To Steal a Weeping Widow

Chapter Forty-Seven: The Widow We Lost

"The Parsonage Garden at Nuenen in Spring" by Vincent Van Gogh (1884), stolen 2020, recovered September 2023 by Dutch art crime detective Arthur Brand, who received the painting in an IKEA bag at his home in Amsterdam from an unknown man, the painting was relatively unharmed other than some scratches - value $3.2-6.4 million

Chapter Forty-Seven

"Geraldine Whitehill was a remarkable individual. She was the best of us, and I'm proud to say she was my closest friend for many years. She was a lover of the truest art, the most hidden beaches, and the wildest gardens. She was a mother, a grandmother, and a fierce soul. For a long time, she was there when I needed her—correction, when anyone needed her. She was always stubborn to what she believed was right."

Guilty.

"On the way here, I realized we say one-of-a-kind a lot these days. Sometimes, we say it without it being true. We say it without thinking, but Geraldine... Geraldine really was one-of-a-kind. No one had to say it. We just knew."

Guilty.

"My favorite memory of Aunt Gerrie was when I was twelve. I wasn't the nicest kid, so my parents sent me to stay with the Whitehills for a summer. I wasn't sure what to make of it at first. I wasn't used to people being around; I thought I would hardly see her or her husband. Well, truthfully, I believed I'd be sneaking out to the skating rinks all summer, messing with tourists and spending my allowance on sodas for pretty girls. Boy, was I wrong! I learned pretty quick there was nothing like summers with the Whitehills. She knew all of my tricks before I did, and as a kid back then, you can imagine I had plenty. Don't misunderstand, Aunt Gerrie knew how to have fun! No one could find the best shells on the beach like she could, or spot the most shark teeth. Before I knew it, I was being showed up at the rink by my aunt, who looked cooler than everyone else with her custom blue bejeweled skates, skating backwards faster than I could run..."

Guilty.

"My parents didn't go to college. They weren't given the opportunity. I didn't think I would either, until Geraldine Whitehill changed everything for my family. It sounds so banal, but her scholarship changed my life—changed my family's life. Today, I stand before you with a doctorate in neurology and a degree in art education, exploring the effects of art therapy on post-traumatic stress disorder. Today, I'm helping others, because Geraldine helped me understand the power of art. I owe her everything."

Guilty.

"My mom meant the world to me. Growing up, she was the world. My mom was bigger and brighter than the world could ever hope to be. I know not everyone can say this about their parents, so I consider myself truly lucky. She never let me feel like anything but enough. She never wanted anything but happiness for me—and she was that happiness for so many people. My parents taught me strength and perseverance, kindness and generosity. My mother taught me... my mom taught me there is always something beautiful to be found. I will always be thankful my kids got to know her. I see her in them every day."

Guilty.

"For over forty years, the Whitehill Foundation has paved the way for creatives to find the beauty in the world. To say something in a universal language, and to speak to us all. Geraldine Whitehill's legacy lives on. It will always live on, as she would have wanted. For as long as there's people willing to love art, there will be art ready to be made and loved."

Guilty.

"To the world, she was Geraldine Whitehill. But to me..." August's voice broke. The room was silent. We watched him tip his chin to the ceiling, close his eyes, and plant himself sturdier than a jacaranda. We watched, as a grandson prepared himself to say goodbye. We watched, as a stoic man hid a grieving boy behind layers of canvas and paint.