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.

Please God. Hear My Prayer.

My mom died a couple of years ago. Well, at least the essence of my mom died then. The mom that was caring, nurturing, funny, and wickedly sarcastic was gone. She would reappear occasionally, but never in full form.

Mom grew up during the depression and as the oldest daughter, she took care of the housework while my grandmother worked, she began this at an early age and worked hard her entire life.
Mom's family was dirt poor. Her dad was an alcoholic and he cheated on my grandmother. Mom was widowed when she was 26  and had two young children to care for at the time. She lost one of those children, my brother when she was 50 and was widowed again when she was 76. She was a tough old bird!

Mom and I were more like friends than mother-daughter. We enjoyed going shopping  and going to lunch together often. She was there when I needed her, oftentimes even before I knew I needed her. I sometimes only needed to hear her voice and I felt better. I needed her badly in July 2015 when Paul was having quadruple bypass surgery. I needed her to hug me and tell me that it was  going to be OK but when I told her about the surgery she wasn't there. She couldn't comprehend what I was telling her. She would have reacted similarly if I told her that Paul was getting a hair cut.

I needed her when my mother-in-law was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I needed her to hug me, even though I knew this one wasn't going to be OK. When Ruby died, I told my mom, showed her the obituary, and she didn't recognize Ruby at all. Ruby was someone she loved and admired but she was now a stranger.  So was my mom.

I need my Mom so much right now. I need her to hug me and tell me that it's going to be OK and that she's not afraid and she's ready to reunite with her loved ones again.

My mom needs me now. She needs me to hug her and tell her it's OK to go. She needs me to say that she's taught me about being strong and that I can handle it and that I will OK. She needs me to release her into the arms of God because beyond the veil my dad is waiting with that sweet gap-toothed smile to take her into his arms again. He's waiting for her to be young, happy, nurturing, caring, and wickedly sarcastic again. I want so badly to let her go, and yet I want to cling to her with all of my strength, even if it's not really her.

What more can she do? What more can be taken from her? Why must she "exist" when she can't "live?" The happiness, the laughter, the sarcasm, the nurturing, caring, all of it is gone. I ask again, what more can be taken from her? Dignity? It's gone. Dear God, what are you waiting for, why not welcome her into your Kingdom, take the emptiness and fill her with your love. Restore her here on earth or restore her in heaven but please God, restore her.  I want my mom to be whole and happy again. As much as I want her here with me, I want her with you more. Please God, hear my plea.


"Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done." (Luke 22:42)

He restores my soul: he leads me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. (Psalm 23:3)

Gigi

My good fortune began in January of 1961. Now, those that know how young I am realize that it's not possible for anything to happen to me in 1961 (well, other than conception) nevertheless, the story of who I am today began then. In January of 1961 my future in-laws Jim and Ruby adopted Paul in a private adoption and forever changed the trajectory of his life and indirectly mine as well.

Ruby had numerous titles in her life, wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, home-maker, bookkeeper, but on February 11, 1991 she became a grandmother (Gigi), a role she was destined to play and one that was perfectly suited for her. She served as Gigi to so many people, not just her four grandchildren. She was the grandmother that everyone deserves but few actually receive.

Gigi was the consummate homemaker, a Martha Stewart without the orange jumpsuit or the pretense. I feel like in the presence of Martha Stewart I would be uncomfortable and inadequate. In the presence of Gigi I WAS inadequate but she never made me feel that way.  She didn't insult my abilities (or lack thereof) and she didn't try to change me or pressure me to be a better housekeeper, wife, mom, cook, or person. Maybe she realized the futility of such an endeavor or far more likely she accepted me as I am. I learned a great deal from her and I believe that I am a better person because of her. Once, many years ago I was driving and as usual got impatient and whined about the man in front of me not going as fast as he should, she calmly said, "He's probably someone's sweet grandfather." That stuck with me. I'm still impatient, but I try harder to be patient and more like her. WWGD?

I was honored to spend time with Jim and Ruby while she was ill, the three of us developed a daily routine together. My favorite time of the day was bedtime. I would take her pills to her, tuck her in, kiss her, and tell her I loved her. How extraordinarily blessed I was to share this time with her and I thank God for allowing me that opportunity, but I wanted so much more and I had so much more to learn from her. There wasn't enough time.

