tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70893933695025704782024-03-11T09:40:08.068-04:00Southern Bourbon MountainsKatharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.comBlogger475125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-64286147810915192222021-12-15T07:05:00.001-05:002021-12-15T07:05:48.603-05:00All I Want for Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNwS3pN4qmX9H4g6MME9bGXJza6Pmqzk9cc03Io32WBXQJHlyIOd6nB3Lmsng-jR4JXsUs12vJUqrtLlSV0oFrsIIWrx8XmSZQmOsVhzL3EiULhsJFeK2jhD-Y6Cj_7ydj8BfssqlMXWF0T6tvwTOlvIzIgd-_pUnFz_0zJkyPlaMPkU4BaFgrlMSg=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNwS3pN4qmX9H4g6MME9bGXJza6Pmqzk9cc03Io32WBXQJHlyIOd6nB3Lmsng-jR4JXsUs12vJUqrtLlSV0oFrsIIWrx8XmSZQmOsVhzL3EiULhsJFeK2jhD-Y6Cj_7ydj8BfssqlMXWF0T6tvwTOlvIzIgd-_pUnFz_0zJkyPlaMPkU4BaFgrlMSg=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> I'm sure I could post my actual list, laundry pedestals for under the washer/dryer, a wallpapered powder room, an abolishment of brown trim and fans, a painting that reminds of the PIP (Pawleys Island Patrol aka pelicans...we always had a contest how many in a row we could see); but all I really want for Christmas is something that costs so very little. </span></div><p>After Dad died one of his sailing buddies sent me a beautiful photo of him looking out into the ocean. I had never seen this picture before and it described him perfectly. Several of my family friends husbands sent me texts about memories they had with Dad, hunting or traveling, and how much they were going to miss him. Another old New Orleans friend sent me fishing pictures from the good ole days and my own Preschool Teacher sent a note and a book. The note had all of us in tears, and I almost used it as my eulogy. One of his co-workers that I have never met wrote the most beautiful tribute on facebook, about what a mentor Robin had been for him. When we had our first meeting with Reverend John Ohmer at All Souls, he began telling us a story that on his first day at work Dad asked him to lunch and what he thought was just going to be a quick sandwich was a few hours of helpful tips, a lay of the land, and comradery. These stories were a side of Dad I never got to see.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzTzJ_s-n_DwfR_i_UUgzTNxfehDkK8qJMUvUDgrMBsEu8f2XisNRLOcky02BcRwqkvS5Pnh0CdPiQGT7T3Ru6panDuELNrDsUoXkF1VgY-5H96zeSvHIN6GnnBVri2isKs03wizjpSNSQyFCBSLp1sHEPjXpOqPgcyJflfFN9ji8I7uyHz-9CwH7v=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="2694" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhzTzJ_s-n_DwfR_i_UUgzTNxfehDkK8qJMUvUDgrMBsEu8f2XisNRLOcky02BcRwqkvS5Pnh0CdPiQGT7T3Ru6panDuELNrDsUoXkF1VgY-5H96zeSvHIN6GnnBVri2isKs03wizjpSNSQyFCBSLp1sHEPjXpOqPgcyJflfFN9ji8I7uyHz-9CwH7v=w268-h400" width="268" /></a></p><p>When Mom died her friends did the same. I received a letter from one of her best friends about those first years in North Carolina when Mom didn't have many friends and how strong she was. Another messaged me pictures of BB and her dressed up for a school play. Her dear Jazzercise friends even showed up the day after Dad's funeral with champagne and hugs. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuobhxTOrpHLF-wtZpEl3NcumoCcKjU1G7btkC8AwlWOif-Q7rx-qgPmQyQ22qxs_FRjuZw_QQ1XkbkvwmKTA3v2b13M2wYBu_XBfAV4rBfaTg0Sbw37hwlqKiVFpPCgvCByAAOrGO-vKJ2AAnZWc01bFKAJrgcz9O-cDMfD1uTJ2w8hw6XacPgzfN=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuobhxTOrpHLF-wtZpEl3NcumoCcKjU1G7btkC8AwlWOif-Q7rx-qgPmQyQ22qxs_FRjuZw_QQ1XkbkvwmKTA3v2b13M2wYBu_XBfAV4rBfaTg0Sbw37hwlqKiVFpPCgvCByAAOrGO-vKJ2AAnZWc01bFKAJrgcz9O-cDMfD1uTJ2w8hw6XacPgzfN=s320" width="240" /></a></p><p>People don't realize what a profound impact gifts like this have. You could never buy me another Christmas present again and instead send me a story or photo from the lives of my parents and I would cherish it forever. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5bvSa4egMCmjRQqTZxYlWRfCCL2KRG9FXW3XyrrmRuzWNiCjWaZogECKMX4xZAvxXy57euMWtzmakRv31Ur6QXIHR5LayrglkREIQ9gho_6CYA81FNuXgG7d8sb8JU1grVcaiRprZmlbJUlQSABHA-gQOBY7W2darlWivey_ZmyGYbJCEESv-5A18=s960" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi5bvSa4egMCmjRQqTZxYlWRfCCL2KRG9FXW3XyrrmRuzWNiCjWaZogECKMX4xZAvxXy57euMWtzmakRv31Ur6QXIHR5LayrglkREIQ9gho_6CYA81FNuXgG7d8sb8JU1grVcaiRprZmlbJUlQSABHA-gQOBY7W2darlWivey_ZmyGYbJCEESv-5A18=s320" width="240" /></a></p><p>Grief brain is a real thing, and has wiped my memory of my favorite idioms and stories and sayings my parents shared with me. I'm struggling to remember the details of so many adventures they described to me over the years. And the most heartbreaking thing is I only have two recent voicemails of Dad's and they are from the hospital. I should have learned my lesson from Mom but we talked so frequently I didn't have enough voicemails to save.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjESOHpTEi0Oh6mA5Wxr2tOWHt6GwI8LxzOJH2dN-_6YAS-7hqfsp-0UnRQPABF9CHVu-MrD3sHE8hI7hb1d3Te9BcDNe42FafPSkfMMFIxxvz_T_shP4AF8RGl5qm07whpPN4_sp3fbckfjLiBMaADyVaLqrTMWys29t3Np0_ytvkcx-IMUYfpcC8=s5226" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3484" data-original-width="5226" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjjESOHpTEi0Oh6mA5Wxr2tOWHt6GwI8LxzOJH2dN-_6YAS-7hqfsp-0UnRQPABF9CHVu-MrD3sHE8hI7hb1d3Te9BcDNe42FafPSkfMMFIxxvz_T_shP4AF8RGl5qm07whpPN4_sp3fbckfjLiBMaADyVaLqrTMWys29t3Np0_ytvkcx-IMUYfpcC8=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></p><p>So if you are in the giving spirit this Christmas, it would mean the world to me if you would at some point in the future send a picture, or a story, or either. There just aren't words to describe what my Mother and Father were like. They were movie stars to me; hysterical, kind, compassionate and loving leading characters in a life that I could only hope to live up to.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijHJlD5Q0EIyW8k6ZyF1t98k3BGiY-adHumad6QvtshE2TaU3GP67yjQ2-YlCsQaCjK-vyf4QwhZD3hUs50BdF-Q9ZyRhIuPSg8Qh6t0HmTjdHM0uNsxzw_zeuA6ydfKDbgAD7ehQRm1iZ4Z5N3ySN_zw5Aj7b4FYKSMtkpF2JGPLzzB5LMrG3C7py=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijHJlD5Q0EIyW8k6ZyF1t98k3BGiY-adHumad6QvtshE2TaU3GP67yjQ2-YlCsQaCjK-vyf4QwhZD3hUs50BdF-Q9ZyRhIuPSg8Qh6t0HmTjdHM0uNsxzw_zeuA6ydfKDbgAD7ehQRm1iZ4Z5N3ySN_zw5Aj7b4FYKSMtkpF2JGPLzzB5LMrG3C7py=s320" width="320" /></a></p><p>Isabel if you are out there this was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received:</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-Be7TbKQkVv3_cPg6HmPKlzFl6VgJxu5K1Ds6IVbREU2hurgKW9Slr0KpcH48H1jw5dNngvgMPfBnuOR8UO2N_FbodZfzKEeQ-8v0F5cWT4t_0I0X4BMa2WHbdUMg0VubTsPsSrX7pkeMTaonXZVRwXskvPZVkPQaAjh7kq9yTwK1ttPiBTXlwLni=s3897" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3897" data-original-width="2923" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg-Be7TbKQkVv3_cPg6HmPKlzFl6VgJxu5K1Ds6IVbREU2hurgKW9Slr0KpcH48H1jw5dNngvgMPfBnuOR8UO2N_FbodZfzKEeQ-8v0F5cWT4t_0I0X4BMa2WHbdUMg0VubTsPsSrX7pkeMTaonXZVRwXskvPZVkPQaAjh7kq9yTwK1ttPiBTXlwLni=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></p>Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-78991361991380784912021-12-12T19:11:00.001-05:002021-12-12T19:11:19.033-05:00Gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPink3l7RGEwfSYZaRTD3Ykvek56Vk7bHK2Qlofszhpe1tuTfTt36cJo7gShn4fL1HIaWRjuynOXoy593j74q5k3rvfalnqFY0lYWIkkGdX2MX54TeHijpIHVW8vGbpqhLVu49XXTJ7mnI8ifAi_ccqioB0D_3d8LNQkeoofvMrIIAzFTPOm3JLAG6=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjPink3l7RGEwfSYZaRTD3Ykvek56Vk7bHK2Qlofszhpe1tuTfTt36cJo7gShn4fL1HIaWRjuynOXoy593j74q5k3rvfalnqFY0lYWIkkGdX2MX54TeHijpIHVW8vGbpqhLVu49XXTJ7mnI8ifAi_ccqioB0D_3d8LNQkeoofvMrIIAzFTPOm3JLAG6=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><p>She's gone, she's gone!</p><p>He's gone! I'm so sorry Katharine he's gone!</p><p>These were the words spoken by my father and brother when I lost my mother and father respectively. </p><p>Gone. </p><p>We didn't know how critical his status was. I knew they were concerned and that morning I had texted Max who was in uber important work meetings; "I think you need to come home as soon as you can". I don't like to bother Max during golf or work so I felt terrible texting this, but the urgency of the updates deemed it necessary. He got on the road immediately.</p><p>That day Beau and I had multiple conference calls with my Dad's doctor and his surgeon. Was this the right choice? The hip had to come out, if it didn't the sepsis would kill him. But the surgery could kill him. Did he want extraordinary measures? Why hadn't he updated his living will since Mom died. Beau and I tried to make the best decisions we could on these conference calls but I felt like I was having an out of body experience. I mean try your hardest but don't break his ribs doing CPR? I don't know??</p><p>I got a call later in the afternoon asking if our family friend Alice could come sit with him post surgery. The woman on the phone was so kind as I explained through tears I was trying to get there. </p><p>I just couldn't find childcare. </p><p>What I didn't know was her phone call was to find someone to hold his hands as he had just died.</p><p>"He's GONE; I'm SO sorry, he's gone!"</p><p>My brother's voice was more emotional than I have ever heard it. He was indeed so very sorry. Of course neither of us were there. Beau had spent two weeks in Asheville and flown out that very morning; I had to come home due to Max's travel so I wasn't there either.</p><p>He's gone.</p><p>Can I come? Can I come hold his hand and say goodbye? Can he hear me tell him I love him??! I asked between sobs. A babysitter (a dear friend's own mother and a grandmother herself) had arrived and I was showing her the new lay of the land when the phone rang. I collapsed on the ground. Amelie was confused and Tobie herself perplexed what status update I had just been informed of.</p><p>I called Alice. It was too late. He was already getting cold. The last kiss on his forehead a week prior was my last goodbye. I didn't get to hold his hand. I couldn't get there in time for goodbyes. </p><p>He was gone. Robin Boylan, "Beano" was gone. GONE. </p><p>To so many of you this was months ago. To me this was yesterday. I have written at length about my relationship with my mother but to put my life with my father into words one would need an unknown amount of volumes.