I can see clearly now the pain is gone...

I'm not a stupid person, I'm just a person that does stupid things, kind of a lot.

A couple of weeks ago I came down with a horrible case of pink eye. At one moment I was enjoying breakfast, and the next moment my left eye was on fire, itching, hurting, oozing green gunk, and more. As the day progressed the pink eye worsened. Late that night I ended up at an Emergency care clinic, and I would have given them my debit card and PIN to help me.

The doctor put drops in my eye that made it glow a weird green color and passed some device over my eye and diagnosed pink eye as I expected. He gave me drops and told me to follow up with my eye doctor if it didn't improve, and informed me of how contagious it was and to wash my hands frequently. He also listed all the things that I should and shouldn't do. Don't scratch your eye, don't touch the other eye after touching the left eye, change your pillow case every night...the list went on. I scratched my eye, touched the other eye, and didn't change my pillowcase. And yet...it improved, didn't move to the other eye, nor did anyone else catch it. Hmm. That's curious. Oh well.

After almost 2 weeks I decided I needed to seek that follow up they mentioned. My eye doctor was busy, so I saw his partner. He explained to me that some pink eye cases either bacterial or viral could last for weeks. Oh hell. He then looked in my eye and said, "Do you wear contacts?" Well, I've been trying to wear them again, trying mono vision but for some reason, we can't get the vision corrected in my left eye, to which he said, "You have a contact in your left eye." No, I don't. Hey, I've watched ER and House, and I've diagnosed several fake illnesses on WebMD, so I'm qualified to tell this doctor with his years of training that he's wrong. "Well, yes you do, let me put some numbing drops in your eye, and I'll show you." I needed the numbing drops because without them I would have felt the suction as my contact was released from bondage pulling half of my eye with it. Minutes later with some effort, he pulls the DAILY WEAR contact off of my eye and shows it to me. Imagine my surprise. I have absolutely no idea (well I do have a couple of ideas) how that happened, and I think it had been in there for over a month and a half. Let that sink in, daily wear contact, month and a half. I didn't have pink eye, I had a case of stupid. The ER doctor didn't have the proper equipment to see it, nor did the lady in the bathroom at the Pancake House that looked in my eye to see if anything was in there.

He told me my eye should begin feeling better quickly (no sh*t), but he also gave me some drops for the irritation still going on in my eye. To try and make me feel better he told me there was a woman in the UK that thought the contacts dissolved in your eyes, so she ended up with 27 of them in one eye. Knowing someone is dumber than you is not comforting, I also knew that I would be telling my family and friends. Sure, I could have kept this to myself but, I didn't, and now I'm sharing it with the world. OK, not the world, just about 50 people that might read this blog.

How did this happen you ask? It's a mystery, but I have some guesses. I am easily distracted. It's possible that I took the right one out and decided at that very moment that I needed to know the difference between a donkey and a mule. I would not have been able to wait 10 seconds to look this up but would have to have the info immediately. Also, had I waited 10 seconds to look it up I would have forgotten how much I wanted to know the difference between a donkey and a mule. Thank you, Google.

It's possible I took the right one out and decided I was thirsty and must get a drink that very minute. I'm not really patient.


It's also plausible that at one point I had 2 contacts in my left eye and removed only one.

My family will tell you that it's difficult for them when dealing with my foolishness, but I assure you it's way harder for me.

We are not all the same...

I attended college on a full academic scholarship, to this day I don't know how I won it other than there were not that many applicants. My parents were obviously thrilled because they wouldn't have to pay for college.

My first major was Business Administration, then I took Business Math, and knew it was time to move on. I switched to Social Work, yikes. Too depressing. Then there was something else that I don't even remember (the counselors knew me by name), then I settled on an All-Level Education degree in Physical Education and English because yeah, that was a GREAT idea. My student teaching experience was terrible, and the degree was worth less than the paper the diploma was printed on, but at least it was FREE, and I had a degree!

When Paul and I had kids we assumed that they would attend college, it was a given. Katy went to college and then got a job, exactly like she was supposed to do. She's not working in the field that she received her degree in, but that often happens. She's successful, financially independent, and happy.

Amelia did exactly what was expected of her too, she went off to college after high school graduation. Some students know what they want to do when they are still very young, for others it takes longer, or in my case, I never figured it out. She started in Nursing and then switched to Computer Science. Midwestern State did not have a good CS department, so she returned to Dallas, rented an apartment with two other girls, and attended UTD as a CS major. Then, her world turned UPSIDE DOWN! She had two major surgeries within 3 months of each other, one of which was retina detachment. She also had an illness that took a long time to diagnose and even with medication it still troubles her. She lost two grandmothers in less than a year and is now facing cataract surgery next month. I'm not trying to make excuses for her, but good grief, she's had a rough time of it.

