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Novice painter becomes accidental sought after artist when her grief painting  goes viral

"I know nothing. I know nothing about anything. I don't know what I'm doing."

Photo credit: Canva

Grieving novice painter becomes accidental art sensation

Painting is a skill honed over time but everyone has to start at the beginning before they become a master at the craft. But when someone's starting out they're bound to have a lot of questions. What kind of paints are best for canvas, which paper should you use for water colors, how do you turn a brown blob into something that resembles a dog?

Questions abound when you're just picking up a paintbrush, which is exactly what Bethany Kehoe turned to the art community for when her mysteriously dark blue painting didn't turn out like she had hoped. Online communities are generally extremely helpful when someone is seeking meaningful advice but like any community, you're bound to get varying answers.

Kehoe was prepared for conflicting advice and even some rude comments about her painting. But when the mom uploaded the fully covered canvas asking for help to make it better, she was flabbergasted by the response. People weren't mean at all, instead they were moved to tears at the beauty of the deeply blue painting.

a group of people standing in front of a paintingArt brings community. Photo by Jessica Pamp on Unsplash

The woman was so overwhelmed by the attention she was getting from the painting that she refused to read her messages after a few art curators began asking to purchase it for galleries. Kehoe took to social media to express her disbelief over the response to her attempt at painting using deep blues.

"I paint as a hobby for fun. I took up oil painting last year, been about a year since I started. Sometimes post my work on Reddit on an oil painting subreddit because they give really good constructive criticism. I posted a painting last week that I was just like, 'is this too dark or whatever.' Now it is the second highest post of all time on that subreddit," the artist says in disbelief.

@bethany.kehoe #storytime #oilpainting #reddit #reddit_tiktok #art ♬ original sound - bethany.kehoe

Kehoe adds, "People messaging me saying like my art made them feel something for the first time in a long time. People that work at galleries or art conservators or something...I didn't even know that was a thing, are like I'd like to buy it."

In a follow up video, the surprised woman shares that she's been using painting to help her through her infertility struggles, revealing that particular painting is born from immense grief after losing a seventh pregnancy. She explains her emotional state was extremely fragile during the painting of what is now called "Prussian Blue." The painting is hauntingly beautiful with a depth that can't be described. In many ways the painting looks like a dark storm rolling in over a calm body of water, while for others it may look like light attempting to break through the eerie darkness.

@bethany.kehoe Part 2 - sorry this is long. Website is up BethanyKehoe.com #storytime #reddit #redditstories #update #art ♬ original sound - bethany.kehoe

It certainly doesn't look like it is something created by an artist still describing themselves as a beginner. People who stayed to listen to the woman struggling with what to do with her newfound artist stardom were equally as flummoxed as Kehoe. No one was prepared for the beauty displayed at the end of her video where she reveals the finished canvas.

One person writes, "this painting is so many people's soul. blue hour is my all time favorite. I've been looking for this painting for my bedroom. Please, sell prints."

"As soon as I saw the painting I understood why it has so many likes. Definitely make prints of this one. Maybe even a series.

Trust it's loved for a reason," another shares.

On the easel. Too dark?
byu/oatmealhater inoilpainting

Someone shares wise words from Nirvana front man, "Kurt Cobain once said he had no clue how to properly play the guitar, never learned to read music. It doesn't matter, it's what you create that counts."

"Girl… I was skeptical at first thinking it would be something trendy or generic but my goodness the redditors were right my jaw dropped and I feel like it’s magic I get de ja vu from it somehow," someone else chimes in.

gif of woman crying saying, "It's so beautiful."Sad Happy Endings GIF by HyperXGiphy

Several people encouraged the new artist to keep the painting for herself, only allowing galleries to rent the artwork while making prints to sell with her original signature. Kehoe decided to listen to the people who seem to have her best interest in mind. The woman put together a website to sell her artwork and is now working with a printer to make prints of her viral painting, "Prussian Blue."

While the grieving mom may be a little insecure about her budding talent, it's abundantly clear to those around her that she has what it takes to hang alongside the best. You can check out some of her work for sale on her website Bethany Kehoe Art.

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A mother explains how even innocent phrases can trigger the grief of losing her children.

Ask anyone who has lost a loved one — grief creeps up at the most random times.