</p><p>I was a Daddy's girl. Our similarities were unmatched. He was who I talked to every single day of my life. We loved the same things, we hated the same things. Traditions were our cornerstone. We had weathered Mom's death together. </p><p>He is gone.</p><p>I am not okay. If you knew him, if you knew him at all you understand this. If he ever entertained you in his home or at Pawleys or pretended he was entertaining in a place not his home, you know what this loss is like. It's monumental. </p><p>Its been over two months and it is yesterday to me. It is unfathomable that he is not here. It is not registering in my mind that he won't be lighting the fire Christmas morning and playing the Carols from Clare CD and turning on all the Christmas magic.</p><p>It is heartbreaking that the world's best two parents are no longer with us. </p><p>I am devastated. And somehow I must trudge on; as I have kids my own I need to turn on the magic for.</p><p>Gone. I still don't believe it. I miss you so much Dad.</p>Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-19764052517356411662021-10-27T09:23:00.001-04:002021-10-27T09:31:15.490-04:00Robin Boylan's Jazz Funeral Reception<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-jGGW5iomAMV_E-heNjbkt14EBIREa30BQ8dSgXgKV6X4UH5rtlIUSg83uOY4sVTcGiQkNi0txTCcMYcyMe0mvHu1XMKEPGon2pI93e1fBuHZmGQ29w9PAJoDtyCAzrbkihori3TTuo/s2048/IMG_9238.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1366" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-jGGW5iomAMV_E-heNjbkt14EBIREa30BQ8dSgXgKV6X4UH5rtlIUSg83uOY4sVTcGiQkNi0txTCcMYcyMe0mvHu1XMKEPGon2pI93e1fBuHZmGQ29w9PAJoDtyCAzrbkihori3TTuo/w640-h426/IMG_9238.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /> Dear Friends and Family, <p></p><p>I apologize I am just getting this information out to you all. Planning a celebration of life during Covid, a liquor shortage and a flower shortage has been interesting to say the least. </p><p>Dad's service will be on Friday October 29th at 10:00am at the <a href="https://www.allsoulscathedral.org/">Cathedral of All Souls in Biltmore Village</a>. Masks are required for the service so that we may seat to capacity. The service will also be live streamed in the Zabriskie Parish Hall and available to stream from home with this link.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW4J8x7R2N1NvEQorGXqeSEn1KtIySi2MMoIP-aHykxB63DuXZa12_WgStfkpqwRtaqWq2u1PeIUt51AGPr7jWlff9mZ33w7akE3MTV8PGM6fo8MpKMdxl2b6lixN6VJjitEQQ-boULvE/s900/the-cathedral-of-all-souls-asheville-north-carolina-carol-r-montoya.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="900" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW4J8x7R2N1NvEQorGXqeSEn1KtIySi2MMoIP-aHykxB63DuXZa12_WgStfkpqwRtaqWq2u1PeIUt51AGPr7jWlff9mZ33w7akE3MTV8PGM6fo8MpKMdxl2b6lixN6VJjitEQQ-boULvE/w530-h352/the-cathedral-of-all-souls-asheville-north-carolina-carol-r-montoya.jpg" width="530" /></a></div><p>After the service the family will go to the interment in the Garth. At this time you may head to the reception site. For those of you not attending the reception there will be a brief receiving line in the Zabriskie Hall or the Church breezeway weather depending. </p><p>Our dear friends from New Orleans, Tommy and Linda Westfeldt, have offered to host Dad's reception at the Rugby Grange Farm. It is where Max and I were married and the site of hundreds of memories over the years of our two families. It is about a 20-30 minute drive from the Church. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlDiSssORR96mvVQ2syPNl1XpLmzSrcs3_LEdp87dvtvXXY3hhl65hmQANfHe3jax-cVYuy_6gkB6HBIQVZxye7REhbUdznMGoaxGl5EhO4EgjVtLzVE3spD3WVWjoDsuUWeyPABzqVM/s2048/7B567FE1-A304-4A9B-A032-5466ABF03D7F.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlDiSssORR96mvVQ2syPNl1XpLmzSrcs3_LEdp87dvtvXXY3hhl65hmQANfHe3jax-cVYuy_6gkB6HBIQVZxye7REhbUdznMGoaxGl5EhO4EgjVtLzVE3spD3WVWjoDsuUWeyPABzqVM/w360-h640/7B567FE1-A304-4A9B-A032-5466ABF03D7F.JPG" width="360" /></a></div><p></p><p>Maps will be available at the Church. If you would like the address beforehand please reach out to a member of the family. There is a field near the Grange that will be marked for parking. It is a short walk to the Grange on a gravel road and we will have a few golf carts to drive those that need assistance. </p><p>I urge those of you coming to please carpool. There is an Ingles on Sweeten Creek Road close to St. John's Road you can regroup car wise. Also keep an eye on the weather and dress/pack extra clothes accordingly. (The most Robin Boylan thing to type ever). I suggest using Waze as Asheville traffic is something to behold and make sure you put the city as Fletcher.</p><p>There will be drinks and music and food and revelry. And I would love if you would sign the guest book that will be at both the Church and the Reception and possibly include a memory of Robin.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVbhWVa-Cccx2n3vUZeNl22VxywP0QdhIkmc50FyB_f6ZxsLzPeVPrg9LQQhVwI7A3SW1svHq6Z_VD6AdhZlGxdTr4httlNe_t7VXAfI66VrnpTQiF5dQnzE6MvCMQLxdBxP0OAWMreU/s2048/FourthofJuly+119.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBVbhWVa-Cccx2n3vUZeNl22VxywP0QdhIkmc50FyB_f6ZxsLzPeVPrg9LQQhVwI7A3SW1svHq6Z_VD6AdhZlGxdTr4httlNe_t7VXAfI66VrnpTQiF5dQnzE6MvCMQLxdBxP0OAWMreU/w513-h385/FourthofJuly+119.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><p>Thank you all for loving our Beano. </p><p>Love,</p><p>Katharine</p><p><br /></p>Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-76008990611143527822020-01-14T08:42:00.003-05:002020-01-14T08:42:47.545-05:00Two Months to 40 (A stream of consciousness) <div style="text-align: center;">
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I'm having a HARD time accepting that I'm approaching 40. And by approaching I mean I'm on a bullet train and they have already announced this gigantic mid-life benchmark is the next stop. I still think I'm in my late 20's or early 30's. I swear College was just 10 years ago. </div>
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The truth is I have not been taking good care of myself. I probably drink a tad too much wine. I don't exercise. At all. I'm ashamed of it but I can't figure out when. I used to do a lot of night work, like 8:30pm-10:30pm and I'm the one on kid bus duty at 6:52am so I couldn't swing a 5am workout, I tried those and I was exhausted by 9pm. Lunch was out of the question because I worked straight through it for the overtime or used that for errands/kid appointments/etc. And don't even ask me how many diet cokes I drink a day. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyEMIQvgaNQzJ9uvaIJGqoR4rptfwdndiY_nM0fKnoGyzHOV9sB5t9kJ2XGa1N0cj89QebLmKRtbzDfM9O3mU-Q4647eZxzsGc487fdbXbvXXHc7cXjNLfA7m3i_1Moh8eNnM3YnwsnI/s1600/IMG_5602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyEMIQvgaNQzJ9uvaIJGqoR4rptfwdndiY_nM0fKnoGyzHOV9sB5t9kJ2XGa1N0cj89QebLmKRtbzDfM9O3mU-Q4647eZxzsGc487fdbXbvXXHc7cXjNLfA7m3i_1Moh8eNnM3YnwsnI/s400/IMG_5602.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Looking back on the past decade of my 30's I see the two greatest gifts of my life; Ford and Amelie. They have brought me more joy (and have aged me more) than I could have ever imagined. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArn1vzPGHADq-cjT_YQ1ryal78wOzdXkgOzGgAgfqSyMzxsas0UlyMXgauWi-7qRh6DS4Whaz6uOkUzYT5yGOIad2208J_ddnq08mtrRVj17JqH7pQof-A-U9nmo2TtTb_ZffsTfJw6s/s1600/IMG_24366.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArn1vzPGHADq-cjT_YQ1ryal78wOzdXkgOzGgAgfqSyMzxsas0UlyMXgauWi-7qRh6DS4Whaz6uOkUzYT5yGOIad2208J_ddnq08mtrRVj17JqH7pQof-A-U9nmo2TtTb_ZffsTfJw6s/s400/IMG_24366.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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This was 31</div>
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I have made it a point lately to slow down and just sit with them. Listen to Amelie's made up language, hold Ford's hand coming back from the bus stop. Children, and me admittedly, really just want your time and attention and love.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDG3PtqNsCo1xQt7CPtM0nJI9Ydr2kNSezzFILt_PVVAceafFyTEvxhSpyDOMqfP6FRyhZGbGkbxWRBFnbruGcZoiWddJR7VCMZ8zs9vsuuKLpuAee-BFR13npKBYGD4n11zorOZk0uno/s1600/IMG_1141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDG3PtqNsCo1xQt7CPtM0nJI9Ydr2kNSezzFILt_PVVAceafFyTEvxhSpyDOMqfP6FRyhZGbGkbxWRBFnbruGcZoiWddJR7VCMZ8zs9vsuuKLpuAee-BFR13npKBYGD4n11zorOZk0uno/s400/IMG_1141.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 34</div>
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Looking back I also see my Mom's journey with Alzheimer's. I know I shouldn't but if you asked me to describe my 30's in one word it would be sh*tshow. I was raising kids and working and helping with Mom whenever I could. I might have been two hours away but I think Dad and I talked almost every single morning about BB. Her status, things she did, what we thought we should do next, lots of tears. It was an impossible decade. It was an incredible decade. But I will admit it has left me exhausted. BB's Alzheimer's spanned the entire 10 years. Her diagnosis was in 2011 (but could have been earlier) and her death in 2018.... with me just now slowly climbing out of this hell hole of grief. Last summer I spoke for an Alzheimer's event and one of the keynote speakers said something that has resonated with me ever since. Alzheimer's changed the trajectory of his family's life. Forever. All future holidays and birthdays and memories were permanently changed and altered from the disease and what it did to them. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-vTz2kZY0x2QinXlht7p35hDe1IMBxi0ylrGR_xZlSi_G8Tb6VqfS1Te8n6u9DSjfE8BYrhlgUW5qskYPUtkVLwmb-WgYDWAjpUN26MnPe5jfFrpDWh1GvTEh442m3p1QXJl8XCJYjI/s1600/Photo+Feb+03%252C+8+23+15+AM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW-vTz2kZY0x2QinXlht7p35hDe1IMBxi0ylrGR_xZlSi_G8Tb6VqfS1Te8n6u9DSjfE8BYrhlgUW5qskYPUtkVLwmb-WgYDWAjpUN26MnPe5jfFrpDWh1GvTEh442m3p1QXJl8XCJYjI/s400/Photo+Feb+03%252C+8+23+15+AM.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 3</div>