When I discovered that Amelia wanted to quit school, I was unhappy and disappointed. I knew it was a terrible mistake that she would regret. That was NOT the plan that we had in mind for our girls. That was not what EVERYONE else was doing. What will people think?

I can tell you what people think; she'll never find a good job, she's smarter than that, why did you allow her to quit school, she didn't try hard enough, she will never earn over minimum wage and won't be able to support herself (she is supporting herself, and she is making well over minimum wage thank you very much), and she'll always hold dead-end jobs if she gets hired at all. The lack of support from friends AND family was astounding. People judged not only her, but Paul and I for this egregious (was that an SAT word?) lack of commitment.

Amelia and I went out to lunch after my mom's burial, and she explained to me how she felt about college. She had taken several courses that she hated and ended up dropping because they weren't the right fit and she didn't want to waste money trying to find it. College is expensive y'all, I mean really costly, and I appreciate that she realized at this time, it's not right for her. Will she ever return to college? I feel like she probably will, but she wants to work for a while and find a degree that is relevant to her job. If she never returns, that's ok with us. Above all else we want our girls to be financially independent and happy. Isn't that what all parents want for their kids?

Leaving school was the right thing for her, as soon as she quit, she became a different person. I had not realized how stressed and unhappy she was at school. Amelia is the nicest person I know. She's kind, compassionate, caring, and loving. These are qualities that cannot be taught at any level and are traits that should count for something in her life, in my opinion, they're more valuable than a college degree. I'm not dissing college at all. It can be a critical part of growing up and obviously for specific careers it's required. But, it's not for everyone, and I believe in her, and I know she will make the right decision for HER.

So the next time you look down on someone for not doing what is expected, check yourself. We are not all the same, the world would be boring if we were.

Side Effects

I take quite a few medicines, but I refuse to read the side effects, I know the power of suggestion is great, so I ignore them. It has been increasingly difficult to do so because they have commercials that list every possible side effect, like, diarrhea (does anyone actually know how to spell this word?) constipation (I REALLY feel like I need to poop but then I'm afraid I'll get there, and nothing will happen.) Death, always death, dizziness, fatigue, joint pain (that's what I'm taking it for!), blurred vision, diplopia, drowsiness, headache, tremor, rapid weight gain (of course), abnormality in thinking (that explains a LOT,) confusion (ditto), speech disturbance, vertigo, xerostomia, increased appetite (can't catch a break), twitching - look at my eye twitch, and farting. Well, maybe it says passing gas, whatever. 

Paul heard these side effects one day and said why in the world would anyone take something like that?

Uhm, I do, but I've never known all the side effects before, can you go get the thermometer, I don't feel well. I would go get it but I've got a headache, my vision is blurred, I can't really focus, and can you make me a sandwich, I'm starving. 

No, I'm not doing any of that, you heard those side effects, and now you have them. It's all in your head.

No, it isn't. How would you know, have you ever had diplopia before? 

Yes, it certainly is and no, I've never had diplopia, and neither have you. You don't even know what it means.

It means you're allergic to dip. 

You love dip.

I know, that's what makes it so tragic.

Earlier, before this stupid commercial did you say you needed help with something?

Oh yeah, can you help me download some pictures? I tried to figure it out, but something is zipped up.

You don't know what that is?

I can't believe you asked me that! We've been together 30 years, and you're still asking stupid questions, Whoever said there's no such thing as a stupid question was an idiot.

I can't believe I asked it either. OK, let me show you how to unzip the file then you can download the pictures. 

Paul unzips the file. 

Do you know how to download the pictures?

Yes, I do know how to do that.

OK, I'm going back to read my book, it's terrific.

I download pictures.

Where the hell did they go? I better try it again. Where are they? Maybe I'll try the EPCOT file instead. Where did they go? OK, Animal Kingdom will work, nope, Hollywood Studios? Hmmm. Let me start over with the Magic Kingdom again. OK, it's not working.

Paul, can you come here, please?

You didn't know how to download them, did you?

I did know how to download them, I didn't know how to find them once I did. I don't think the pictures are there.

Where?

I don't know where that's why I called you.

OK, let me explain it to you.

Paul explaining...

Random thoughts going through my mind...

I wonder if Ethel Merman had any other hits besides that Roses song? When he's through gibber jabbering maybe I'll Google it. Ethel, that's such a horrible name. Oooh, almost forgot to nod and say uh huh. Kids these days have no idea how good they've got it. We had to look everything up in an encyclopedia. Computers are amazing when I first started working on a computer we had to worry about baud rates. I wonder what a baud is, I'll Google it later. I need to get cat food. Nod, say uh huh. Dear Lord, he's still going. I bet he's telling me about the computer he worked on in college that was as tall as the Empire State Building, took up 3 blocks, and needed some sort of cards. I've heard that one a million times. 

