This post was a long time coming. I've been all but absent from the online art scene this year. Voodoo Walrus updates have slowed to all but a stop. I've been terrible in answering emails. Commissions have been worked on in tiny spurts and no new commission slots have been opened or put on sale. Worst of all, there's been very little explanation coming from me for why this is. Every time I thought to sit down to let every know what was going on, the situation would take another sharp downward turn and side swipe me.

I'm not sure how many people follow me to the extent of reading my journals here or my occasional news updates on Voodoo Walrus enough to know, but for the past two years my mother fought bowel cancer. I know I've at least explained that much before. In all, she went through three risky surgeries, be it because there were either complications during and/or after, or in the case of the one earlier this year, they were still experimental and very dangerous.

Despite all of that she pulled through and kept fighting. She fought through the surgeries, the chemo, the ostomy bag, the exhaustion, the pain, everything. She kept going even when the cancer spread to her liver. When the cancer returned to the bowel. And when, just a couple months back, said cancer started to block the bowel. And that's when things turned futile.

Basically back at the end of last year, my art production both for commission and personal art more or less dropped completely off because I opted to do the "real job" thing. They needed the extra cash flow, all avenues of assistance were denied to them one after another, and helping dad in the caretaking duties had already slowed my art production immensely. So, it was time to take on stable job with a more or less steady, weekly paycheck. Between working nearly full time hours and aiding them in whatever ways I could, art became less and less a priority, Most days I barely had the time to sleep, work, eat, and help them in various ways before it was time to grab a few hours of sleep to function at work the next day.

That's been this year more or less. Working and helping them in every way possible, keeping my dad from completely breaking down over everything, and being all too aware as all of my positivity about the situation slowly and steadily evaporated with every additional doctor's visit and new complication that arose.

On July 29, she went into the hospital for one last time. I knew it was coming and figured it would be the last big downward turn before we'd have to get hospice involved. A time range of six to twelve months left was mentioned. The head surgeon who had been with her all the way told her that when she got out of the hospital this time, that she should just do whatever she wants to her fullest extent. He'd keep her alive as long as possible, but time was running out. I figured we had at most another couple of months. I dreaded them because I knew it would be a matter of watching her waste away.

But that didn't happen. This past Wednesday was a day off for me. I opted not to go to the hospital with Dad since he said she was sounding slightly better and she'd probably be getting out in a couple of days. I decided I'd sepnd the day in my office, put on some music and get some of my monstrous commission backlog worked on and finally answer those emails I just never could find the energy to answer.

At 2:30 Wednesday afternoon, my Dad called me from the hospital, his voice cracking and buckling. Telling me I needed to get there. She was going in and out and he didn't even think I'd be able to make it. But I did. With CreepKnight by my side as she's always been a second mother to him.

Things had just progressed to much. There had been too much malnutrition from the blockage and nausea over the weeks. There was too much fluid on her chest. The spirit was willing but the body was far too weak. She'd pretty much gone unconscious and nobody could rouse her. She hung on though. She hung on until I could get there. Until her lifetime best friend could. Her nieces. Even family that from Maryland that had to drop everything and travel three hours down in hopes of getting there in time. As my aunt held the phone up to mom's ear for them, they begged her to hold on until they could arrive.

She did. And somehow, when they got there, she managed to claw her way back up to semi-consciousness despite what the doctors and nurses thought, open her eyes, mumble-slur a greeting, and prove that she was still there. Still aware, before slipping back under again.

For the next eight hours she clung on. Occasionally just barely opening eyes that could no longer focus. Vocalizing love and confirmations that she was aware despite everything. Letting us know that for the first time all this year, she wasn't in the constant pain that had plagued her. At 5:30 that morning, the slow winding down of her body reached its end, her breathing slowed and hitched, and she was gone.

Throughout it all, everything was just a broken reality of wracking sobs and helplessness. Simple people of carbon and water spoke of things being part of a divine god's divine plan. There is no god-plan. If there is a higher force it simply laid the groundwork of reality and let chance and causality unfurl on it's own.

To say a plan had to involve someone who fought and suffered and clung through everything tooth and nail only to just lose their grip and slide away and lose their battle of nearly two years. That's not part of a plan. People want it to be part of a plan because they're terrified and need to believe in something. Anything. They need something to say in these situation.

I have no reason to believe in a god-plan. I believe in people. Because I watched a strong, fiery, take no shit from anyone Irish-italian woman, survive despite perilous odds, three major, risky, sometimes experimental surgeries, chemo treatment after treatment, complication after complication. Even right to the last stretch when even her own body started rejecting nutrition and the pain was constant despite the meds, she still hung on and still was determined to fight. Even in the last hours as the doctors said there was nothing left to do, when she seemed all but gone in every sense, when the word came down the radiant spark that was the essential her might leave its shell at any moment without any more warning, she dug her way back to be aware that we were there with her. To try to say something. To wait for everyone to get there and see her. Not once did she surface, but three times. She managed to get across that she was okay. That she wasn't in any pain (for the first time in so very very goddamn long). She managed to tell in a half slurred, half mumbled way that she loved us and knew we were there and knew that we loved her. No. That is no divine plan. Only a glorious fucking person of electric soul stuff and stardust and a lifetime's worth on experience doing amazing things despite everything. And now her strength and her essential glorious self are reintegrated back into the bloodstream of reality. And reality is just a little more glorious for it.

Now, it's time to move forward. I'm not quitting art. I'll still be around. Commissions continue to be worked on, but it'll be a while before I advertise being open for new projects since there's still a lot of the past couple of years that needs completing. I simply ask that you bare with me for a while as I get everything tended to, both in regards to family and its financial needs, and my art business as it were.

Often when you commission me and I'm a little slower than what you think I should be, I've often been known to tell you not to worry, I haven't forgotten you. And that's remains the truth even now. I haven't forgotten you. I'll do my best to make things right by those who have supported my endeavors for so many years.

I love you all.