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The other reason I'm thinking so much about my birthday is that birthdays were a big deal growing up. Unless a huge snow canceled my party (which happened multiple times) we always always celebrated. St. Patty day themes, Mom hiding Easter eggs for all the kids, a super fancy dinner at Joe's Crab Shack with a Matchbox 20 concert. Even into my 20's my parents would send flowers to wherever I was working. My Mom's love language (besides telling everyone she loved them) was giving gifts. I think the most spoiled I ever was, was the birthday after we got married. My Mom and Dad got me my first Barbour jacket (which come to think of it needs to be re-waxed) and Juliska goodies and fancy napkins and literally showed up with balloons and flowers. It never mattered the actual gift, it was her presentation of the day. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZCPXy1omY-dhgssjJlqVl52Hrx6C-X1ChOH236HpUnJgYB2qnA26fGXsEYjWDrXfTfOV10690v_YUXSwb7zK7N7Xx82BZHwyJ2Y0Tcx17eABWEi6nOYwJ00gzwKhwbGK2WgbdnILxrQ/s1600/25673_402128879458_8261517_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="309" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZCPXy1omY-dhgssjJlqVl52Hrx6C-X1ChOH236HpUnJgYB2qnA26fGXsEYjWDrXfTfOV10690v_YUXSwb7zK7N7Xx82BZHwyJ2Y0Tcx17eABWEi6nOYwJ00gzwKhwbGK2WgbdnILxrQ/s400/25673_402128879458_8261517_n.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>
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This was 30 </div>
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My 30th was a favorite, when asked what I wanted to do I told my parents I just wanted a good old fashioned Boylan house party with Dad's red beans. And party we did..</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8FXZrCoMlDs6Zr6ETP-_FH71SSy0393rPCqFzeWXIjbfAGOFQ4H3ARHO6SvOqKQ2oZKXcP7q1kSo_Il4bMQOkc2SZnmt608VayAVpqkrc0KDEXIyHp84ZHbWnN_kOrjTqCQsGazK5Eo/s1600/1929690_11862189458_1174_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8FXZrCoMlDs6Zr6ETP-_FH71SSy0393rPCqFzeWXIjbfAGOFQ4H3ARHO6SvOqKQ2oZKXcP7q1kSo_Il4bMQOkc2SZnmt608VayAVpqkrc0KDEXIyHp84ZHbWnN_kOrjTqCQsGazK5Eo/s400/1929690_11862189458_1174_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 28</div>
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I worked in an office back then and me and the "guys" (the 10 guys in the QA lab at the software company I worked for) always went out for me and Willie's bday....complete with cake and basketball brackets. Don't laugh but if you don't have an office environment your birthday is forgotten. And you might be like seriously Katharine? We will drop off a Publix cake...but it was just the camaraderie. Don't lie, you like facebook birthdays. I do too.</div>
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Our first lunch at Roosters was with my best friend Elie and her soon to be husband and happened to be on my birthday. Some years I would just pamper myself, pedicures, blow-outs, and lunch at Dean and Deluca (RIP). Last year I bolted to Florida as it was also Mom's one year anniversary. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHe1k1_LfnhOiuiEC8MfqYIThzdjAAEtCXxuZg3XpTzw1Y4DeeQMWE96fkBGAtE8qltCCnhxG4Ie6ZuZedYT3R4t6HKpX5ootSuD2zNRroVLSm9AFs-pBSjIfjh67RvWFuW9IHYg5rDIQ/s1600/IMG_1060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHe1k1_LfnhOiuiEC8MfqYIThzdjAAEtCXxuZg3XpTzw1Y4DeeQMWE96fkBGAtE8qltCCnhxG4Ie6ZuZedYT3R4t6HKpX5ootSuD2zNRroVLSm9AFs-pBSjIfjh67RvWFuW9IHYg5rDIQ/s320/IMG_1060.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This was 35</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQk0ZUiYKFzhYVrISQ1hJIP91bZpK6_mPpn3Y3eDZykEPU5AtzBI2nb9tvUe5ibRbN1DXaAGTD4qXeWowYd6nUh4LbaHXZ2Q2d3TuPIEjldoYI3LM68LMqedrWhgtM6TREcNFVqx5ucAM/s1600/IMG_7623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQk0ZUiYKFzhYVrISQ1hJIP91bZpK6_mPpn3Y3eDZykEPU5AtzBI2nb9tvUe5ibRbN1DXaAGTD4qXeWowYd6nUh4LbaHXZ2Q2d3TuPIEjldoYI3LM68LMqedrWhgtM6TREcNFVqx5ucAM/s400/IMG_7623.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 37</div>
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This year I think I'm just having a girls weekend in Asheville. And maybe one before with College friends. And maybe another in May. Or I might just bolt to some quiet beach house stocked with wine and books. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXxHfFtu1Um-_0ihHxHSEns8xpiHbVEbqDKsi7NiF1A6rmsHA2bccjkChvNlj3UiW1Utyy-qCXf6FCzJtFpS7KrHhQSLwETdklztsd3p5iIAR97bC6vOfIqaqcEhlJEg7W9X88ET2rf0/s1600/1923605_9968304458_7694_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXxHfFtu1Um-_0ihHxHSEns8xpiHbVEbqDKsi7NiF1A6rmsHA2bccjkChvNlj3UiW1Utyy-qCXf6FCzJtFpS7KrHhQSLwETdklztsd3p5iIAR97bC6vOfIqaqcEhlJEg7W9X88ET2rf0/s400/1923605_9968304458_7694_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 27 (And a bachelorette party)</div>
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But I'm not excited about it. It's 40. I'm scared of genetics. My grandparents didn't live past 65. My mother died at 69. I cannot see in dim light. Anyone else? I hate driving at night. I have some weird thing called meibomian gland dysfunction. I have receding gums, and from the Wells pic below I <b>must</b> have a receding hairline. Seriously why is my hair still falling out? I thought for sure we would be in our forever house by now (Like one with a garage and a play room and HARDWOOD FLOORS). I thought I would know what I wanted to do when I grew up by now. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6Ynsc6Th-LsJ7O_Kauskdj7AprSgePrAFlwBNTu_Tbvim8sKxlmyg9AD-YNH5e29AukedOmFQUVizpEPFPQE1kNjpPaBZwZAn9RT_YAGCFm7n1kJmiJRX6670siG0KXwjhlVwgIcZeY/s1600/Facetune_13-01-2020-18-48-21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH6Ynsc6Th-LsJ7O_Kauskdj7AprSgePrAFlwBNTu_Tbvim8sKxlmyg9AD-YNH5e29AukedOmFQUVizpEPFPQE1kNjpPaBZwZAn9RT_YAGCFm7n1kJmiJRX6670siG0KXwjhlVwgIcZeY/s400/Facetune_13-01-2020-18-48-21.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Today marks 10 years at my current job (I'm writing this waiting for a meeting to start) and sometimes I feel like I'm treading water career-wise. I'm insanely grateful that I can work form home and balance kid duties and work duties but approaching 40 has me wondering if I could have done more? Have I settled for mediocrity? I definitely thought I would have Leontine Linens (or Matouk or Biscuit bedding) by now and would have fixed what my children did to my abs. (They straight massacred them) I still don't even know what wrinkle cream works with acne prone skin and NEVER figured out how to do beach waves. Seriously, why can 14 year olds do this and I cannot.</div>
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Is this a pity party? I don't care if anyone thinks so. (Repeat that to myself b/c I do care but I'm a project) I'm sure someone else out there feels like this and this will resonate with them. If there is one thing I am working on its to stop caring so much what people think of me. This is HARD HARD work for a people pleasing insecure anxiety ridden <a href="https://www.crystalknows.com/enneagram/type-2" target="_blank">Enneagram 2</a>. But I am the happiest when I am being 100% Katharine. And if I'm being the best mother and wife and friend I can be all while remaining my silly enthusiastic self, I think that is a win.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurohmznLPgswahbzS2QQ-1poigdirX6dIb7_npekgnLL8r-YNaN3Zh6Dqj_G7IjyoQ2dtvmIMexxY6lQ70nCjs78nr0hwxNKVSzp38W9g68lTBERa6TIyjvhx7UZ8dUGRpLSUvzpAh6M/s1600/1929690_11862214458_6932_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgurohmznLPgswahbzS2QQ-1poigdirX6dIb7_npekgnLL8r-YNaN3Zh6Dqj_G7IjyoQ2dtvmIMexxY6lQ70nCjs78nr0hwxNKVSzp38W9g68lTBERa6TIyjvhx7UZ8dUGRpLSUvzpAh6M/s400/1929690_11862214458_6932_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 28</div>
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I daydream about what Mom would have planned for this year. It has been so long since she had her own thoughts I honestly have no idea. In 2015 I invited a group of girls up to Asheville and I went up a day early to hang birthday banners. I remember being on my tippie toes with push pins in my teeth decorating the mantle and my Mom asking, what is that for? She didn't know. And I think ever since then I have made it my responsibility to take charge of that day. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqMEThmP4uI4hxKaPFfjVT8r2SuK5BtPJOZWyJNcyGFd_nErU6KsT7z3CVhQTcxodi_2OpLN1Pyog1kQh_2yIzlkb7YYfKYZfoxhmmJvE0GbxsQvSkL0fKt0rPWmu850jOKkDlOJ1JPA/s1600/IMG_5780.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1256" data-original-width="1242" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqMEThmP4uI4hxKaPFfjVT8r2SuK5BtPJOZWyJNcyGFd_nErU6KsT7z3CVhQTcxodi_2OpLN1Pyog1kQh_2yIzlkb7YYfKYZfoxhmmJvE0GbxsQvSkL0fKt0rPWmu850jOKkDlOJ1JPA/s400/IMG_5780.jpg" width="395" /></a></div>
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Pedis and Blowouts with BB in 2014</div>
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So to all you 1980's babies, tell me what you are doing for self care. How you are celebrating? And if you want to watch two kids and two dogs so we can run away to an island just text me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiej2ygD5b_29f9ZBf_CE_EZCZYpRW095Ap5f6EFjFEJoVCEBBK4VOa4N_QeKzmKCMCw-o_KMouh6tp9zMkgEbWQOQBn2o7jN9onVzODQH8ieGb5b5UgKmNaEIPxAinHWY2zxZvEdg5Ooo/s1600/IMG_0883+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiej2ygD5b_29f9ZBf_CE_EZCZYpRW095Ap5f6EFjFEJoVCEBBK4VOa4N_QeKzmKCMCw-o_KMouh6tp9zMkgEbWQOQBn2o7jN9onVzODQH8ieGb5b5UgKmNaEIPxAinHWY2zxZvEdg5Ooo/s400/IMG_0883+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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This was 26</div>