Are you even listening?

What? Oh yeah, I sure am.

What was the last thing I said?

Listening.

Heavy sigh. Well, you had a really far off look like you weren't paying attention.

No, I'm really interested in whatever it is you're talking about. I guess I got distracted by the way your beautiful eyes light up when you're excited about a topic.

OK, as long as you're listening I'll carry on. 

Whew, that was a close one! Gosh, this man can talk. I wonder how much mall Santa's make. I'll Google that later too. He's taking longer to explain this than I did taking the pictures. Maybe I'll take guitar lessons. How did Cinderella's shoe fall off? It fit when she put it on, feet swell during the day, especially after dancing, so they should have been too tight. Oh crap. He might have said something important. What did he say? Crap. I think he said, something about saving as and renaming. What am I renaming? The file I guess, I'm sure you don't have to change the name of every picture, that would be stupid. So, what do I do? If I show my confused face will he start all over at the beginning or will he just get to the stuff that I need to know? Hmm. Probably shouldn't risk it. I'll pretend like I know what I'm doing.

Two hours later...

Paul, can you come in here, please?

You've been in here a long time, you must be about finished.

Well, about that...

You didn't listen to a thing I said, did you?

It's possible I missed a couple of things. I really wanted to pay attention, but I have xerostomia.

You don't even...nevermind. 

What to say...

Katy asked me a couple of weeks ago if I regretted voting for Trump. I guess the honest answer is yes. I'm not going to discuss the reasons that I voted for him and the reasons that I would NEVER vote for Secretary Clinton, that ship has long ago sailed. I wish that I had written in my hero Condoleezza Rice even though it would have been a throw away vote. Realistically, my Trump vote was a throw away vote even though I didn't think of that way at the time, but Secretary Clinton would be the winner, it was a sure thing, so it didn't really matter how I cast my vote. Well...

The events in Virginia have left me discouraged. I mourn the death of  Heather Heyer and commend her for her convictions and morals, and I mourn the loss of the pilots in the helicopter crash Lt. Pilot Cullen and Trooper Pilot Bates. Altogether senseless deaths.

I've blogged before about my relationship with a woman of color, Imani Williams and how she has drastically changed my perspective on racism and privilege. I've only met one other member of her family, her mom, Vincine Brown but because I consider Imani family, her family is my family. How do I look into their eyes and talk about this, and what would I even say? I'm sorry? These are words that mean next to nothing in this situation. I am sorry, ashamed, shocked, and enraged. The people that did this are NOT my sisters and brothers, and they do NOT represent who I am or how I feel, but that doesn't accomplish healing either.  These assholes hurt my family.

The question is, are these evolutionary failures emboldened because of Trump? Would this riot have happened if Clinton were President? I think the answer perhaps is yes to both. I believe the riot would happen because of the controversy over statues of Confederate leaders, although it's possible that it would have been a more peaceful gathering.

Situations exist that shaped us as a country, three of the most important (in my opinion) are our fight for independence, slavery, and the Civil War. These happened. They cannot be erased from our history, nor should they be. The struggles and sacrifices for freedom that were made for people of color need to be remembered by all. Even though it's a heinous event in our past, in my opinion, it can't be forgotten. However, if we erase this history and destroy statues of these men, how do we explain Dr. Martin Luther King? If you erase this past and erase slavery, then Dr. King's and all other civil activists at that time are not essential, their stories don't happen. We can't erase one without the other. Tearing these statues down is a step in expunging a major part of our history, and I don't think it should happen. Yes, I'm white and cannot relate to these feelings that people of color must overcome. It's how I feel though and hopefully people of color can respectfully agree or disagree with my opinion.

April 15, 2018, Katy my eldest daughter is marrying a wonderful man that I love dearly. We have bonded with his family and eagerly look forward to this union. Jared and his family are Jewish. When I saw those neo-nazis and their heil Hitler signs, I felt sick to my stomach. Again, I can't relate to a situation where vile "people" attempted to exterminate an entire race. I cannot comprehend this level of hatred. Also dismaying was the number of young people participating and exhibiting their malice. How on earth can you possibly be filled with so much hate? These assholes hurt my family.

Much of history is painful and so many have died to make positive changes in our society, and it would be wonderful if we could erase all of the bad things. We can't, we simply can't.

This song is actually about protecting our planet but I think it complements my message.

