The Brackish Collection, Breast Cancer Awareness & Other Meandering Thoughts

October is always a weird month for me, mostly due to the influx of emotions it brings about.

Physically, it's one of my favorite months. Internally, it's probably my least favorite. I think most of you know about last year... that year. The one that drained everything from me, and I'm still living with PTSD and learning to rebuild life- albeit in a new way.

In 2025, my mom was diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. Again.

Yes, you read that right. Again. 2025 marked her 4th battle with breast cancer, and it was "beyond Stage 4" this time. She was in remission from Stage 4 for a few years before that- pretty unheard of in the medicine world- but she's as iron-willed as she is goofy and wildly extroverted (if you've met her even once, you know what I'm talking about.)

Last year was different though. She'd been through the whole rigmarole before: the diagnosis, the tears, the multitude of surgeries, the positivity, the refusal to back down. She'd had radiation treatment before, but never chemo.

I won't go into the nitty gritty for protection of my family's private emotions, but she called to tell me she had been diagnosed, and as matter-of-factly as if she were telling me what she had for breakfast- she told me she would not be pursuing treatment this time.

Gah... I didn't think writing this would bring those tears back so strongly. The same ones that littered my face for months after that devastating blow. I went to grief therapy. The counselor labeled it "anticipatory grief": basically the unique subsect of Hell where you wait for someone you love to die. Amends are made, difficult conversations are brought up. Every second of every day is filled with nausea, roiling in self-pity, feeling guilty for feeling as such when you can only imagine what she must be feeling...

5 months later though, she decided to fight. I want to be very clear: she was tired of fighting. It was absolutely her decision to fight again or not. Twenty-something surgeries and multiple diagnoses in a mere 12-year period is a lot for anyone, and she fought valiantly. I know she was just exhausted, both of the whiplash-like emotional state that multiple serious diagnoses can bring about, and the physicality of it all. I remain so f*ing proud of her for deciding to take on chemo and radiation, but I would have been proud either way. When she already felt like junk, and knew she'd likely be feeling on the edge of death due to intense chemo, she chose to stay for as long as she could.

My mom completed chemo earlier this year, and she's doing fantastic. Doctors are, yet again, astounded. They want to study her. All she wants is to hang out with the animals on her rescue farm and spend time with her family.

This all brings me to today.

It's October- Breast Cancer Awareness month. Pink ribbons and boob jokes abound, and "Check Yo'self Before You Wreck Yo'Self" is plastered on t-shirts.

For me though, October is an anthem: solemn, triumphant, filled with both grief and joy, a whole month to reflect on the war my family has been through.

I created this collection as an outlet for these intense feelings.

Brackish is where the salt water of the sea meets fresh water, often a few miles inland from the coast. It commands unique, resilient flora, and a multitude of fauna. It sometimes results in hidden pockets of swampy marsh, dwarf palms that grow through the muck and filtered sunlight.

I created the Brackish Collection- paintings filled with the magical and mysterious wildness of the marsh- to symbolize the location of where my emotions currently reside. To some, they may see (and smell... our marshes are known for their sulfuric scents at low tide) a swampy marsh and find it nothing short of an eyesore. You can't swim or even wade in them, they sometimes have a strong scent, they're usually filled with mosquitoes (and dangerous animals like snakes and alligators), but to me, they're fascinating and incredibly gorgeous. Places untouched by man, where houses are banned from being built because nature will simply fight back.

Like most creative people, I find beauty where most don't even think to look. These swamps feel like home to me. The sulfur of the decaying spartina grass and the exposed shells calms my nervous system.

It's here, in these crossroads of salt-meets-fresh, that we find ourselves here in life. The muck. The stench. The tangled limbs and spiked vines and defiant palms and spider webs and the "Is that an alligator or a log??"

That doesn't mean it's not all still worth it.

The devastating pain. The whiplash rebounds. The "I love you; is this the last time I can tell you?"

The "I'm so sorry. I should have done better."

The shaking of fists and "This isn't f*ing fair!" screams at the sky.

The shaking with tears until you've got a migraine and are vomiting from dehydration.

The seemingly insignificant memories you'd long forgotten that come flooding back, and the sickening wish to hold onto them, and make more, for as long as you can.

The trying to hold it together at the doctors appointment for your younger siblings.

The guilt of not being there for every second of every day.

But it's also:

The ringing of the bell. The cheers of 30+ nurses. The happy tears. The doctor saying "we got it all!" after surgery. Seeing her hair grow in again. Celebrating a Mother's Day you didn't think you'd get. Hearing joy in her voice for the first time in months. Seeing her move comfortably and easily. Watching her celebrate new milestones.

And you, sleeping peacefully for the first time in over a year, knowing she's still just a car ride or a phone call away- not a prayer.

And it's living in the middle: uncertain futures, wading up to your chest in the what-if's, praying an unseen unknown doesn't attack from underneath...

I hope you view the Brackish Collection and feel the weight of the grief, but also the overwhelmingly dappled joy- intertwined as only Life and Nature can do: oh, so delicately and perfectly balanced.

 

And next time you see a swamp, or feel like you're in one, I hope you're reminded to look for the Light.

 

 

 

Keep on keeping on, friends, and hug your loved ones tight.

Kayla