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<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-1524140920263271842019-09-10T07:52:00.000-04:002019-09-10T07:59:10.708-04:00The Unrelenting Tide<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3v7b39enMLR3RWlzauhElvykGPXaPlqVo8IfmkW9RclXkZ6oV_X4O-a-VF3DcApvuLEQCIJJFtCy-CC_18gssaiAyiXXEWmIFd_0b2nepZY-_DvBbLmTKYoW-vx_fgb322M32eL4H4QI/s1600/IMG_6003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3v7b39enMLR3RWlzauhElvykGPXaPlqVo8IfmkW9RclXkZ6oV_X4O-a-VF3DcApvuLEQCIJJFtCy-CC_18gssaiAyiXXEWmIFd_0b2nepZY-_DvBbLmTKYoW-vx_fgb322M32eL4H4QI/s400/IMG_6003.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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In 2011 a tidal shift took hold of our BB. A disease became an ebbing tide, slowly taking my mother piece by piece out to sea. A sea that became so angry and violent there was no chance of rescue. There would be periods of slack tides, and even a glimpse of the water rising and toying with our hopes that she had returned. But each day it carried her farther and farther away with its relentless pull. This disease decimated her motor skills, erasing any memory of how to cut a rug to Van Morrison with my father. She could no longer drive to get her caramel macchiato, much less hold a caramel macchiato in her hand. Little bits and pieces of the intricacies that made her who she was slipped under the dark waters never to be seen again. All in seven years.</div>
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This is what Alzheimer's does. It takes. It steals. There is no resistance. There are no life preservers. No Coast Guard. While it feels like an ebbing tide to outsiders, it is a rip tide to the hearts of loved ones. The family survives only with the expertise of the Alzheimer's Association, Memory Care, Hospice, support from friends and family, and from those that have lost their own to this unforgiving sea.</div>
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Grief ironically enough is also its own tide. You pray for the slack tide so that you can resume your life but it is rare, grief is ever present and always moving. It can be slow enough to allow you to miss your triggers, or it can be a tidal wave of emotions over seeing a grandmother with her family at swim lessons. A grandmother filming her grandson. She looked to be older than BB and could still use a phone. I sometimes get perplexed when I see people older than my mother doing things like driving, feeding themselves, shopping, using technology. Simple every day tasks my mother couldn't do in her mid 60's.</div>
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All I have remaining are stories told to me through her belongings. Her rosary found in the back of her dresser drawer, lip gloss tubes, expired licenses, seventy eight pairs of mismatched earrings, her favorite boat shoes, that perfect yellow top from Talbot's, blank greeting cards, matchbooks and letters.</div>
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And my own memories of her. For now. What if Alzheimer's takes those from me? What if Amelie and Ford have to watch my deterioration the way I experienced BB's? What if Amelie has to help me use the bathroom, bathe me, dress me, put me in a nursing home, listen to me scream obscenities at her for a four hour car ride. These are real fears. I haven't been able to start fundraising this year because I haven't been able to write. Is it because I don't have any more stories about my beautiful mother or is it something else? Is my mind slipping?</div>
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There is STILL no cure for this disease. No prevention. No miracle drug. Only emails and articles about a trial with mice somewhere that might have shown something.</div>
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Please consider donating to our <a href="http://act.alz.org/goto/kreweBB" target="_blank">Krewe BB</a> in this year's Charlotte's Walk to End Alzheimer's. We HAVE to end this disease. We have to give hope to MILLIONS, yes Millions, of adult children that have been through the hell of watching a parent die from Alzheimer's.</div>
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Katharine's Walk Page <a href="http://act.alz.org/goto/kreweBB" target="_blank">HERE</a></div>
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<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-84347659929753151822019-02-27T09:00:00.000-05:002019-02-27T09:00:11.472-05:00Hints of Spring and Reminders of Hospice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This past year has been a blur. But this stretch from Christmas to my Mom's anniversary has been cold, dark, very damp and well....just sad. It's a stretch with no major holidays except Mardi Gras and if you aren't in New Orleans you are just reminded you aren't....well....in New Orleans.</div>
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These days the stretch of our Hospice care is replaying in my mind every single day. Was this the day I went up there? Was this the day she smiled? Which day did we begin to stop feeding her? Should I have gone up there more? Daffodils are blooming just as they were at the Elizabeth House we moved her to. An abnormally warm sunny day reminds me of the when we all sat outside her patio and snuck in a much needed bloody mary. Unannounced flurries take me back to the morning of her funeral when it snowed in Asheville.</div>
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I think because my birthday is literally five days before her death; the anticipatory countdown for March 14th is now also aligned with her anticipatory decline ending on March 19th. March in the past was for visits from mom and dad. She made birthdays a <b>big</b> deal. Not with lavish gifts and facebook posts but with party planning, thoughtful little touches, hugs and attention. They would come to town bearing too many gifts, flowers, candles, red beans from the freezer, and we would do our annual boozy lunch at Roosters to watch the ACC Tournament. Mom would help me decide on how to spruce up a few rooms, Dad would fix this and that, hang these and those, and they would leave my house a little more beautiful than when they had arrived.</div>
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If you think I'm being dramatic it really is just part of my personality. My Kangaroo Court punishment back in the 90's (a camp thing) was that everything reminded me of something else. This is preschool soup! I smell rain coming in 30 minutes! Definitely the same hairspray as Mom's AquaNet! </div>
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Everywhere I look signs of spring remind me of Mom. I hear the birds outside singing and the <a href="https://youtu.be/mWVa08fpnXg" target="_blank">Rufous Towhee</a> says "Drink your Teaaaa". My mama taught me that. My parents used to fix cocktails and have me walk around their garden with them quizzing me on all the flowers beginning to bloom. Crocus were always first and usually met their demise from a late snowfall. Then the daffodills, tulips, dogwood, iris, I could go on and on. So many nights we would run outside with sheets and heavy rocks to save our plants from a <a href="https://www.farmersalmanac.com/what-is-dogwood-winter-12086" target="_blank">Dogwood Winter</a>. Now I have her iris in my garden. I have a gigantic Sweet Olive that when it blooms smells exactly like walks in the Garden District I took with my parents during our few visits back to their hometown. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPAkhmZfzMQv59EhS0SO_MsJvGqQD7tMxgy8kL4u75bzbZE5_hnr5yXc1MDhMsPQOszk73xt0Z0S70sJcb6NoavSSA3avSQMXtoeAY41F-qdM4Br0PSO46ul7YGcWAIhKxSfxgB44NhA/s1600/32151517_10156494935304459_4172241019288420352_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIPAkhmZfzMQv59EhS0SO_MsJvGqQD7tMxgy8kL4u75bzbZE5_hnr5yXc1MDhMsPQOszk73xt0Z0S70sJcb6NoavSSA3avSQMXtoeAY41F-qdM4Br0PSO46ul7YGcWAIhKxSfxgB44NhA/s400/32151517_10156494935304459_4172241019288420352_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I'm an empath, and a pisces, and someone so in love with routines and traditions and memories. I should busy my mind and throw myself into exercising or reading or organizing but the weight of what we went through just a year ago is heavy and I am tired. I miss her. I feel like the <a href="https://johnpavlovitz.com/2017/01/05/the-grieving-need-you-most-after-the-funeral/" target="_blank">John Pavlovitz</a> article in that everyone has moved on and I have not. You don't get over a death, you just learn to live with the pain. </div>
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I miss my Mother. Even the bed-stricken, mumbling, agitated, docile, almost unrecognizable version she became. I miss holding her hand, brushing her hair out of her face, and the tiny flash of recognition I could see in her eyes when I would come into her room. Nobody loves you like your mother. Not because they can't, but because they didn't carry you in their womb for almost ten months. Because they didn't have your heart beating inside their body. Because that love is once in a lifetime and unique to her.</div>
Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-5506244756498570812019-01-14T08:37:00.001-05:002019-01-14T11:09:45.466-05:00Our Parents are Dying<div style="text-align: center;">
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I have wanted to write this post so many times and I stopped because I was afraid of what people would think of the title. Which is ridiculous because what I write is mostly for me, and also for the people that are going through the same heartbreak.</div>
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I remember when my first friend got married. And then the 2nd, and then 3rd, 4th, 5th...etc. Wedding season was the absolute best. Sure we complained about the costs but we were invited to open bar dance parties for entire weekends. It was pure bliss. </div>
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Then the babies came. I loved baby showers mainly because I had no idea about gear, clothing...etc. Then came baby sprinkles (2nd showers) and now come 40th birthday parties.</div>
