So my mom, Dorothy Eileen Keats, is the woman on the bottom right of that family photo. She outlived all the people in it, and cared for them all up until, often, the very minute they passed away, starting with her wheelchair-bound mom, who died in her arms after my mom stayed home taking care of her from 16 to 37, while her siblings got married and worked. When her mom died, she stayed home to care for her dad. When he died, when she was 40, she got married to the older man she'd fallen in love with during waltzes in a ballroom on Revere Beach twice a week, who waited 10 years for her, had me, her one child, and my father committed suicide from a depression no one understood well in 1973, and it was just my mom and I, alone. She was the best mom ever, the only thing or person that really ever gave me hope. Never made me feel like a burden. Never made suicide or death seem like anything to be afraid of. She went to work a few days after he died, part-time cashiering in fast food and retail, until she was 77 years old, and I still felt like she was always there for me. And I think I always knew I wanted to pay her back, that was my only real life goal, and in my teens, that knowledge made me resist my responsibilities a little, and I drank, and chased things that weren't for me, but when I quit drinking in 1992, I focused on being there for her, as she aged. I got a Master's in English to write a little, and be something she could be proud of. When all her siblings died in the span of three years (1997-99), we both started planning for the end, I guess. I saved about $100,000, working overnight security, mostly, waiting for her to need me. That didn't happen until 2012, when she was 88. I quit work to care for her full-time, thinking I'd have enough money for about 4 years of care. Her dementia went slowly, though, and we had some decent time together, until the last year, really, when she didn't know who I was, and started to refuse meds and food, and I panicked as our savings disappeared. But yesterday, November 3, she passed away in a hospice bed in our living room, at 93. I got to hold her for hours, and kiss her forehead, and tell her how much I'd miss her, and that for all she did for others, dying in her own home was a good thing she deserved. What I didn't tell her was that I only had enough money to pay for half her funeral expenses, and that even though a friend had my overnight security job waiting for me after 5 years, it would take me a month to get enough money there to keep up with charge card debt, funeral home payments, etc. and still keep this roof over my head. She would be heartbroken to know I might get evicted. She would be heartbroken to know I had to go asking for strangers' help. It's my mistake. I should have saved more. But the funeral director, when he found out my mom and I had done it all ourselves, for 5 years, without even home nursing care until hospice the last couple of weeks, he suggested this. And I'm just too tired and scared of being evicted to be proud. So, if I could raise a month's rent by the end of November, to help me recover and get income to pay my own way, I would be forever grateful, and so would a very good woman, who lived her whole life for other people, if she were here, still. She'd also recognize, as I do, that there are sadder stories and causes out there, and it's unlikely anyone can spare anything for us. But, thank you for listening.