what I’ve created. My friends and family have been so supportive, too. To me, the book speaks to everyone, from people facing huge obstacles to those who have simply had a bad day.
REACHING OUT
Now, three months on, the book is selling well. I have a treehouse where I love to draw. My simple drawings have resonated with people in a way that words can’t – and for this reason, I’m working on a journal version of my book that I hope to release this autumn.
My art is so important to me because I see it as a way of reaching out to others. There’s a drawing in my book that sums it all up. It’s of a figure standing on top of a globe with the words ‘U have everything here to be happy!’ written underneath. I truly believe that there’s no greater message. If just one little detail in my book can help even one person, it will be an amazing achievement. In the space of a breath, it is possible to change the way you feel.’
I Am Your Friend: A Book Of Hope by Billie Bacall is available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble (hardback, £14.99, pocketbook, £6.99). 20% of the profits will be donated to Future Dreams, a London-based breast cancer charity. Visit futuredreams.org.uk. For a signed copy of the book, visit iamyourfriendbook.co.uk
‘A lot of people have said that the images have sparked in them an urge to draw’