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But for some of us amidst all the celebratory milestones of our 30's, comes the worst phase of them all. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Our parents are dying</span></b>. </div>
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Maybe not for some of you, but for some of us we are knee deep in it. I entered this phase in 2011 when Mom's diagnosis was official and still haven't quite left. I don't think you ever graduate this stage until you become orphans. </div>
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In 2016 my Aunt died from sudden cardiac arrest. She was the Aunt I saw the most, and the one I inherited so many traits from. She was a Rockbrook girl, an OCD planner, a Queen of Oberon, and a damn good time. </div>
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Dad and his indescribable sister Aunt Kathleen Cowart</div>
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In 2017 my dear friend lost her father. And then my crazy Nashville cousins lost their father. In 2018 I lost my mother. And in 2018 two other friends lost their mothers to Alzheimer's. Before the end of 2018 two other friends lost their fathers. </div>
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Over the past seven days a friend has lost his father, another friend has lost his father, and this weekend my friend lost her father to Alzheimer's. </div>
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I didn't imagine it would be like this. I still think I'm in my early 30's. (Spoiler Alert: I'm not.) Grandparents are supposed to be trekking to Disney with us. They should be telling inappropriate jokes to our children, micromanaging our holiday menus, and lecturing us on thank you notes. I still haven't been duck hunting or fly fishing with my Dad and am worried we are running out of time. (Dad is fine, I think Mom's death has me on high alert)</div>
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My Grandparents Kay and Bob Boylan with their dear friends Big T and Betty Ann Myer</div>
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My parents were both orphans by the time they were 35. All my grandparents died young and while I was only 3 at the time I never understood the importance of grandparents in kids lives, much less in their own children's lives. How did my parents deal with losing all of their parents so young? They picked up and moved from their beloved New Orleans to Arden, NC and I'm sure the change of scenery must have helped. I don't remember ever seeing Mom upset but I was also so young. I remember growing up hearing stories of the infamous Bob Boylan. I remember Mom sometimes getting teary eyed saying she wished her parents could have known me. My brother is 13 years older than me so he got to at least know this older generation a little more than I did.</div>
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My Mother with her mother, Dorothy Duffy Brown</div>
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But since I never had grandparents I didn't know what I was missing. Mom, how did you cope with the death of your mother? What were those early years in Asheville like? Were you jealous of your friends who had two healthy parents? Did it strengthen your relationship with your children? I feel like my mother's death has made me be more intentional with my time and love with my kids. Amelie's bedtime routine takes forever but sometimes I tell my brain to shut up and just lay there and play with her hair until she falls asleep.</div>
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I don't like this phase. But it is one we will all inevitably go through, I just never thought it would be now. I figured they would all live to at least 80? Mom never saw 70.</div>
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I want you to know that if you have a friend in this phase that reaching out, maybe even monthly, or weekly, is the best thing you can do. It is lonely and sad and isolating. I have a separate post I will write about the best things you can do when a friend has lost a parent, but if you have a friend going through the early stages here are a few things you can do.</div>
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Send a card. </div>
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Send a text/DM/facebook message.</div>
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Drop off something to their house.</div>
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Ask with interest how their parent is doing. </div>
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It hurts more than I thought and I get a new message from a friend what feels like once a week now with Hospice questions. I want those friends to know that I will answer any question with love and am here for anything you need.</div>
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Lastly, cherish your parents. Think about your own parenting and look back at all the amazing things they did for you. What I hear from other grandparents is they just want time, pictures and love from their kids/grandkids. Make sure you are sending it to them!!!</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-32786009909521842332019-01-10T08:39:00.002-05:002019-01-10T08:39:13.804-05:00Marie Kondo + Tidying + Grief<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35U7JybiuiBTA_Ls3UodEfthc0myXGw-J8zhf2Rpmlm2s4dXSnYqpybJqe1eoa-I_dc8DBjCZ2PhJsiF8bm8wFdhlJynQw9OyygDKiGOfypqqhZy_qQ_8EgOyox5vcF2eueTFa9UVqdM/s1600/IMG_1116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35U7JybiuiBTA_Ls3UodEfthc0myXGw-J8zhf2Rpmlm2s4dXSnYqpybJqe1eoa-I_dc8DBjCZ2PhJsiF8bm8wFdhlJynQw9OyygDKiGOfypqqhZy_qQ_8EgOyox5vcF2eueTFa9UVqdM/s400/IMG_1116.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I have had the <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-life-changing-magic-of-tidying-up-marie-kondo/1119564096?ean=9781607747314&st=PLA&sid=BNB_NOOK+EBooks&sourceId=PLAGoNA&dpid=tdtve346c&2sid=Google_c&gclid=CjwKCAiA99vhBRBnEiwAwpk-uEP5T6-KbHHS5ZZoNUdwQvqIr7fKw2Dht7xT-5NKM1SlKPl1Lw3VFhoCY2cQAvD_BwE#/" target="_blank">Marie Kondo</a> book on my bedside table for years. YEARS. I have a LOT of books on my bedside table I would like to read. I just never get to read. I think I read 1 book a year at the beach. I'm a heavy sleeper (or I was) and by the time my head hits the pillow I'm out. (Thank you Melatonin gummies)</div>
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Anyways, unless you have been living under a rock you know all about Kondo's new show on Netflix, tidying up.</div>
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I have OCD but no time. My house seems tidy but don't open any doors or drawers or look in any corners. The hard truth is we don't have a playroom and our formal living room is my office, so we are out of creative space for kid stuff. That's an entirely separate post. I have been using Marie's method to slowly get out some of the stuff we have accumulated over the 12 years we have been in this house. I do like her idea of thanking something before giving it away. I saw the Brave Little Toaster too young and I sometimes think my "stuff" has feelings. Yes I'm crazy. Yes I sleep with a baby blanket. Yes I'm a total SAP.</div>
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I leave Netflix on in the background while I work and the episode about the widow started. I cried most of the way through. And when she began her work on his pile of clothes? Sobbing. And can I just say her kids are total assholes for not helping her through this process???</div>
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When Mom moved into the nursing home we got rid of a large amount of her clothes. Things she couldn't fit in anymore, things that were too complicated to get on, and things she had bought in the more advanced years of Alzheimer's while she still had a check card. For example: Team Edward shirts and the stuff at Chico's that even Michael Phelp's mom wouldn't wear. Yep, Mom was die hard team Edward.</div>
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My brother, father and I took about 10 huge garbage bags to our Church in Asheville for their crisis assistance ministry of all BB's purses, shoes, extra clothes. It was cathartic as we laughed at things she had bought, cried at some of her favorites, and kept the most special items. Mom was a giver and I know she would love the idea of other women enjoying her beautiful things.</div>
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When Mom died last year I took home those most special items. But I should reclarify that and say mostly special items. To this day I am still having a hard time of getting rid of her things. I think I know in my heart I should save maybe 10 items? But what about all the other cute cord jackets and long tunic tops she was so famous for? And looked so chic and adorable in? She had a tinier build than I do so lots of it I can't wear. I have her first pair of Kate Spade's. That was a big purchase for her and I.....she wore them to my rehearsal dinner. And her first Tory Burch Reva's are waiting for Amelie. </div>
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I just don't want her to go. I know she is gone but once all her clothes are gone her scent is gone. I think it is the time of year we are entering. We were literally on BB watch at this time last year. She was in Hospice at this time but not yet at the Hospice house. </div>
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As we approach the year mark I feel the pressure to move on. To begin my life without always bringing my mother up. But here's the deal: I can't yet. I watched her die for seven years. We went through a heartbreaking and agonizing process of watching my mother's mind die. Alzheimer's is brain death. And since there is still no cure I'm not going to stop talking about her. Not until we find a cure. For those friends of mine that have been through this, how did you reduce the amount of "things" you held onto? </div>