So I won't bend and I won't break

I won't water down my faith

I won't compromise in a world of desperation

What has been I cannot change

But for tomorrow and today

I must be a light for future generations

If we could find a way to preserve our faith

So those who follow us

See the price that was paid

Then maybe when they question

What it's gonna take to survive

They'll find the strength to carry on

In what we leave behind

4Him

"For Future Generations"

The Ride

Benson, 1994

Uncle Louis

I've mentioned before that when I married Paul I hit the in-law jackpot, but that also included extended family, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc...

One of those people was Uncle Louis. Louis was a man that you liked as soon as you met him. He had a charming smile, an easy laugh, and a kind heart; all of which you could sense immediately.

He had a playful side too, once when Amelia spent the week with Aunt Hulda and Uncle Louis, Amelia and Louis were playing on the treadmill in the basement. Aunt Hulda came down to scold them for playing on it, but as soon as she was upstairs, they resumed their antics. I can imagine the twinkle in his eyes and the mischievous grin on his face!

Every time I saw him, he would ask me how my mother was doing. The first time he asked I said, "She's ok." He asked me what that meant. "Uh, you know, she's fine." To this, he said, "I don't know what you mean by that, it seems rather vague." I realized that he genuinely wanted to know how Mom was doing. Usually, people ask questions like that, and they don't pay attention to the answer. Not Uncle Louis, he truly wanted to know about mom. When I was with him, I could tell him the truth about Mom. He was a great listener. Listening is a lost art, but a compassionate, caring individual will take the time to listen. He was that person, and when you spoke with him, he focused on you and made you feel special.

I lost my dad 15 years ago, so I know what it's like to lose a father. Uncle Louis and Aunt Hulda had 3 kids, Cheryl, Debbie, and Wayne. I don't know the perspective of a son losing their dad, but I can relate well to a girl losing her father.

Our dads are our protectors. They are smarter than anyone, they are our teachers, they're more lenient than Mom, they can do no wrong, they mend toys and broken hearts. They banish the monsters under the bed and relocate any bugs that infiltrate our room. They are our forever heroes. Many times we honor our fathers by marrying men that are similar to our dad, I know that's what I did.

Aunt Hulda, you married an amazing man, Cheryl, Debbie, and Wayne, how fortunate you were to call him Dad.

Goodbye Uncle Louis, I wish I could have known you longer, but I love you, and I will always think of you fondly.

Heroes

Not all heroes wear capes. Many of them wear uniforms, police officers, fire fighters, military, doctors, nurses, medical technicians are a few examples. Many heroes are everyday heroes, people we interact with daily that perform small or large heroic deeds.

Maybe that hero is a man that takes copious notes during doctor appointments so he can have information at his fingertips about his wife's medical journey. It could be a teenage son that babysits his little sisters while his mom is receiving radiation. Maybe it's the little sisters that have to learn that Mommy can't hug them or hold them while she's sore and recovering from surgery. It could be a young man that takes that teenager out to play basketball to give him a break from the stress at home. That hero could be a mother-in-law that provides emotional support and caffeine during chemotherapy or a childhood friend that takes a week of vacation to fly down and care for her friend during treatment. Maybe it's the parents of the patient that spend months living with her and her family to do everything that they can to make the recovery process easier. It's that mom that puts on her armor and stays tough for her daughter as she undergoes the biggest battle of her life. That mom that wishes more than anything that she could take the pain away from her daughter but knows that it's not her battle to fight. Maybe it's a stranger that gives an encouraging smile or nod, or a minister that gives up 2 days of vacation to be there while the patient has surgery. Heroes are neighbors that provide chemo boxes with presents to unwrap to distract the patient from her treatment. Heroes are prayer warriors, neighbors, and friends that provide meals for the family.

The medical team of doctors, nurses, technicians are all absolutely heroes. These are the people that every single day encounter people at their worst, that develop relationships with patients that they sometimes lose. These are the heroes that treat the patients and their families with respect and dignity. People that might have answered the same question thousands of times before, but it's the first time for you and they answer it as if it's the first time for them.

These people are heroes, and all play a part in this crusade. I'm sorry for all the war talk, but battling cancer is a struggle, it is a battle, it is a war.

If you asked everyone that knows Tracy to give one word to describe her impulsive would NEVER be mentioned. Tracy needs a plan. Unfortunately, cancer doesn't play by the rules. Her life for the last seven months has been anything but structured. She's spent this time in an almost constant state of fluidity, and she's found a strength that she never knew she had. She had a great supporting cast, but ultimately it was her, God and cancer fighting it out. Thanks be to God that cancer lost.

