As I would soon learn myself, cleaning up what a parent leaves behind stirs up dust, both literal and metaphorical. It dredges up memories. You feel like you're a kid again, poking around in your parents' closet, only this time there's no chance of getting in trouble, so you don't have to be so sure that everything gets put back exactly where it was before you did your poking around. Still, you hope to find something, or maybe you fear finding something, that will completely change your conception of the parent you thought you knew.

It's almost selfishness, taking care of your mental health. You can't just not do it.

I always imagined my little cartoons on plates for some reason.

My parents were extremely reluctant. When my father was clearly dying, my mother refused to acknowledge it.

I used to love to draw things that made me laugh or made friends laugh. When I was 13 or 14, I started thinking, This is what I like to do more than anything else.

Childhood - that was not my favorite time in my life.

I just really love the cartoon form. I love the plasticity of it.