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I want to leave you with this amazing company that I have been cyberstalking for years. I think I have finally picked two pieces to send but it has been hard to choose. </div>
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<b><a href="http://www.littlegreyline.com/" target="_blank">Little Grey Line</a></b> is in Raleigh and she creates the most beautiful works of art with clothing. Here are just a few samples. I think Amelie will have a new beach dress for this summer and Ford/Kody/Wilder will have new bow ties. *If* I can narrow down my choices!</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-54875181804276135312018-09-19T07:11:00.000-04:002018-09-19T07:11:07.381-04:00Six Months <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My beautiful mother died six months ago. I wish I could say it has gotten easier, but if anything, life has gotten so much harder. </div>
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The moment she died... and every second leading up to her funeral.... was planning. And in some crazy way it was enthusiastic planning about a celebration we knew was coming. The Jambalaya was on the stove, the friends on the road, her monogrammed napkins ordered. We were able to see so many people that she loved and in return felt their love for her. We reminisced, toasted, cried, laughed. It was absolutely perfect.</div>
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And then I came home.</div>
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And then the days and months that followed became quiet, and lonely, and I became angry. I don't have any new BB stories, videos, pictures. The amount I have is finite. I can't hold her hand, stroke her hair, see that almost distant twinkle in her eye. Read a text, or an email, or hear a voicemail. I only have one recording of her voice singing "Show me the Way to go Home". I can't hear her mutter I love you one last time. Amelie will point at her picture and say, "your Mommy is in heaven." </div>
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This disease manifested itself in my mother's brain and slowly, over the course of seven years, ripped every shred of her being away. </div>
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It began with little things, missing words, getting lost, paranoia seeping in. </div>
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Then major paranoia, inability to do simple things, anger, lots of anger at loved ones. Mostly loved ones. </div>
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Then it took away her freedoms. To drive, to work, to type, to read. To garden, to dance, to play solitaire.</div>
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Then it took away her basic necessities. To speak, to hug, to walk, to talk. To recognize us.</div>
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Alzheimer's doesn't hold back. It will dissolve every single molecule that built the person you loved. It will make you watch as they can no longer use the bathroom, as they entertain crazy fears in their brains. As they blame you for the most ridiculous things. As they forget who they are, who you are, what anything is for. They will drink hand sanitizer, they will wash their hands in the toilet, they will blame things broken in the house on bears. BEARS.</div>
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I watched this disease do this to my Mom. I watched even before her official diagnosis in 2011. I watched after diagnosis as her test numbers went down, as her dependencies went up, as we lost her day by day and second by second.</div>
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She was taken from us not by a Tsunami but a slow eroding merciless tide and we were helpless. </div>
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I miss her every single day. I miss her so much now with the holidays coming. I can't go into a HomeGoods without sobbing at the seasonal decor. I need her in this rough exhausting phase of motherhood/wifehood/livelihood. How did she do it all? How did she do it all with a smile on her face and fresh flowers in the house? How did she always look beautiful and smell like Chanel? What was her secret? What did she not get to tell me about how hard and wonderful her late 30's/early 40's were? </div>
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It is unfair what this disease did to her. And to us. And to the entire community of people that loved her. She should be here, letting Gumbo up on her bed. Dancing with my father on their deck, helping me decorate for the holidays or just hugging me. Holding my hand. Stroking my hair. She should be at Jazzercise with her friends, at Thanksgiving at Chipmunk Hill. I miss her touch. The soothing touch of a mother to let you know it will all be okay.</div>
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She should be here. And Alzheimer's took her from us. </div>
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There is still no cure. And still no prevention. This is why I walk and why I obnoxiously ask for money every single year. I won't stop until there is a cure. </div>
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My Walk donation Link:</div>
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http://act.alz.org/site/TR/Walk2018/NC-WesternCarolina?px=6247682&pg=personal&fr_id=11364</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKL6EElqzbjqTtFcVloa2l-UuikzvrP77G3DP4hSj3CYqX_huG1zC3WzIvFh8kGfsTHsmX87bDvhyphenhyphenM631VrRUcsqvwBASAQrGOYdzPklm5CMv0nBGrOQXJ99hXbmic9VZ_xWVUcrLEjF4/s1600/IMG_5340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKL6EElqzbjqTtFcVloa2l-UuikzvrP77G3DP4hSj3CYqX_huG1zC3WzIvFh8kGfsTHsmX87bDvhyphenhyphenM631VrRUcsqvwBASAQrGOYdzPklm5CMv0nBGrOQXJ99hXbmic9VZ_xWVUcrLEjF4/s400/IMG_5340.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-83016066432573335952018-08-07T07:51:00.000-04:002018-08-07T07:51:10.494-04:00#CLT for Charlotte<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhD8Zv-qGLP5LkMoqAbfJdM1_QlTmj7Kry1uH_nzHCRcBO74ZzUCSIvesVcg-_xKMxo7TzITQDo-NiNBRi44spqsxGHQ6bljaqoEi01-k1cRAPxaV3iNlvimcT1nqgDWT97b-nzHhdN58/s1600/Charlotte-Robson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="382" data-original-width="640" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhD8Zv-qGLP5LkMoqAbfJdM1_QlTmj7Kry1uH_nzHCRcBO74ZzUCSIvesVcg-_xKMxo7TzITQDo-NiNBRi44spqsxGHQ6bljaqoEi01-k1cRAPxaV3iNlvimcT1nqgDWT97b-nzHhdN58/s640/Charlotte-Robson.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Our Mom community here in Charlotte is a strong one. One of my friends I have met through this community and through blogging is going through the unimaginable. April Robson writes for <a href="http://www.smidgeofthis.com/" target="_blank">Smidge of This</a> and has always reached out to me during my fundraising for Alzheimer's and just in general as Mom's health continued to decline. She makes hair bows for little girls and created one just for Krewe BB and donated her proceeds to our walk. </div>
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Earlier this week April's daughter Charlotte was diagnosed with <a href="https://www.ninds.nih.gov/Disorders/All-Disorders/Leukodystrophy-Information-Page" target="_blank">Leukodystrophy</a>, a rare, incurable and terminal disease. As you can imagine her family is heartbroken with this diagnosis and they are going to spend their next moments loving and caring for their baby girl. </div>
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Currently the family has asked for us to let them have their privacy but if you want to help you can do the three following things immediately:</div>
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1. Prayer. This disease can be genetic so we are asking for prayers for the health of her two other children. Also prayer for Charlotte to be wrapped in love and comfort as there is no treatment plan for her at this time.</div>
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2. A <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/charlotte-robson" target="_blank">Go Fund Me</a> account has been set up for the Robson family. Both April and her husband are self employed and the most of these visits are uncovered. This will also help with meals, care for the other two children, etc.</div>
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3. There is an <a href="https://www.amazon.com/registry/wishlist/7CMKVP4354L/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_ep_ws_ijjzBb8ZTPP77" target="_blank">Amazon wish list</a> to make things a little easier for them.</div>
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April we are all praying for you and your beautiful family and are ready with open arms for anything you could possibly need.</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-46229116709713649782018-07-24T22:33:00.002-04:002018-07-24T22:33:18.407-04:00The "In Memory Of" Flower<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKnxZyPX_-7RLzdj-dIiS4G0zdpYhKP7tE5J1fscq8tA1G9NCKVUwux3qRVzMb3vQpolrp2idRldIT4dBCDCx8IeojE3Z3Wjp5xI7P9Eo3IOGWvW3wWCONjqV_Iz-8I0n_IDi05zwgSg/s1600/14242307_10154556106724459_1036453277440108053_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKnxZyPX_-7RLzdj-dIiS4G0zdpYhKP7tE5J1fscq8tA1G9NCKVUwux3qRVzMb3vQpolrp2idRldIT4dBCDCx8IeojE3Z3Wjp5xI7P9Eo3IOGWvW3wWCONjqV_Iz-8I0n_IDi05zwgSg/s400/14242307_10154556106724459_1036453277440108053_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I apologize for my silence. I have been in grief witness protection. AKA wine lockup. I haven't been able to articulate how this feels. I can partially blame my stellar public school education for my lackluster vocabulary and dump the rest on being a working mother with two and a half kids, a dog, a lagging social life, and summer schedules. </div>
