I remember the day I pulled into St. Vincent Clay to drop off our donation like it was a quiet circle closing itself in a gentle way. It happened on her birthday, which felt meaningful even before I realized why.
Sunshine had poured so much energy into helping start and organize the Arts in Medicine (AIM) program there, not for recognition, not for accolades, but because she truly believed in the healing power of art. She saw color and creativity as a way to give people a little breath in moments that didn’t always feel kind.
As I handed over the art supplies, I found myself thinking about all the afternoons she and I spent talking about how creativity brings people together. I thought about the way she talked about which paintbrush works best, or how a sketch can unlock something a patient couldn’t quite say in words. In that moment, standing in that lobby, it felt like she was there with me, still organizing, still thoughtful, still making sure it was right.
What hit me most wasn’t the logistics of the drop-off, it was how connected I felt to her spirit in a place she helped shape. Even though she wasn’t physically with us anymore, the work she started was still moving forward. It felt like a full-circle moment, like carrying the torch she lit into a room where it would keep shining.
I left feeling this deep sense of fulfillment. A quiet celebration. In my heart, I know she would be proud of how far that program has come, and how it continues to help people in their own journeys.
