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.

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

Clue Drew Latham 1999-2015

"Daddy, the cat is turning pink."
"What?"
"He's turning pink."
"Amelia, why is the cat turning pink?" Paul sees Clue. "Amelia, you painted the cat?!"
"Just the white parts."

Clue had a pink tinge from the marker for a few weeks and a favorite family story was born.

We lived in a modified feudal system in our household. Clue held the rank of nobility and we in turn were both vassal and peasant. The dogs were a pestilence he chose to ignore. Everyday, Winky, our eternally optimist dog, would attempt to befriend Clue. She would try to kiss him every morning and every morning for 10 years he would slap her. Except, one day last week, in one blissful doggy moment Clue allowed Winky to kiss him. I imagine that was his reward to her for her years of  'doggedness.'

Until he got really sick we had a strict daily routine. After Paul's shower he would have to play with Clue for several minutes. If Paul didn't provide the obligatory play time Clue's displeasure was evident. After playtime, I would let him in to the front part of the house so he could drink his water out of the dog's bowl - which of course was actually Clue's bowl that he was allowing the dogs to use. Yes, he had his own water in the back but it was more entertaining to drink the dog's water because while he was slowly drinking the dogs could only observe. They were not allowed to drink at the same time as the lord of the Latham  manor. The water had to be fresh (of course) and any delay in providing the fresh water was met with loud remonstrations.

Yes, I'm saying that he was a diva. Yet he was also the most loving cat I've ever had the pleasure to be around and our lives were more interesting with him in it.

As his health continued to deteriorate despite daily IV fluids we knew our remaining time was short. Clue was an indoor cat only but the last 2 days we took him outside to get some fresh air and he really enjoyed it. We cuddled with and coddled him even more than usual. The look in his beautiful green eyes became sad and tired.

All four of us were available for his final vet visit. Dr. Falagrady explained to us each step and what we should expect. Her voice was calm and soothing. She gave him a shot to relax him and then they took him to insert an IV that would be used for an anesthetic and for the final barbiturate. It was so peaceful. She told us when his heart had stopped beating. She continued to pet him gently after he was gone. We left him in her trusting hands. Hopefully he passed quickly into God's trusting hands and we will see those beautiful green eyes once again.

Gryffindor

Pet people get it. Pets are forever family. You adopt them and if you're lucky they give you all that they have to give. Dogs are super efficient at giving it all. Cats - it's just a roll of the dice. Most of the time you are there to serve their every need (immediately - if you have not been smart enough to actually anticipate what their current need might be) and for this service you are granted the opportunity to pet them on occasion.

Usual pose

Hey look - clean laundry!

The last picture of our Gryffy

We have been very, very lucky with our pets. Our cats especially. Yes, they have all been little divas but they have also allowed us to love them and cuddle with them whenever we desire. They have always been very vocal - after all, we still should anticipate their needs without them having to ask - but they have always been patient with us mere humans because we have the opposable thumbs and they don't.

Gryffindor was a special cat from the very beginning. He was a beautiful gray cat with mysterious goldish/greenish eyes. When we first got him he was so skinny but he had these huge ears and a really long tail. We thought he would never grow into those ears but he finally did...and then he just kept growing. He was a very hefty 20 pound cat. The vet wanted him to lose weight and I wanted to look like Angie Harmon. Neither thing happened. In fact, I probably had a better chance of looking like Angie Harmon than he did of losing weight. We tried getting a leash and collar to start taking him on walks. We are all happy to still have our opposable thumbs and other digits after that miserable experiment! We measured food, took it away if he didn't eat right away - we tried several things. He was just a fat cat. That's why when he lost 5 of his 20 pounds recently it was some cause for concern. He didn't act sick nor did he look sick.

Chillin' with Paul

Gryffy loved all of us but Paul was his person. He would greet Paul when he got home from work like most dogs greet their people. He would jump on the coffee table and follow Paul and meow at him until Paul would pet him. He would stand on his hind legs so he could get even closer to Paul. This was especially weird because Paul messed with him so much. He would pull his tail, pet him the wrong way (where his hair would stand straight up), and other bothersome things, but still, he would keep going back for more.

Yesterday Gryffy was very obviously sick. He was lethargic - which for a Latham house cat is saying a great deal. He would barely hold his head up to look at us when we went to check on him. He wouldn't even look up for Paul. We thought that we could take him to the vet first thing this morning but during the night he got worse. We had him under the blanket in between the two of us. He actually layed in Paul's arms with his head right under Paul's chin. His breathing was labored and he was obviously in distress so we took him to the emergency vet. Paul bundled him in a blanket and I held him on the way. He kept turning to try and look at Paul. I think he thought Paul could fix whatever problem he was having.  Upon seeing him the vet immediately told us that he was trying to die. His kidneys and liver were shutting down. She ran blood work to see if there was something they might be able to do. There wasn't.

When the time came Paul stood right in front of Gryffy so Paul's face was the last face he saw in this life. Paul felt it when his heart stopped beating.

Now we are faced with life after Gryffy. I walk past his food bowl and can't even bear to pick it up.

He leaves behind Clue - our other cat who has been through this once before with our cat Tabasco. Clue was a lot younger then. At this very moment he is roaming the house and meowing. Animals grieve. I know they do. This is going to sound so "out there" but I'm going to say it anyway. When we got home early this morning there was a big orange cat in our yard. We feed feral cats in our neighborhood but this was not one that I had ever seen before. This afternoon I saw 2 more that I have never seen and then 2 of our regulars. I know this isn't the case but it's like the neighborhood cats have come by to pay their respects to one of their own. Crazy - I know.

We will miss Gryffy so much in our lives. Even though he would climb on the table and try to drink our drinks and eat our food. Even though he and Clue would get in fights at 3:00 in the morning. Even though when he sat on you he had to knead you so much you would almost end up bruised. Even though he would sit on your freshly washed and folded clothes (especially if they were black.) Even after all of this and more - he will be missed.

He was family.


Gryffindor - January 2005-December 2013