I'm incredibly proud of Tracy and the way she managed this struggle. Her positive attitude played a huge role in beating cancer. She maintained this outlook even while losing her hair! She went with the flow, something I never would have thought I would say about her. She's cancer free!

I feel fortunate to have this amazing woman as a friend, and that I will have her for many years to come. Tracy, your bravery has been an inspiration, you are genuinely a hero. I love you girl.

"Cause you know heroes come in every shape and size

Making special sacrifices for others in their lives

No one gives them medals

The world don't know their names

But in someone's eyes, they're heroes just the same."

Paul Overstreet "Heroes" Heroes: The US album BMG 1990

Faith

Occasionally, I will say something, and Katy or Amelia will tell me that I'm racist.  I will vehemently deny it. I'M, not a racist. My grandmother was a racist. She used the "N" word; she would clutch her purse tightly when she saw a person of color. Paul has darker skin. Therefore my grandmother thought he was Hispanic, and while he was in the house, she never let go of her purse and would tell my mom to check the silver after he left because he might have stolen something. THAT is racism. I don't do that, I'M certainly no racist.

Recently I've had reason to rethink the concept of racism. Maybe racism is seeing a black man shopping dressed in a hoodie and sagging pants and thinking he's probably going to steal something. Maybe racism is driving down a road near Chinatown and referring to it as "running the gauntlet" because most of the drivers are Asian and they can't drive. Maybe racism is locking your door when you see a person of color walking near your car. Maybe racism is watching the movie Hidden Figures and wondering how women of color could be so intelligent growing up in the 60's because their schools were so bad. Maybe it's looking at a woman of color that I idolize (Condoleezza Rice) and wondering how she accomplished so much growing up in Alabama during a time of racial tension and segregation. Maybe racism is asking the only person of color in the room what bougie means because you're watching a video where people of color are saying it, and you assume they will know what it means.

I've thought and done all of those things and more. I was arrogant. I believed I was better than my grandmother because I didn't use racial slurs.  I'm heartbroken and ashamed to admit it. I am a racist.

This year, our church participated in a program called XPLOR which is similar to missionaries in other denominations. On August 27, 2016, I met our resident. We met in the house that she would reside in for the next ten months. It was her birthday and mine and Paul's 28th wedding anniversary. I didn't get much one on one time with her because we were in a group setting.

Look at that smile.

In Swahili Imani means faith. Her parents couldn't have picked a better name for their daughter. She is bold and beautiful (sounds like a good name for a soap opera.) She knew when she entered the XPLOR program that she could land in any number of different states and she was brave enough to tackle the challenge. In fact, she welcomed the challenge wholeheartedly!

I was nervous about meeting Imani. We all know that my filters have disappeared and that I'm as surprised as everyone else with the word vomit that I spew. Incidentally, Imani, the young lady that would attend our church is a woman of color. What if I said something to offend her? How would she react? How would I find common ground with her since we are so "different?"

 Her college graduation cap.

We clicked immediately. We both like grits and don't want our food to run together. We love Michael Strahan and don't even get us started about those fools the Kardashians.  We're both incredibly sarcastic. She puts up with my white girl questions. We have so much in common. She's my third daughter; we joke that she's my favorite daughter. She's family and I love this girl more than I can ever say.  With her, I see the world through a different lens. When we're together, I try to see the world she sees as a woman of color. It's difficult to do. I'll never be black. I'm a 55-year-old white woman, I'm not watched while shopping, nor asked to see my receipt as I'm leaving a store. I've never been a victim of discrimination and doubt that I ever will be singled out because of the color of my skin. I've never been considered "less than." I'm currently reading a book by Jodi Picoult titled "Small Great Things" which is an excerpt from a speech by Dr. King.  The book is about racial discrimination and as I'm reading it, I picture Imani as the main character and I get angrier every page.  That's how much my perspective has changed. I'm on the right path.

Reverand Teresa Hord Owens and Imani

Our denomination selected Reverand Teresa Hord Owens as the first African American to lead ANY mainline denomination. I'm proud to be a Disciple! Looking at this with my "new" lens I'm exceedingly glad not only for our denomination but for Imani. After the election, her Facebook post with Reverend Owens said, "because of her, I have hope. Nothing is impossible!" #she persisted

Imani was there to witness this historic election, and because of Imani and my new lens, I'm even prouder of the Disciples of Christ. I see the hope in her eyes and know without question that she can do ANYTHING she dreams.

Imani has more confidence than any person I know, and she's only 22! Her mother is a minister at one of the largest Disciples of Christ congregations in the country, and her father is a professor of chemistry. She's fortunate to have strong role models in her parents, and in the ministers of her church, for example, her minister, Reverend Dr. Cynthia Hale gave the benediction at the opening of the Democratic National Convention.