It doesn’t matter how many months or years it has been, all it takes is one second for those memories and heartache to rush back. For me, all it took was an awkward moment to remind me that grief never goes away.

I was recently at a routine appointment. As the woman walked into the room, she smiled and said, “How are the kids?” I gave her a puzzled look, wondering if I heard her correctly. As a mother of one surviving triplet, I’m not used to hearing the plural form of “kid.” She repeated herself and that’s when I realized — she didn’t know that two of my children died.

My heart began to race and my breathing became faster as I explained that Abby and Parker had passed away within two months of being born. The tears erupted as my mind instantly flashed back to three years ago, when I said my final good-byes to two of my children.

The woman felt terrible and rushed up to hug me. As awkward as I felt, I know she must have been mortified. It was the epitome of a “foot in mouth” moment, and here I was, a grieving mother brought to tears.

I left the office in a daze, my mind stuck on that awkward dialogue.

During the first year after my triplets were born, that was a common question. Some people weren’t aware that two of my babies had died and often asked how the triplets were doing.

Because it’s been three years, this time caught me off guard. I assumed most people knew my situation, or if they didn’t, they thought Peyton was an only child. I may have been surprised by the conversation, but I wasn’t mad or upset. All it takes is a simple mention of my children to bring me to tears. That’s part of living life after loss: the grief never goes away.We may moved forward in life, but we never forget. I wear those tears with pride, a sign that a piece of my heart will always be with Abby and Parker.

There is no perfect handbook on how to grieve the loss of a child.

The same goes for comforting a grieving parent. While a simple hug can go a long way, I was more comforted that day by how the conversation ended between me and the woman.

After mentioning that I only had one survivor, the woman went on to ask about my two angels. She repeated their names as I told her about sweet Abby and her peaceful face. And she listened intently as I shared stories of Parker and Peyton in the NICU. She asked about Peyton and I happily shared how strong and healthy she is today, a far cry from her NICU days.

I may have cried at my appointment, but I left that office with a full heart. As parents who've lost a child will tell you, one of the most comforting things people can do is to say your child’s name. Hearing the woman say “Abby” and “Parker” was a beautiful reminder that they existed, and sharing stories of them warmed my heart.

When I explain to people that my daughter is actually a triplet, their smile turns to shock before a sad look takes over their face.

It’s a common expression that I’m accustomed to seeing. A parent is not supposed to outlive their child, and when people realize that I’m the parent of two angels, it often becomes uncomfortable for them. Grief is a hard topic to talk about, especially when it involves the death of a child.

The awkward encounter I faced is something so many of us parents of pregnancy and child loss experience and it’s something I know I will face often in my lifetime.

While it can stir up emotions and memories that have been tucked away for years, there is something positive that can come out of it. I like to think that each time I’m asked about my children, it’s a sign from above. It’s Parker and Abby’s way of saying, “Hi, Mom,” from heaven. And while the other person may feel uncomfortable, they are actually giving me the best gift of all: the gift of remembering and embracing my children who are no longer here on Earth.

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What it's like to have a miscarriage in the social media age.

I waited until I was 12 weeks along to announce my pregnancy to my "web of people" on social media.

"HEY, YOU GUYS. WE'RE HAVIN' A BAYBAY!" was plastered all over my wall, along with some super adorable pregnancy announcement photos my friend snapped a few weeks before. The support and love flew in. The predictions of the sex and the hunt to find the perfect name started. We had just announced our pregnancy to thousands of our friends and family.

Photo by Amy Lynn, used with permission from Rebecca Swift.

We were over the moon excited. And then, two days later, I started bleeding.

I called for my partner, Patrick, from the bathroom with a shaky voice. It wasn't just a dot of blood. It wasn't brown. It was bright red and there was a lot of it. I remember how huge his eyes were.

We both immediately knew this couldn't be right. After friends assured us that a little bleeding is fine and that everything was most likely OK, we called the clinic and set up an appointment for the next morning.

There wasn't any cramping (yet), and we spent the evening scouring Google and WebMD for any answers we could find. The most information we could dig up was from equally worried women begging for answers themselves on random forums. The conversations always started with blood. "What color was it? How much was there? Was there cramping? How far along are you?" But still, this was all speculation and every case seemed to vary, so we looked forward to seeing our doctor as soon as possible.

