11/29/2025
This floor is covering the blood stain where my husband collapsed and died seven months ago. Massive heart attack at the sink doing dishes, gone before the ambulance arrived. I've been stepping over that stain every single day since because I couldn't afford to replace the floor and couldn't look at it without my legs giving out.
Insurance covered the funeral but not home repairs. I tried scrubbing it, covering it with rugs that kept sliding, avoiding the kitchen completely. My daughter said I needed to move but this is the house we bought thirty-one years ago, where we raised our kids. I wasn't leaving because of a stain.
But I couldn't keep living with the exact spot where he died marked on my floor like a crime scene. Posted in a Tedooo app home renovation group at 3am asking about cheap ways to cover old linoleum. A woman who does epoxy floor art through her Tedooo shop messaged privately. Said "Tell me what you're really asking for."
I told her everything. The heart attack, the stain, seven months of stepping over where my husband took his last breath. She said "I'll cover it with ocean. He'll rest under something beautiful instead of something you're afraid to look at."
She drove six hours, wouldn't take full payment, spent two days creating this turquoise epoxy floor that looks like water. Made the stain the exact center and covered it with the deepest blue. Said "This is where he was, now it's where the ocean is calmest."
I can walk in my kitchen now. Stand at the sink where he stood. The floor is beautiful instead of haunted. My husband died here but now this spot is art instead of trauma.
I started a Tedooo shop connecting people who have trauma in their homes with makers who can transform it. Blood stains, burn marks, holes from fights, spaces that hold too much pain. Eight families matched with artists in one week, all desperate to stay home but needing help making the hard spots bearable.
My husband's death is under this ocean now. Not erased, transformed into something I can live with. Healing isn't forgetting, it's covering pain with beauty until you can breathe again.