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.

Sure he's smart but...

He really is smart even though he has perfected the "stunned" look.

My husband Paul is a very intelligent man, until it comes to me. Well, he was obviously brilliant when he married me but he has a vulnerable side where I'm concerned. At least 4 times a year I do something insanely stupid where our finances are concerned. Here's a typical phone conversation:

P: "Have you seen any mail from Bank of America?"

Me: "No, we don't have an account there so if I did see something I would probably shred it."

P:"We had our mortgage with them."

Me: "Oh, we paid that off though."

P: "Yes, but after paying it off they send us the title for the house so we need it."

Me: "Oh."

P: "Can you look for it?"

Me: "Now?"

P: "Now would be good."

Me: "I'm watching Ellen right now."

P: "Don't you think finding this document might be more important than watching Ellen?"

Me: "Is that a trick question?"

P: "No, let me know if you find it."

He has a beautiful smile and look at that twinkle in his eye!

2 hours later

P: "Did you find it?"

Me: "No."

P: "Why didn't you call and tell me?"

Me: "You said to let you know if I found it, I didn't so I didn't call."

P: "Ah, OK. Did you find any bills while you were looking at all the piles of mail?"

Me: "Uh...I was looking for the other thing, there might have been bills."

P: "Do you think you should look for them?

Me: "OK. I guess this isn't a trick question either."

1 hour later

P: "Did you find any bills that need to be paid?"

Me: "Yes."

P: "Did you pay them?"

Me: "Uhm...love ya, bye!"

And sometimes he makes mountains out of minuscule molehills.

When you love someone you want them to look their best so naturally if I see something that can easily be fixed I fix it. One day when we were sitting in the car I noticed a gnarly hair sticking out of his ear. I lovingly and gently plucked it from his ear and he cried like a little girl. Well, when I think about it we might have already been driving on the highway at about 75 miles per hour and extracting a hair from his ear might have been a tad surprising.

Looking dapper here - keeping his ear hairs under control helps.

Then there's the allegation that I tried to run over him with the car. Obviously this is an unsubstantiated claim, it's a matter of he said, she said and there were no corroborating witnesses. Granted, I'm not sure exactly how the car ended up in reverse but I tapped him ever so gently and he smiled at me so obviously he was fine. To hear him tell it you would think I hit him with a German Panzer, his mom ran over his dad's foot and he didn't complain. Well, he might have complained a bit. I guess they're both a little soft.

Engagement picture - so young!

A little older

I'm broken. At age 39 I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, Fibromyalgia, and Sjogrens Syndrome. I've suffered with depression for a long time but the RA intensified it. At the time of the diagnosis Paul and I had been married for 13 years. On August 27, 1988 Paul promised to love me in sickness and in health and he's fulfilled that vow even though there's been more sickness than health. He is a man of faith, 'What would Jesus Do' is not a catchphrase to him, it's how he lives his life EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Paul filling in at the pulpit for Community Christian Church

There is a "Love Your Spouse" challenge going around on Facebook where you are supposed to post a picture of you and your spouse for 7 days to show your love. There isn't a single picture (or 7) I could post that could embody the faith and love he exhibits. I'm a lucky woman, I married an amazing man. I wish I could come up with a picture to display it.

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.

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?

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

You Really Are What You Eat

Food is important. And as with most important things, there are rules. It would be easy if there was just one set that everyone agreed on…but there are a lot of conflicting interests shouting at us, and it can be confusing. Most dangerous are the ones trying to get us to buy “healthy” processed foods, with prominent nutrition labels (hint: the healthiest stuff doesn’t have those). I wanted to know more about the food we eat, and I started reading and watching everything I could find to help me understand.

There’s a great little book called Food Rules by Michael Pollan that I highly recommend.  I like this guy—he makes a lot of sense. And he says great things, like “Eat food. Mostly plants. Not too much.” In this book he gives us 64 easy-to-understand food rules, including:

• “Pay more, eat less.” You get what you pay for, and I don’t want cheap food. If it's really good stuff, you don't need to eat as much of it.
• “Eat all the junk food you want, as long as you make it yourself.” The idea is that if it’s harder to get, you’ll naturally eat it less often.
• “Have a glass of wine with dinner.” - one of my favorites. Not all of the rules are hard to live by!