I can't tell you how often I complained about how this wasn't fair and that this wasn't supposed to happen to her. She came from near indestructible stock - her father lived to almost 101 and her mom was 94 when she passed away so obviously we were expecting a great deal more time with Ruby. You always think that you have more time. Never once did she complain. Never once did she ask "why me?" and she never gave up hope. It's possible that when she was alone she questioned God but never in front of me. Even as her health continued to deteriorate she stayed strong in her faith. I didn't. I'm still asking "why her?" and I'm still angry, and I still feel cheated by God. I obviously had more to learn from her, and now that chance is gone and it makes me angrier. I needed more time.

My grief is personal and painful.  It wakes me up at night, takes my breath away, and physically hurts. Waves of tears hit without warning and the emptiness is almost too much to bear. I alternate between total disbelief that she's gone and the cold reality that it's true. I know from enduring this pain when I lost my dad that it does get easier but I also know that you're never complete again. She was our matriarch; the one that orchestrated all of our family's celebrations and now that she's gone it will take several of us working together to attempt to fill the void she left. We thought we had more time to learn.

I was in the room when she passed away. Throughout that night and into the early morning she didn't display fear or uncertainty. She faced her death with the grace that characterized her life. I guess she had at least one more lesson to teach me.

1. Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
   Passing from you and from me;
   Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming,
   Coming for you and for me.
2. 
   

From the Hymn Softly and Tenderly

Link to obituary and slide show:

http://obits.dignitymemorial.com/dignity-memorial/obituary.aspx?n=Ruby-Latham&lc=1759&pid=179555875&mid=6880775

The Case Against Mother Nature

Mother Nature does not exist and I have proof. Even as exceedingly awful as women can be to each other there is no way another woman could be as cruel as that of this mythical Mother Nature. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about.

Oh sure, laugh all you want you bitch.

From our early teens we bleed monthly. Many times never knowing when or where IT might strike. Remember those times when you could just go swimming and not worry about anything? Then, all of a sudden you get invited to a swim party and you sit on the side of the pool without getting in while boys in their innocence ask why you aren't swimming. You snap at them to mind their business because you now have mood swings and bloating. How about those visits to the school nurse? How about having to ask your male teachers if you can be excused? Fun times. Nope, there can't be a Mother Nature but I believe there might be a Mommy Dearest.

Years and years of bleeding monthly and then miraculously it stops! Ah, the sweet relief! You can go swimming all you want - except for now you don't look quite as cute in your bathing suit (unless it's brown but I digress.) Oh, but you aren't really off the hook yet - Mommy Dearest has more in store for you!

MENOPAUSE. OH MY GOOD GRACIOUS. GIVE ME THE BLEEDING BACK! HOT FLASHES. NIGHT SWEATS. YOU JUST THOUGHT YOU HAD MOOD SWINGS. WHY AM I YELLING? HOT FLASHES AND MOOD SWINGS - THAT'S WHY YOU MISERABLE,  HALITOSIS-INFESTED HEATHEN.

Menopause. One minute you are looking at a blade of grass and crying at the beauty of it and the next minute you're wondering if you can make a weapon out of it. Hot flashes. Can't even describe them - you have to experience them to know the suffering they cause. For example, right now I look like I just ran a 5K in August in TEXAS. I thought I was through with this crap. That's how Mommy Dearest does it. She tricks you into believing it's all over. You don't need no stinking hormones! Get off those meds. Then you might go months maybe years without any problems then - BAM! SHE'S BACK! And when she comes back she makes up for lost time. You can sit under a ceiling fan and have 2 other fans pointed directly at you and it won't matter you will still be sitting in a malodorous marinade of sweat. Take an ice cold shower. Sure, that works until you have to turn the water off and get out. Maybe a good nights sleep will help. Forget it. NIGHT SWEATS.

No, Mother Nature belongs in the same category as the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny. Mommy Dearest exists and boy do I have a score to settle with her. Where's that blade of grass spear I made?

WHY?

I have a lot of unanswered questions and things that I don't understand. Loads and loads actually. Here are a few:

Why do dogs sniff other dogs butts? I know that there are animal behaviorists that study this and have given answers to this question but how do they really know? Unless they have died, asked God and come back to life they can't possibly know.  When I die the first question I have for God is not going to be why do dogs sniff other dogs butts.

Why roaches?  With all the people and all the really large animals on the Ark couldn't something or someone have stepped on them and how many rabbits were there after the 40 days? Did the animals that require water just swim along with the Ark? Fresh water or salt water? It should have made a difference.

Why do retailers put the price tags right on the seam where they are almost impossible to remove?

Why do retailers put the clothes for larger people at the bottom? Is that their way of telling us we need to workout?