They persisted. These are the women that have shaped Imani into the amazing young lady that she is. Okay, her daddy and other members of her family helped too, but I'm focusing on the women here!

Reverend Dr. Hale and Imani 

I have indirectly made racist comments around Imani. She knows my heart, and she knows I would never intentionally hurt her. We talk about these incidents (and laugh about them), and she forgives me. The world would be a better place if all of us had the opportunity to have a meaningful conversation with people "different" from us.

Imani and her beautiful (other Mom) Vincine

I'm still grieving the loss of my mom and my mother-in-law. Losing Mom has left me without a foundation, and I realize that I've changed considerably since this loss. Things that once brought me joy, like watching baseball games don't work anymore. I can't generate any interest in them. I've spent days in the house completely immobile staring at the TV. Imani has witnessed this transformation as my mother was dying and after her death. Imani honored my mom and me by reading scripture at her funeral, (Lord help us if my grandmother was watching!) Imani never complained that I was spending less time with her. Actually, none of my family or friends complained about that. With her help, my other family and friends, and medication, I'm slowly becoming ME again. However, I'm facing another loss in my life. In August, Imani is leaving for her next great adventure. It's like sending a kid off to college, but this time they won't return. Yes, she will visit again, and if I can figure it out we can video chat, but it won't be the same. I will mourn this loss, in fact, I can't see what I'm typing through my tears. I hope I have influenced her in a positive way, and not merely by my extensive vocabulary of cuss words. I can't be the role model that women of color can be, but maybe she's learned something from me that will benefit her in her journey through life. I hope so.

Imani, I will love you for ever and for always, because you are my dear one.

Not everybody like shantung

When Katy was living at home we would have a fight on her birthday. Every single year. So, if we fought on her birthday, then planning for the biggest party in her life might result in a few tiffs, maybe something like this.

Mom, we need to talk about your dress.

What dress?

THE dress that you will wear to the wedding. You know you have to wear a dress, right?

Oh, that dress, of course I know I have to wear a dress.

I think you should consider shantung.

I don't think that's a good idea. I don't know how to wrap those and I don't want it to fall off when I'm bustin' a move on the dance floor!

Mom, that's a sarong, I'm talking about shantung and you will NOT be bustin' a move.

Why can't I bust a move? DJ will be playing some Chaka Khan, Gladys, Aretha, Stevie, Elvis,

Let me interrupt you here, the DJ will not be playing any of those artists.

I'd get another DJ then.

No, I'm choosing the songs, there won't be any songs from any of the artists you mentioned.

I wouldn't tell your guests that, they might not come to the wedding. I guess you could opt to warn them and they can make their own decision. On the invitation you could tell them to leave their dance shoes at home.

Mom, I will have fun music, apparently not what YOU think is fun.

I hope the food is good for everybody standing around not dancing. Too bad Lawrence Welk is dead, and a onea and a twoa...

You can't dance anyway.

What do you mean I can't dance? I'm Ginger Rogers on Red Bull, Beyonce will want me as her choreographer when she sees my moves. Besides, you've never seen me dance.

Yes, I saw you dance at the Gladys Knight concert. You dance like that and people will call 911 thinking you're having a seizure.

That wasn't a good representation of my mad skills. I didn't really have enough space to let loose. Maybe I'll suggest a couple of tunes for the DJ.

No, you are NOT to talk to the DJ. Promise me that you won't talk to the DJ.

I promise.

Mom, do you have your fingers crossed behind your back?

No.

Let me see.

No.

Good grief, most people plan their wedding with an adult, I'm planning mine with a 3-year-old.

You cut me deep Katy. You cut me real deep just now.

Mom, this is not an appropriate time to go Shrek on me.

Honey, anytime is Shrek time.

Argggh. Back to the shantung, it's a fabric, not a dress.

It sounds itchy.

It doesn't sound itchy.

It does, and it sounds ugly too. Here comes the bride's mother wearing a pig turd green shantung and it looks like she's broken out in a terrible rash. That won't do. I can't come in like a boss, rocking the aisle if I'm scratching myself. Not everybody like shangtung. You know what everybody likes? Parfaits. Have you ever

Me in my pig turd green shantung - it needs some ruching.

You are NOT coming in like a boss and you will NOT BE ROCKING and STOP QUOTING FROM SHREK!

I've been thinking of my entrance songs. "Brick House" "Bad" or how about some "RESPECT" up in here - I could really glide down the aisle to any of those songs! Parfaits are delicious.

NO! You don't really even get a song. Music will be playing.

Uh, that's not a song?

