MERCY IN THE MOURNING - Bolduc Fine Art

Grief changes everything.

It reshapes our days, our relationships, and even the way we see the future.

Mercy in the Mourning was created to be a gentle companion along that journey — a place where faith meets grief, and where broken hearts are reminded that they are not alone.

Here, you will find encouragement, Scripture, reflections, and small moments of peace for the days when strength feels hard to find.

"The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
— Psalm 34:18

MERCY IN THE MOURNING - A Journey I Never Chose

Mercy in the Mourning was born from loss, love, and a deep desire to help others walk through grief with faith and hope.

I have learned that healing does not happen all at once. It unfolds slowly—through prayer, remembrance, connection, and the quiet assurance that God is still present. Present in the pain. Present through the setbacks. Present through the tears.

And grief does not always move in a straight line.

It has a way of circling back. Just when you think you have traveled some distance, something—a memory, a date, a familiar place, an ordinary moment—can suddenly make the loss feel close and new again.

I am learning not to see those moments as failure or as evidence that healing has somehow been undone. Perhaps healing is less about leaving grief behind and more about learning how to carry love and loss together as we continue to live.

My mission here is simple:

To offer comfort to grieving hearts
To provide faith-centered encouragement
To remind others that hope still lives, even in sorrow
To walk beside those navigating loss
And, in sharing this journey, to help me keep my footing too

This is not a place of quick answers. It is a place of gentle presence.

A Place Of Rest

If you are grieving, you may be tired in ways that words cannot explain.

Tired of being strong.
Tired of carrying what feels too heavy.
Tired of missing someone you would give anything to see again.
Maybe even tired of trying to convince everyone that you are doing okay.

You don't have to do that here.

You don't have to explain your grief or make sense of everything you are feeling. You don't have to have it all figured out. And you certainly don't have to be okay today.

You can simply be here for a while.

Bring the questions. Bring the memories. Bring the tears, the anger, the gratitude, the loneliness—even the moments of laughter that sometimes surprise you in the middle of it all.

There is room for all of it here.

And when you are ready to take another step, trust that you will not take it alone. The God who meets us in our joy is still the God who meets us in our sorrow. He is present even here.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28

What Grief Cannot Take

Grief does not mean the end of love.

If anything, grief bears witness to how deeply we have loved. The person we miss may no longer be present in the ways we long for, but love has a way of remaining—in memories, in familiar places, in the stories we continue to tell, and in the countless little ways a life has forever changed our own.

There will be days when sorrow feels louder than hope. Days when the absence is what we notice most.

But sorrow does not erase what was beautiful.

Loss cannot take away the love that was given, the life that was shared, or the memories that have become part of who we are.

And even here, God is still present.

Not always changing the circumstances. Not always answering the questions. But meeting us within them—holding what we cannot carry alone and reminding us that sorrow does not have the final word.

“Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”
— Psalm 30:5

Meet The Heart Behind Mercy In The Mourning

Where Faith & Grief Walk Hand-in-Hand

Hello and welcome. My name is Vickie, and I have found myself walking a road I never expected to travel—a road marked by loss, uncertainty, and seasons that have tested my strength and my faith in ways I never imagined.

This has not been an easy journey. There have been valleys that felt endless, days that required more courage than I thought I had, and moments when simply making it through the day felt like accomplishment enough.

And truthfully…I am still walking this road.

Mercy in the Mourning was not created because I have figured grief out. It was created because I am learning, day by day, what it means to live with loss while still holding onto faith. I am learning that grief and faith can occupy the same heart. That questions do not always have immediate answers. That hope can sometimes be very small and still be hope.

And I am learning that continuing forward does not always look like strength. Sometimes it simply looks like getting through today.

If you have found yourself here, perhaps your road has been hard too.

Perhaps you are searching for strength, for understanding, for hope—or simply for the comfort of knowing that someone else understands what it is like to live in a world that kept moving after yours changed forever.

This is not a place of quick answers. It is a place of gentle presence.

A place to pause when you are weary. A place to gather a little strength for what comes next. A place where grief does not have to be hidden and faith does not have to be perfect.

And if the road before you feels especially lonely, you are welcome to walk beside me for a while.

A PORTION OF MY STORY

Visit Whispered Reflections

A Place For Peace

About six months after Jeff passed, I began painting this portrait of the two of us. I wanted to create something that would hold more than our likenesses. I wanted it to hold a memory.

It was not an easy painting to create. There were times I had to step away from it because the emotions were simply too close. What I thought might take a little while took several months to finish.

But eventually, I did.

Today, it hangs above my fireplace, and something has changed in the way I see it. There are still tears sometimes, but they are no longer only tears of sadness. The painting brings smiles now, too. It brings memories. And more than anything, it brings me peace.

Perhaps that is because of the place I chose to paint us.

This was one of Jeff's favorite places to sit in my parents' front yard. Whenever we were there, he would find his way to this spot and simply sit for a while, looking out over the beauty around him—the things God had created and the things loving hands had tended and grown.

He found peace there.

And now, so do I.

Sometimes I sit in that same place by myself. The seat beside me may be empty, but the memories are not. I remember him there. I remember us there. And somehow, what could have become only a reminder of his absence has remained a place where love still feels very near.

I am learning that peace after loss does not always mean the sadness disappears. Sometimes peace comes when a memory that once hurt too much begins to feel like a gift again.

This painting has become that for me.

A memory.
A treasure.
And a place for peace.