As we arrived for our appointment the next day, we walked hand-in-hand and attempted to ease the tension with jokes and banter. We opened up the famed Pokemon app our kids had been playing while we waited, and we giggled about finding a Pokemon sitting on the exam table between the stirrups and my legs. We were nervous, but at least we would have answers in the near future.

The doctor came in and we got right down to business. He poured the goop below my stomach, lifted the heart monitor, and placed it down against my skin. Pat and I took a deep breath and waited.

Image via iStock.

I heard a slow heartbeat and almost knocked the doctor over with excitement, and he said "No ... that's your heartbeat." And then, nothing. We couldn't find a beat. The tears immediately started streaming.

We moved into the ultrasound room, and once again, it was confirmed that there was no heartbeat. We cried.

We were shown that the embryo had actually stopped growing at seven weeks. They asked if I wanted the ultrasound picture. I whispered "no."

I learned there are two separate functions in the growth process, and while the fetus growth had halted, the amniotic sac had not, which is why my body continued to think and operate like I was pregnant several weeks after.

Then, I learned there are two options to remove what they now referred to as the "contents of the uterus." I could get a D&C (dilation and curettage), where they surgically open the cervix and remove or "vacuum" out the contents, or let nature run its course. I didn't know much about either, so I didn't decide right away. If I wanted to, I could have the procedure the next morning. I told them I would be in touch.

As we walked out, none of the nurses made eye contact. I have never felt so cold or alone while surrounded by a group of women. I sniffled hard one last time and tried to keep it together.

The rest of the night was a blur. We held each other, told family members and close friends. Then I thought of the thousands of people we told on Facebook. I quickly felt embarrassed. How would I dodge a million questions in parking lots and at parties and over social media over the next few months?  We would think about that later, we decided.

I was told having the D&C procedure was a "pleasant" way to speed up the process and obtain some closure, so we chose to have the procedure and scheduled an appointment for the next day. Then, the cramps started.

It was around 8:30 p.m. when I started feeling the discomfort. These "cramps" were more painful than any period cramping I had experienced. And over the next hour, as they kept coming back, the time in between was shortening from 15 minutes, to 10 minutes, to five minutes...

I decided to sleep it off and mentally prepare myself for the next day. But I couldn't sleep. I was tossing and turning.

The cramps were more painful than ever, and I raised and contorted my pelvis and scrunched into the fetal position to try to suppress it. It was excruciating.

This was more painful than giving birth to either of my two daughters (and, yes, I had pain meds back then). I realized as the cramping grew more frequent and painful, they weren't cramps at all — they were contractions. I was going into labor.

Patrick carried me to the bathtub and we ran a warm bath with Epsom salt. The words of my doctor flashed through my mind: "You may feel pain. You might not. It can happen naturally. You might not even notice."

I winced through the pain, and every time I had a contraction, a wave of blood filled the tub. Patrick held my hand (in between dry heaving into the bathroom sink), and after a half hour of the most pain I've ever experienced in my life, I said "it's coming." And I pushed out a small fluid-filled amniotic sac with a tiny embryo inside. The pain stopped all at once. We could breathe.

Image via iStock.

We didn't know it could happen this way. I didn't know you could go through the pain of childbirth with a miscarriage.

I didn't know how I felt about being 31 and not knowing that this completely natural thing thousands of women go through every single day was physically possible.

How is my body's natural way of flushing out a baby that wasn't going to thrive, and the pain involved, something I had never heard of before?

Even as we had researched our options online, nothing had led us to believe that not immediately having a D&C could leave us in this position. I feel my doctor could have better served me by preparing me for the worse-case scenario, not the best case.

I dried off, tossed on a robe, and scooped up the amniotic sac in my hands. I placed it in a tiny gold jewelry box of my daughter's. It was the best thing I could find at 1 a.m. Somehow it felt to me like a gold encrusted shrine wouldn't have sufficed for this poor little baby. Biased mother, you know.

It rained that night. Patrick and I found an area in our garden in the backyard. He grabbed a shovel and started digging as the rain fell on us. It was serene and quiet out, and I was thankful to have his support and kindness there by my side.

Watching a father-to-be dig a hole and then place a golden box into the dirt — something I thought was going to be our child we would raise for the rest of our lives — was one of the hardest things I have experienced in this lifetime. I was glad it was over.