Why do they make Spanx for small people? Is it to taunt those that really need them?

ZERO. It aggravates the hell out of me when shopping and I see size 0 on the tag. ZERO IS NOTHING. YOU CAN'T BE A ZERO - A ZERO IS WHAT WE USED TO CALL LOSERS. (Sorry to my one friend that is a size zero - I hate you.) Now, just to really piss me off they have size 00. WTH? You can't be a double nothing. Double 0 means you don't exist. Back in my skinny days I was a size 4. Four is something. Zero is nothing. I'm afraid to go into a Chico's because they have weird sizing. It's like 1-4. What does that mean? I don't want to ask what my size would convert to because they might tell me it is not possible to convert my current size so Chico's remains a mystery.

How about that damn yoga store? It is like Prince - a symbol not a name. I don't even know what you call it. How do they answer the phone? Do they just say Hello?

But one of my most burning questions is Why Alzheimers? It just isn't fair. My mom grew up in the depression and worked hard her whole life. She survived the death of 2 husbands. She survived the death of a son and the death of all her siblings. Her father was an alcoholic and so was her oldest brother. She was the most sarcastic person I knew (other than me.) Now she talks to my dead father and brother. Currently she resides in an assisted living facility on the memory care floor and that is living hell. I look at those poor people and think they were probably teachers, doctors, engineers, homemakers. Now look at them. Absolutely no quality of life. But I believe my mom still has a few good years left in her. She just has to get physically stronger so she can get around with her walker. She has to be able to get in and out of my car. Right now pain is holding her back. Some of the fog is lifting that clouded her mind initially.  She was losing her memory somewhat but when she got the urinary tract infection it completely scrambled her brain. I didn't know UTI's could do that. But then I have learned a lot since February 15th when Amelia and I found my mom on the floor of her apartment. She can't go back and live there anymore - it's not safe for her. She needs someone watching out for her 24/7.  I have found what I believe is the perfect setting for her. It's a group home and right now there is only one resident. She will get good care here and there won't be other residents screaming and crying and spitting on the floor.

I know there are several stages in the grieving process. I mourn for the loss of my mom's health. I grieve for her but also for me. I don't remember what all the stages are of grief but I know one of them is anger and I can assure you that is where I am now. I AM VERY, VERY ANGRY. I want my mom back. I'm tired already of being the adult and having to make all of these decisions. I want to ask my mom to make them. Dammit - I want my mom! She's there - but she's not.

WHY?

WHAT?

My mom is hard of hearing – I mean really, really hard of hearing. She’s 87 so that’s not unusual. What is unusual is that she wears cotton in her ears. Not all the time – but most of the time. Here’s my conversation with her about the cotton:

Me: Mom, why are you wearing cotton in your ears?

Mom: What?

Me: Why are you wearing cotton in your ears?

Mom: Yes, I've had these for years -  they go with most of my clothes.

Me: I’m not talking about your earrings, WHY ARE YOU WEARING COTTON IN YOUR EARS?

Mom: Because one night while I was sleeping I heard a pop, it hurt so I put cotton in my ears so it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

Me: Did you ask your doctor about it?

Mom: You’re my daughter, why would I ask you?

Me: No, your doctor?

Mom: What about my doctor?

Me: Never mind.

So, because of her lack of hearing (or the cotton balls) when she is talking, she talks louder than usual. When she is whispering it is more like normal conversation level. For example in church:

Mom: Who is that lady over there in the red dress with the white sweater?

Me: Mom, you aren’t whispering.

Mom: What?

Lady in red dress: Hey Alma, it’s me Mary.

Preacher – just keep on preachin’

So, we are in one of our favorite restaurants waiting for our food and out of the blue I get this little nugget of reality.

Mom: YOU HAVE A MUSTACHE.

Me: Mom, tone it down everyone is staring.

Mom: What? It’s right there – under your nose.

Me: I know where mustaches grow Mom –we don’t need to talk about it right now.

Mom: I’ve seen commercials with women that had full beards – they were too embarrassed to leave the house. They got rid of them, you probably can too but I wouldn’t wait too long. It’s going to get bushier than it already is.

Me: Mom, everyone is staring. The cook and the owner just came out to stare at me.

Mom: Well, I just thought you should know. It’s better to hear it from me than from some stranger.

Me: Thanks, I appreciate it.

Mom: What?

This is my mom at the independent living facility where she lives and the creepy Easter rabbit they have every year. Imagine if he put cotton in those ears!