Let's get back to the dress.

The itchy one?

Yes.

I told you it was itchy.

You need to consider ruching.

First of all, you said that wrong, and secondly, I don't think we should rush. Remember I said I needed to lose 30 pounds before the wedding? I only have 40 to go. I don't want to buy anything now for when I lose all the weight.

Mom, I didn't say rushing, I said ruching. Ruching means to gather.

Then why the hell didn't you say an itchy dress with gathers? Since your time in France you've been uppity about fashion. I bet ruching is some stupid French term isn't it?

Its origins may be in France.

I just know, before this is over, I'm going to need a whole lot of serious therapy. Look at my eye twitchin'

MOM, STOP QUOTING SHREK!!!

I think I need a hug.

Mom, Do You Love Me?

When Katy was little my mother-in-law bought her a book entitled 'Mama, Do You Love Me?' and it quickly became our favorite. I loved reading it to both girls and it was the first book Katy could "read" herself - she memorized it. The book was written by Barbara M. Joosse and it's about a little girl challenging her mom with difficult situations in order to prove her mom's unconditional love. It's a real treasure of a book that I love to this day.  With Katy's engagement, I thought I would change things up a bit for "our" story.

 Mom, Do You Love Me? the Latham way

Mom, do you love me?

Yes I do Dear One.

How much?

I love you more than my autographed Dirk jersey, more than the 2011 Mavericks, even more than Elvis.

How long?

I'll love you until the Rangers win the World Series, until Pete Rose is inducted into the Hall of Fame, and until Donald Trump becomes President.

Mom, he's already President.

Oh dear, well as Meat Loaf says 2 out of 3 ain't bad.    

Mom, what if I took your autographed Dirk jersey camping, and I tried to be careful, and I tried to hang on to it, but I slipped and it fell into the campfire?

WHAT? Why do you have my Dirk jersey? Camping? You hate to camp, it fell into the campfire? Are you kidding me? I'd be madder than hell is what I would be.

Mom, you aren't doing it right and you said that you loved me more than the Dirk jersey.

Well that was before you turned into a clumsy thief.

It's supposed to be something you cherish so you can show that you love me unconditionally. 

I cherish your dad, take him, I bet you can't drop HIM into a campfire.

Mom. Do it like the book.

In the book the kid broke ptarmigan eggs, she didn't drop her mom's Dirk jersey into a raging inferno. The mom can go buy more eggs, I can't get another autographed Dirk jersey, do you realize how many kids I had to shove out of the way to get him to sign it? I've got a Mike Modono jersey that isn't signed, take that.

Mom.

       

OK. Then I would be sorry. But still, I would love you.

What if I took the Modono jersey too?

Then, Dear One, I would be very angry. But still, I would love you. The kid in the book was never this bad. 

What if I said that Tony Romo was a better quarterback than Roger Staubach, that Aretha Franklin wasn't the Queen of Soul, and that Elvis was fat and never had any talent?

Then I would question my parenting skills but still I would love you.

What if I became a 2006 Heat fan?

Then I would be worried.

What if I got a LeBron jersey, a Wade jersey, and a Bosch jersey and wore one of them every time I saw you?

Then, Dear One, I would be very sad. But still, I would love you.

What if I turned into a Yankees fan?

Then I would be surprised (and disgusted.)

What if I said I didn't know who Nolan Ryan was?

Then I would be surprised and a little scared and would question my life choices.

What if I started dating a guy from Iowa, that was a Cubs and a Bulls fan, and I started wearing Cubs and Bulls baseball caps?

I don't know, how big is his farm and is it MJ Bulls or current Bulls?

Mom, not everyone in Iowa is a farmer and I don't know what Michael Jackson has to do with anything. 

OK. For real she knows who Jordan is, I'm not THAT bad of a parent.

Underneath the caps, you would be you, and I would love you.

Mom, what if I told you I loved him and wanted to marry him?

You want to marry this guy? 

You sure he doesn't have a farm? Has he always been a Cubs fan or did he climb on the bandwagon after they broke the curse?

Never a farmer, always a Cubs fan.

Then, if you love him, I will love him too.

There is nothing that you can EVER do to make me stop loving you.

Even if I burned the Dirk jersey?

Even then. I will love you forever and for always, because you are my Dear One.

                      

LAUGHED OFTEN, LOVED MUCH

Mother & Daughter Bond

This picture of my mom and I holding hands is my favorite. I have many pictures of the two of us but this one picture captures our relationship like no other. This is a picture of two women with an unbreakable bond. This is a picture of peace, safety, comfort, and love, a love that has been formed and tested with time. This is the image of a mother's love and a daughter's effort to hold on to that love as long as she can. When I'm alone and need comfort, I turn to this picture and it reminds me of our "conversations" in the last days of her life.

