My mother is dying. It hasn't been a quick or dignified death either. She is bedridden and drowning in her own lung fluid as cancer rapidly consumes her. The drugs that dull her agony rob her of everything that defined and characterized the woman I've known for over three decades. Most of the time, she sleeps. In her few waking moments, she is a vacant, twitching zombie, little more than an id only capable of rasping pleas for more pills.

Rarely, she emerges from the drug stupor haze, a portrait of quiet dread and exhaustion. In those moments, I don't see fear of imminent death in her eyes but fear for having to live another day through the merciless, unrelenting destruction of her body. In a rare moment of clarity, she intimated that she would suffer the agony if she could just have back control of her body, mind, and life.

Only a few months ago, the portrait was very different. I liked to joke that my mother was the most aptly named woman in the world- Mary Mills. She was always milling about. It occasionally seemed like she could teleport because you'd turn around for three seconds and she'd have somehow milled her dumpy little ass clear out of sight. I have distinct childhood memories of locating her in department stores by listening for the creak in her knee. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, she needed a walker. Another switch, bedridden. Another switch, hospice. The last switch is coming anytime now. Every day, I wake up wondering if today is the day I have to start the rest of my life without my mother in it.

She was the captain of this shitshow and she ran the ship with confident ease. Now, that responsibility falls to me and I am confident only in my ability to run aground and hit icebergs. I never realized how much my mother was doing behind the scenes. The number of small things I took for granted could fill a stadium. Looking back with newfound perspective, she seemed like the Wizard of Oz, silently directing and orchestrating countless gyres of chaos from behind black curtains.

I am now responsible for my developmentally delayed sister and BIL, their child, and a household. This feels like being dropped into the middle of a black ocean with no land in sight. I don't know which direction I should go. I don't know what horrors might lurch forth from the murky depths. All I have is a little paddleboat named Jordan. My partner has been keeping me afloat in all this but she too is slowly succumbing to cancer and it will only be so long before I have to do this allover again.

I tell you this so you know that if I disappear for awhile, it's because I'm trying to steer this shitshow. If you're a Patron and you want to bow out, don't feel guilty. I was barely making enough to cover even my electricity bill anyway. I won't hold it against you if you leave. Really. I mean it. Don't feel obligated. I will still try to upload art here and there when I can but I'll ask everyone not to have any strong expectations.

Don't worry about me. Worrying won't help anything. Just know that I'm still here, paddling along as best I can.