The next day, I woke up tired, defeated, and sick to my stomach because, although the hard part was over, I still had to admit to the world what had happened.

I like to keep a positive attitude on social media, but I couldn't ignore this. So I trudged over to the computer and laid it all out:

Image via Rebecca Swift.

"It's with a heavy, heavy heart that I share this. Although it's not the preferred platform, you have all been so wonderfully supportive in sharing our happiness. I thought we were in the clear at 12 weeks, but unfortunately our little one didn't make it past that. Thank you so much for the kindness, the love and support, and the thoughts and prayers. It means the world to us."

The thing I was mortifyingly embarrassed to admit and dreaded putting out there quickly became my saving grace. Love surrounded us. The support and the uplifting messages poured in. We didn't feel alone.

Friends and acquaintances from high school and college and all walks of life, husbands of wives who had gone through it themselves, women who had braved the dreaded bathtub scene all reached out to send their love. It felt so good to talk about it. I know a lot of people suffer in silence.

An estimated 1 in 6 pregnancies end in miscarriage. There are up to a million cases in the United States alone per year.

For me, learning these statistics and knowing how common miscarriage is hugely helped me with the grieving process. I know we all grieve differently, some publicly and some privately, but the support and stories that have been shared with me since publicly announcing my miscarriage have made me feel less alone.

I wonder how more prepared I would have been in making a decision about my D&C had I been able to find more detailed information from women who had been through this.

That's why it's been heavy on my heart to share my personal experience. As real and painful and horrifying as it was, I've decided not to sugarcoat it for a second. Because if I'd known what a miscarriage could really be like, I would have been more prepared for what happened to me that night.

For those of you who have gone through or are going through a miscarriage, know that I'm grieving with you and surrounding you with my love. Know that it's more than OK to talk about, and there are millions of women just like you. You are not alone.

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On April Fool's Day, think before you joke about pregnancy.

Gwen Stefani announced on her Instagram this morning that she is expecting a baby.

It's a girl ❤️💕❤️gx

A photo posted by Gwen Stefani (@gwenstefani) on

“It’s a girl” the pop star said, including a few heart emojis for good measure.

But as you probably already guessed, Stefani is not pregnant and this is an April Fools' joke.

On April Fools' Day, Stefani — and countless others — sometimes take to the social media account of their choice and attempt to convince their unsuspecting friends and relatives that they're pregnant. 

"It's all in good fun," they quip. "It's no big deal."

But they're wrong. 

Stefani with boyfriend Blake Shelton. Photo by Larry Busacca/Getty Images for NARAS.

It might seem like harmless fun, but these kinds of jokes can really sting for more people than you'd think.

Photo by iStock.

According to the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecologists, an estimated 10% to 25% of of pregnancies end in miscarriage. And women who've had a previous miscarriage have a slightly elevated risk of having another. 

So whether you're aware or not, there is a strong likelihood that someone you know has or will suffer from pregnancy loss. 

And that's not even accounting for the 10% of women (that's more than 6 million) between the ages of 15 and 44 who have had difficulty getting pregnant or carrying their baby to term. Or the men, whose own health issues make up about 33% of infertility struggles.

For couples with fertility issues, trying to conceive can be expensive, painful, and physically and emotionally exhausting.  

Still laughing? 

And all of this is compounded by the fact that we don't often talk about infertility or pregnancy loss.

Photo by iStock.

Despite the fact that so many pregnancies end in miscarriage, the topic is still taboo, often discussed in hushed tones. 

When writing about her own experience, actress Laura Benanti wrote in The Huffington Post: 

"Well, if this is so common, then why do we only speak about it in whispers, if we speak about it at all?

If this is so common, why does it feel like the Voldemort of women’s issues?

The 'M' that must not be named."

Photo by Frazer Harrison/Getty Images for Trevor Project.

Many families never discuss their loss or struggles with friends or families; instead they press on in private. Some individuals develop depression, anxiety, or even post-traumatic stress disorder from the experience. 

April Fools' Day is a fun day for silly pranks and goofy jokes, but think twice about who or what you're making light of.

People who take offense to these "jokes" aren't trying to be killjoys or wet blankets. They're handling a complicated, painful experience that's still cloaked in shame and silence for far too many families. 

Celebrate. Have fun and enjoy yourself. But if you're thinking about making a fake pregnancy post, think again. 

It's just not funny. 

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