How do we get back there?

I have a sheet of sketch paper on my wall that reads, "the sky was gold, it was rose". When I paint, use pastels, watercolors, colored pencils, my subject matter is different each time; however, I always end up using pinks, oranges, golds, and rose. Joe pointed this out to me the other day, when I told him I only kind of knew why I love the lyric, "the sky was gold, it was rose". He said, "Kelly, some form of a sunset always finds its way into your drawings." I started crying. I've been leaving clues for myself all along. Not everyone mourns for lost innocence. However, I am especially guilty. The sky was gold, it was rose, when I was young in the Berkshires. My mom & I religiously watched the sunset in a gorgeous open field in our backyard, or during one of our daily evening walks. When I can't take the pressure, when I'm falling apart, when the dishes are piling up, when I look in the mirror and see a corpse trying to live like a 20 something, I think about my mom & the sun. I think about the person I used to be. Spunky, outgoing, carefree, honest, emotionally open, trusting. Of course, everyone loses some innocence, some of their personality from childhood. But, I mourn so heavily. I am nothing that I used to be. Each day is a constant struggle, wriggling my way in and out of depression, anxiety, and severe avoidance. My dad told me that my grandmother, who is about to turn 90 with a severe case of dementia, still thinks that my dad is attending college. She believes her husband is alive. Although my grandmother's thoughts are due to the disease, I started crying when my dad told me these details because, first of all, in a way, my grandmother has left us. And I miss her very much. But, also, in a very beautiful way, she found her way back. She found her way out of this mess - to perhaps where the sky was gold.