Drawing Through It

Trying in Trying Times

Maybe part of me knew that 2025 would be a year I’d feel compelled to document. I feel like I’m standing on the precipice of uncharted territory.

My dad is sick. I’ll spare the details, because, ultimately, this is about processing my experience through art and not about his medical condition. I couldn’t have predicted the emotional value of making comics during this time.

I’m struggling with answering mundane questions right now and rapid cycling through the stages of grief.

I think one of the hardest things to accept when you’re going through a time of stress and grief is just that the world keeps on spinning. You have to go to work, pay bills, take the trash out, make small talk. I don’t think of myself as someone who is quick to anger, but I can only take so much and I have reached a breaking point a few times. Visualizing this feeling helps get it out of my body and gives it less power.

Some images that I couldn’t shake: a hawk’s lunch right outside my office window, my dad looking too small and frail, and Felix being adored by the public.

We were discussing my dad’s end-of-life wishes with him, and after we went through the basics, we said, “Anything else we should know about what you want?” He responded, “For Laurel not to cry.” We all laughed and I told him that that was beyond his control. Drawing and journalling have always been my safe outlet for my emotions, even when they can seem like too much for others to handle.

I found another outlet in the breathwork class I attended as documented on February 15; it was so intense, both physically and emotionally, that I think it’ll be a while before I would take another one.

I don’t have a tidy ending for this narrative because we are still in what I refer to as the muddy middle. My dad is currently out of the hospital and in a rehab facility, but the next steps and the timeline are unclear. The state of elder care in this country is a complete disaster and I feel for all of my peers who are going to experience this firsthand in the next 5, 10, 15 years. I am conflicted and guilty all the time because there’s so little I can do, and the things I can do feel like they aren’t nearly enough.

But here’s what I know: I will keep putting my pen and brush to paper every day because it’s one small way I can honor my existence. While my dad was in the hospital, I took his iPad to try to help get him on the wifi. When I opened his browser, among the sites he had bookmarked were my defunct blog from college, the website where I published a children’s book, and my current website. My dad is a CPA— in other words, creativity is not his thing. But I know he’s always been proud of me.

As always, I have to keep going.