I appreciate what Jamie Oliver has been doing. Did anyone besides me watch his Food Revolution show? I thought it was a fascinating commentary on eating in America, even if they did manage to find the most hard-headed, impossible Americans to illustrate that. If you don’t have any idea what I'm talking about, you can learn more here. These food rules, which I picked up from Jamie Oliver, hang in my pantry:

1.    Cook at home

2.    Avoid packaged foods

3.    Avoid too much refined sugar

4.    Trade refined grains for whole grains

5.    Eat lots of fruits and vegetables

6.    Teach my kids to cook and use many different ingredients

7.    Read labels and reject what I don’t understand

8.    Choose food grown and raised close to home

9.    Try new foods

I have a harder time with #8 than the others, because I’ll just never be a complete locavore. Pineapple, mangoes and bananas are simply too good to live without. But I do try to buy from farmers markets whenever I can, and find out where and how the food was grown. #3 is hard, but "too much" is vague enough that I can work with it.

Does your family have its own list of specialized rules? I made this list from some of the crazy food requests I get. Since it’s put together from several peoples’ preferences, there are naturally some contradictions…

Never, under any circumstances, eat the end of a banana.

For that matter, edges/crusts of bread are no good.

The end of a meat loaf is not that good either. (I totally disagree!)

Chocolate chips are fine in cookies, but never in pancakes.

Chocolate chip pancakes are the only ones worth eating.

Chocolate chips belong in cookies. With coffee, the perfect breakfast.

Don't even consider toasting a bagel.

Toast the bagel only if it’s been in the fridge.

Bagels should always be toasted.

Bagels must be plain white, with plain white cream cheese.

Only whole wheat bagels with crunchy peanut butter.

I’ll take the cranberry bagel with fancy cream cheese.

Pizza shall never be served without wings.

Cheese pizza, and it cannot be served without Ranch dressing.

Pizza must have vegetables. Minimal meat is okay, but not necessary.

Meat lover’s pizza only.

No blue M&Ms (this one is all mine -- I'm still steamed about the tan ones).

Quirky requests aside, I go by some pretty simple rules when gathering what we eat, based on the straightforward idea of eating Real Food:

• Whole foods are best. Did the food look like this when it was alive? Was it ever alive?(Think whole chicken vs. McNugget. Farm-fresh eggs vs. "egg substitute.")
• Packaged foods should have few, understandable ingredients and NO food dyes or HFCS. (Good examples are Triscuit and Breyer’s vanilla bean ice cream.)
• There should be more whole foods than packaged ones in the cart.
• Food is supposed to go bad. If it doesn’t have that potential, it might not be food. (A cucumber will rot. A Twinkie won’t. Ever.)

Are we perfect? Goodness, no. Oreos occasionally sneak in. Dr. Pepper invades my fridge. Since we don't have them every day, they can be special treats. 

I read a lot of labels and reject a lot of things. It takes time and often costs more to shop this way, but I believe it is probably the single most important thing I can do for my family’s (and my own) health and eating pleasure. And that’s a responsibility I can’t help but take seriously!

Interested in Real Food? I love this blog, 100 Days of Real Food. She's very committed and has some great ideas.

The Family

I thought since my family will be the focus of many of my posts that I should introduce them. This is my husband Paul:

Oops. Sorry. That is David Beckham. This is my husband Paul:

He is the kindest, gentlest, smartest man I know. More importantly - he is the most patient man I know. Marriage to me has tested that patience many a time I'm sure - but he's stuck with me. After 25 years not only am I still in love with him - I still like him. He's still my best friend - and he makes me laugh. Bend that Beckham!

Paul is of Mediterranean descent (he's adopted and his biological mother was French) so he has a beautiful olive complexion. I am white. Like Elmer's glue white. Before they made it into goofy colors or gels. Crayola doesn't even have a white for how white I am. He's 5'3" and I'm 5'7". When we talked about having children we worried what a combination of the two of us could possibly look like. We finally decided we would probably end up with stay puft marshmallow kids running around. But look what we did!

Amelia and Katy 1999

Amelia and Katy 2013

Katy and Amelia 2013

Amelia and Katy about 3 years ago (I think)

 Aren't they just beautiful? Amelia is now a senior in high school and Katy is now an Austin College graduate, employed, and living on her own with her cat Tess.

We also have some furry 4-legged members of the family! They are all rescues.

Clue - the patriarch is almost 14

Gryffindor is 8

Dobby is 10

Winky is 9

That's all of us!