Mom's dementia had worsened but she still knew who I was, or at least knew that I was family of some sort. As her condition worsened, she didn't recognize me at all. It was heartbreaking to look into those eyes and see her searching her memory to determine who I was. Those blue eyes that had seen so much,  looked at me with love for so long, had no idea who I was. They tell you that people gain clarity as they are dying and fortunately that's what happened, unfortunately, by that time she couldn't open her eyes or speak. Her hands. She spoke to me with her hands. I would talk to her and she would squeeze my hand, or raise her eyebrows or even try to smile. Saturday and Sunday, that's how we "talked." My mom has given me numerous gifts over the last 55 years but knowing me again, and squeezing my hand tight to talk to me, that's a gift I will treasure the remainder of my life. So, when I look at that picture of us holding hands, I remember that weekend and I feel better.

Saturday and Sunday were great days, but Monday and Tuesday were not. My mom always had a stubborn streak and never was it more apparent than in those last 2 days! Her spirit didn't want to give up but finally, her heart gave out. At 6:40 on March 7th, she took her last breath. I was at her bedside, and Paul walked in just in time to see her take that last breath. I wrote about that last breath in January.

That last breath will be a moment of pure joy for her and utter despair for me. Even if I'm in a room surrounded by family and friends for that instant I will feel total isolation as the person that brought me into this world leaves it. Try as I might, I can't prepare myself for it. I'm sorting through photos, making funeral plans, selecting songs, reading scriptures, and sitting by her bedside. Sitting there, holding her, and watching her breathe, because soon, that last breath is going to happen, and unlike the gasping first breath of an infant, this one will be quiet. Instead of emerging into a loud, bright, scary place she will go back home where it's safe, and she's well, and with my dad.

That last breath was quiet, her breathing had been labored for two days, but the last breath was soft and easy. She left this world quietly, but while on this earth, she laughed often and loved much. As I anticipated, I wasn't prepared. The funeral, the songs, the scriptures, all were beautiful and I know she would be so happy with the service. It helps to know she's with Dad but it hurts so much to be without her. Even when she didn't know me, I knew she was there, I could still go to her, see her, and hold her hand. Now, I have that picture, a lifetime of memories of an amazing life, well lived, and of a mom that made sure I always knew how much she loved me.

LAUGHED OFTEN, LOVED MUCH

That's the epitaph we chose for her marker. It suits her well. 

Goodbye Momma, I will love and miss you for the rest of my life.

That Last Breath

Our entry into this world is a rather violent one. One moment, safe inside your mother's womb and the next moment (or hours) you emerge into a loud, bright, and scary place where your first breath must happen quickly as fluid in your lungs is exchanged for air.

That last breath though...that last breath in a natural death is quite a contrast. Our bodies, beautifully and wonderfully made, know how to operate. They know what to do at the beginning of life and at the end. It's quite beautiful really, I only wish I wasn't witnessing it through the lens of my mother's death.

There are things that we know happen at the end of life, we sleep more, we stop eating and drinking, our circulation and our breathing change. Those are the physical manifestations and I'm seeing these signs in my mom. I'm also observing spiritual changes. She is seeing someone or something that makes her happy and unafraid. She is now seeing beyond her earthly life and will soon be leaving for her eternal one.

That last breath will be a moment of pure joy for her and utter despair for me. Even if I'm in a room surrounded by family and friends for that instant I will feel total isolation as the person that brought me into this world leaves it. Try as I might, I can't prepare myself for it. I'm sorting through photos, making funeral plans, selecting songs, reading scriptures, and sitting by her bedside. Sitting there, holding her, and watching her breathe, because soon, that last breath is going to happen, and unlike the gasping first breath of an infant, this one will be quiet. Instead of emerging into a loud, bright, scary place she will go back home where it's safe, and she's well, and with my dad.

I've given her permission to do this. Mom and I have always been able to tell each other anything that needed to be said so we have no unfinished business. I've told her it's ok to leave and that we will all be fine. Last night as I was telling her this, with tears streaming down my face she had this confused look on her face, not dementia confused either. Her expression said, "Why are you crying, can't you see this? Don't you see where I'm going?"

I Love You, forever and for always.

Of course, she can never truly leave me because she lives on in me and in my daughters (cue Lion King music.) And that woman, the one that grew up in the depression, the one that outlived two husbands and a son, that woman will deliver a swift kick in my ass, all the way from heaven. That kick will be to remind me that I am my mother's daughter and I will pick myself up, and I will carry on, and I will make her proud, up until I take that last breath.