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The truth is; this doesn't get better. It changes. But it doesn't stop. There is no stoppage of unrelenting grief. It alters itself to fit into your lifestyle but it doesn't go away. It permanently changes your personality's chemical makeup. I am not Katharine from 8 years ago. We are unfortunately not the crazy Boylan family you knew and loved. We are different. We are still here, but we are forever changed by this disease.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSg7xFlltiYckRh06o09Q7196g1qnNQ6GnOeVindJ5SytZJP__TxJstOkawoiMmxXG45ViYCvJvE_7NDVWvKi9takf5mrTJCB158nSnBS_bJ8YlNDYVmJ_8y9w5JY5A5uvz3iBp98iplI/s1600/1234186_10152776737064459_7883625122799502189_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSg7xFlltiYckRh06o09Q7196g1qnNQ6GnOeVindJ5SytZJP__TxJstOkawoiMmxXG45ViYCvJvE_7NDVWvKi9takf5mrTJCB158nSnBS_bJ8YlNDYVmJ_8y9w5JY5A5uvz3iBp98iplI/s400/1234186_10152776737064459_7883625122799502189_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I have walked in the Charlotte Walk to End Alzheimer's for 6 years. This will be my 7th. It began with me and Mom in symphony park hoisting our yellow (caregiver) and blue (Alzheimer's patient) flowers. Lunches at Roosters to celebrate our team. Matching shirts. Boozy afternoons on the back porch implementing our fall planting schedule. I carried this torch with and for her. </div>
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This year I will hold a purple flower. The "In Memorial" flower for those that have lost a loved one to Alzheimer's. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99aaEVMP2WSsTVF2vM_vOR4chWI8AkGnyYerm3OTn4s1ReL76hi6tKDM8CAC87tOnE4rwewmt11t-iIFP1oRUPXT0b8UQCSmCIncPh6t54pN1g3En2f43MzRJmzxn6kGjgs_6Ez-fBRY/s1600/1658205_10152785036459459_5079661198618863990_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99aaEVMP2WSsTVF2vM_vOR4chWI8AkGnyYerm3OTn4s1ReL76hi6tKDM8CAC87tOnE4rwewmt11t-iIFP1oRUPXT0b8UQCSmCIncPh6t54pN1g3En2f43MzRJmzxn6kGjgs_6Ez-fBRY/s400/1658205_10152785036459459_5079661198618863990_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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We have lost a blue flower.</div>
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We have lost BB. My mother. My beautiful, glowing, supportive, loving, silly, crazy mother. </div>
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She is so much more than a plastic flower.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcr05w7kIJ9SxArLgNpMIOq6e4bUsDno7vtFNpCfOPO1cl9gs9PfBjYLngYfsQUCf8jS2ulsXJSGJYRsmIcFvTAgCBGWCKwoE959pZ5mlW41Q7RolBzdFyZ-jhZpw65GBSyNmWdgappM/s1600/10703936_10152766696454459_7942108008415606667_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXcr05w7kIJ9SxArLgNpMIOq6e4bUsDno7vtFNpCfOPO1cl9gs9PfBjYLngYfsQUCf8jS2ulsXJSGJYRsmIcFvTAgCBGWCKwoE959pZ5mlW41Q7RolBzdFyZ-jhZpw65GBSyNmWdgappM/s400/10703936_10152766696454459_7942108008415606667_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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But on October 13th I won't have her with me. She will be there in spirit but I can't go hug and kiss her afterwards and tell her how successful we were. I can't hold her hand and help her keep the pace of the course. I can't order her favorite Mushroom Pizza from Roosters and toast her with Dewars. I can't help her into her pajamas and tuck her in with nightlights. I can't touch her. Can't read to her. I can't hold her.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAO4VeWgubA5nEYZ_venRUXBsNV53HEiKPoNwsIVDQiUg6645Qt51_a4jGTRJ656Q6py3qbDSGxwKf_YxMRpo-DaiXF0t1aOU39XH0ikcttHhPTv1sYpILFZtvPMgsUcKoGPD1mrMik8/s1600/21743644_10155794158614459_5477260745766995064_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAAO4VeWgubA5nEYZ_venRUXBsNV53HEiKPoNwsIVDQiUg6645Qt51_a4jGTRJ656Q6py3qbDSGxwKf_YxMRpo-DaiXF0t1aOU39XH0ikcttHhPTv1sYpILFZtvPMgsUcKoGPD1mrMik8/s400/21743644_10155794158614459_5477260745766995064_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I can't call her. Hug her. Listen to a voicemail from her. Read an email from her. She was slowly ripped from me for seven years. I have no digital reminders. </div>
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She is gone.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46D0qiwh3zcTgSe5dbb1e7YWJIsZQzeWivIk-JZStC7Kc-dR12TSfIpGJ9tjGYk25yIalgfrpXFAbQGoFqeG_aR1-ta9Q7UkxcWwJPZwRVE9vSEWb5sbFLjzcuaTSRSvXwuaZAdwe7SA/s1600/12032783_10153690937844459_7816183023618333212_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46D0qiwh3zcTgSe5dbb1e7YWJIsZQzeWivIk-JZStC7Kc-dR12TSfIpGJ9tjGYk25yIalgfrpXFAbQGoFqeG_aR1-ta9Q7UkxcWwJPZwRVE9vSEWb5sbFLjzcuaTSRSvXwuaZAdwe7SA/s400/12032783_10153690937844459_7816183023618333212_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Alzheimer's took her from me. She was 69. My kids are 3 and 7. It isn't fair. I need her so much right now. I'm an exhausted working lonely mom and I need her so much. I have questions that only she can answer. I need a hug. I need a girls weekend. I need MY MOM. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqenWUYVkK7MiD19tNVpKbVakQw09ajK5rc0GmGLukKI9HBcqqipDlgyFk8gAjBpSapldj7RkyQALoY2uvgr5JklcnREHNM-V2v1lz8CKzbHF9GlI4xdQgUlb6qE8ZwTB_Fhw6UoIXmik/s1600/31961114_10156494934659459_6672246683771863040_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqenWUYVkK7MiD19tNVpKbVakQw09ajK5rc0GmGLukKI9HBcqqipDlgyFk8gAjBpSapldj7RkyQALoY2uvgr5JklcnREHNM-V2v1lz8CKzbHF9GlI4xdQgUlb6qE8ZwTB_Fhw6UoIXmik/s400/31961114_10156494934659459_6672246683771863040_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I hate asking for money. Fundraising is exhausting. Especially year after year with no breakthroughs to mention. I do this because I am scared to death I will develop this disease. I do this for Amelie and Ford. I do this for the hundreds, YES hundreds, of messages my lowly little blog gets about people or friends of friends going through this same diagnosis and needing advice. I do it for all of you. It is going to affect you in one way or another. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinuBDx6uFvx87Yf4RDwTiX24ucgLiCzUS-4_zx4u6nBLHBn2bbzWhZp6R2PuDxSn-Qbt4tWukDG1mb0UtMvmGLnWfo2toSLFri_awmcSbPv-wMIKToKFWsH9KZ02AhyphenhyphenNYlV5DiISWWL_0/s1600/1276873_10151944946729459_975729712_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinuBDx6uFvx87Yf4RDwTiX24ucgLiCzUS-4_zx4u6nBLHBn2bbzWhZp6R2PuDxSn-Qbt4tWukDG1mb0UtMvmGLnWfo2toSLFri_awmcSbPv-wMIKToKFWsH9KZ02AhyphenhyphenNYlV5DiISWWL_0/s400/1276873_10151944946729459_975729712_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Please consider <a href="http://act.alz.org/site/TR/Walk2018/NC-WesternCarolina?px=6247682&pg=personal&fr_id=11364" target="_blank">donating to my Walk to End Alzheimer's team</a>. I am a motherless Mother. It is a lonely and sad place to be in your 30's. </div>
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My Mother was the brightest light with the biggest heart. She loved all of you. And she meant it. And I do this to continue her legacy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mz5WMGc1Vh6fZgNty6l9X-VYSlXHdrc05XFGqM0qLoNHltFsdaqmWRtsdbhyphenhyphenEFM3qJdnGVfmDbwCwvDKQFBbE8S7KbujzcbRks8F8kimq0BqyydMLhEBk5H_ZZtguI3WWOF3y5H1mUQ/s1600/32116226_10156494994009459_379602901976219648_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mz5WMGc1Vh6fZgNty6l9X-VYSlXHdrc05XFGqM0qLoNHltFsdaqmWRtsdbhyphenhyphenEFM3qJdnGVfmDbwCwvDKQFBbE8S7KbujzcbRks8F8kimq0BqyydMLhEBk5H_ZZtguI3WWOF3y5H1mUQ/s400/32116226_10156494994009459_379602901976219648_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-2160626361417522262018-04-19T09:05:00.004-04:002018-04-19T09:05:48.943-04:00How Are You Doing?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dpdlFfpGKGwQ3nlJkVud-LeAKxzuIuhBtbGfzWT0KAhT_FFazPhCJhjBAhzEOnOIoeCAQhNt1uKNUTWkdd4Zy9D7TqK_AhyphenhyphenE2h-U2_qSpP1oKj6jY4eIJqnaUsBaqdegllk5oErZ_Wg/s1600/Somethings-Gotta-Give-movie-beach-house-Ericas-bedroom-desk-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="800" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dpdlFfpGKGwQ3nlJkVud-LeAKxzuIuhBtbGfzWT0KAhT_FFazPhCJhjBAhzEOnOIoeCAQhNt1uKNUTWkdd4Zy9D7TqK_AhyphenhyphenE2h-U2_qSpP1oKj6jY4eIJqnaUsBaqdegllk5oErZ_Wg/s400/Somethings-Gotta-Give-movie-beach-house-Ericas-bedroom-desk-6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I thought I would write a post about how I am doing. Several friends (bless you) have checked in on me and I just don't answer my phone. It might seem rude but I just can't answer knowing what the conversation will be about. I despise talking on the phone and am much better in person or via text/email/instagram DM/facebook message/snapchat/Marco Polo.....you get the idea. It is much easier to hide behind my laptop and pour my heart out here than when I can get follow-up questions.</div>
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I'm okay. </div>
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But I've been sick since I came back to Charlotte after the funeral. Apparently this is pretty normal after a stressful event (<a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/let-down-effect-sickness_us_568d60e0e4b0a2b6fb6e510b" target="_blank">article HERE</a>). I honestly think I was running on adrenaline from the moment Mom died. I won't go into details but the type of sick that you can't get out there and exercise, eat normally, feel good, feel happy. I'm no stranger to weird sicknesses (kidney stone that shut down kidneys at age 8, two bouts of Sepsis that put me in ICU with organ failure) but this is just a pain. On top of it I had a sinus infection that wiped me out the 2nd week and this other issue just won't quit. I'm on some PSYCHO antibiotics that I would rather not be taking but I trust my doctor and we are just trying to wipe out whatever it is. But when you feel like sh*t it is hard to be happy.</div>
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Also, to add insult to injury I can't drink on these meds for 10 days. TEN DAYS. So I begged my doctor for some xanax. Yep, I'm Karen from Will and Grace.</div>
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Aside from the stupid medical crap, I'm hanging in there. The first week was awful. I cried a lot. But then had to rally and host Easter. We typically go to Asheville but after all the back and forth I just wanted to be home. Easter was wonderful (even sick) and then Monday after I was sick all over again. So the second week was awful but a little less. The third week was awful, but okay, and here we are in the fourth week.</div>
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I think after the funeral is the hardest. There is a perfectly written article about this <a href="http://This%20usually%20happens%20until%20the%20day%20of%20the%20funeral,%20when%20almost%20immediately%20the%20flood%20of%20support%20begins%20to%20subside.%20Over%20the%20coming%20days%20the%20calls%20and%20visits%20gradually%20become%20less%20frequent%20as%20people%20begin%20to%20return%20to%20their%20normal%20lives%20already%20in%20progress%E2%80%94right%20about%20the%20time%20the%20bottom%20drops%20out%20for%20you.%20%20Just%20as%20the%20shock%20begins%20to%20wear%20off%20and%20the%20haze%20is%20lifted%20and%20you%20start%20to%20feel%20the%20full%20gravity%20of%20the%20loss;%20just%20as%20you%20get%20a%20clear%20look%20at%20the%20massive%20crater%20in%20your%20heart%E2%80%94you%20find%20yourself%20alone.%20%20People%20don%E2%80%99t%20leave%20you%20because%20they%E2%80%99re%20callous%20or%20unconcerned,%20they%E2%80%99re%20just%20unaware.%20Most%20people%20understand%20grief%20as%20an%20event,%20not%20as%20the%20permanent%20alteration%20to%20life%20that%20it%20is,%20and%20so%20they%20stay%20up%20until%20the%20funeral%20and%20imagine%20that%20when%20the%20service%20ends,%20that%20somehow%20you%20too%20can%20move%20ahead;%20that%20there%20is%20some%20finishing%20to%20your%20mourning./" target="_blank">HERE</a> called <b>"The Grieving Need You the Most After the Funeral"</b>. This is so so so so true and important. From this article:</div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">This usually happens until the day of the funeral, when almost immediately the flood of support begins to subside.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Over the coming days the calls and visits gradually become less frequent as people begin to return to their normal lives already in progress—right about the time the bottom drops out for you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Just as the shock begins to wear off and the haze is lifted and you start to feel the full gravity of the loss; just as you get a clear look at the massive crater in your heart—you find yourself alone.</span></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: 700; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">People don’t leave you because they’re callous or unconcerned, they’re just unaware.</span> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Most people understand grief as an</span> <em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">event</span></em><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">, not as the permanent alteration to life that it is, and so they stay up until the funeral and imagine that when the service ends, that somehow you too can move ahead; that there is some</span> <em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">finishing</span></em> <span aria-hidden="true" class="blast mmt-sentence" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">to your mourning.</span></span></div>
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For me, the flowers have died, the cards have stopped coming (snail mail is incredibly appreciated in the time of social media) and everyone has gone about their lives. (As everyone should! This is not a guilt trip, more of an information session) This was compounded by the fact that Easter and then Spring Break came immediately after so I just felt alone. Grief is lonely. Losing a parent at the age of 38 is the worst. Unfortunately I have several friends in this club and more that are soon to be members. It just plain sucks. </div>
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I feel that some expected me to be okay after my 24 hour getaway to Ballantyne and come home healed and ready to move on. (I desperately wanted to run away to a beach and be like Diane Keaton in "Something's Gotta Give" writing and crying in a drop dead gorgeous home). I mean I had been grieving for 7 years, I hadn't really had a "Mom" in forever. But to be motherless, the finality of it, hurt beyond my expectations.</div>
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It felt like, Now what? People have stopped reading these posts. I completely understand that the readership increased to find out Mom's status but it has dropped off drastically. How do I still advocate and fundraise for Alzheimer's without our mascot? I don't have any new stories. I don't have any new pictures. I don't have HER. So much of my life has revolved around being a champion for her cause and now I don't have her. </div>
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So I'm okay. I'm working and trying to be the best Mom to my kiddos that have needed me back in their lives. I feel like I haven't been home all of 2018 but living in a permanent limbo of Asheville to Charlotte to Asheville mindset. </div>
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I want to thank my girlfriends for regularly checking on me. Food, wine, random drop offs of strawberries, casseroles, starbucks, flowers. Showing up and sitting here until midnight while I cried my eyes out. Texting to check on me. Texting me about lipgloss knowing that that was a covert secret operation to really see how I was doing, and knowing that shopping on the internet can take anyone's mind off life. </div>
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I still want to write about planning the funeral, and the funeral itself. But I thought I should touch base about me in general. Say a small prayer that we get through her birthday (May 3rd) and Mother's Day this year without too many tears. The Mother's Day stuff is everywhere it seems.</div>
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I love all of you. And I promise this wasn't a SOS for wine and cards. Just know that if you have a friend grieving and it has been days, months, or even years...that they still are grieving. Send a text. Check in on them. BB was best at this type of thing. The little things matter.</div>
Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-66303637017780406862018-04-11T08:21:00.000-04:002018-04-11T08:21:43.466-04:00I Love You-My Mother's Eulogy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I had long wondered if I would be able to get up and speak at my Mom's funeral. I think the fact that her death was so well prepared for (physically not mentally) and that I had been grieving for so long both allowed me to not break down in Church. Todd and I had a sign and I would give a thumbs up if I was able and a thumbs down if I couldn't do it. </div>
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I wrote this in my head multiple times and it could definitely be improved upon, but I typed it, sent it to a few close confidants to proof and went with it. I think with writing if you wait and tinker too long it will never get published.</div>
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<b>"I Love You"</b></div>
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We say it at the end of phone conversations, we say it before kissing our kids and putting them in bed. We</div>
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sometimes even whisper it to our favorite Cracker Barrel Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese or our bottle of Wacammaw Cab.</div>
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I Love you.</div>
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BB Loved all of you. She loved everyone.</div>
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The disease that stole her from us took everything. But it couldn’t take her ability to love. In her final days it</div>
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was the only phrase she could say. It had lost its emphatic tone, and some of its syllables. But she said it. Upon seeing my face or my father’s or brother’s. She would muster up the ability from the depths of her heart and tell you….. I love you.</div>
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Her love knew no boundaries. She loved with her WHOLE heart. You knew this when she looked you straight in the eyes and told you. It was the type of love a daughter could keep in her pocket and use to shield her from so many awful events that mark the horrid years of middle school and sorority rush. I was invincible with that shield. That mother’s love.</div>
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She just didn’t love her family. She loved her friends with a ferocity that enveloped them like family. I</div>
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remember as a child my parents always had friends over. She loved their presence and loved having them in her home.</div>
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She also loved strangers. Waiters, Bellhops, Gas Station attendants, most recently her CNA’s and helpers at</div>
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Aston. If you made eye contact with her she told you. And she meant it. Her massuse, person doing her</div>
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pedicure, Starbucks Barista, she loved you. In her words, "love you mean it". </div>
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Her Animals were some of the most loved. First Momus and Roux and then Dewars and Gumbo. Mom and</div>
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Roux were the best of friends. On her last road trip, a trip to the Keys, manatees and pelicans were loved by BB too. Almost so much so that a pelican was almost the new recipient of her gold bead necklace.</div>
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I went to one of her last Jazzercise classes with her and afterwards tried to thank them all profusely for what</div>
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they had done for our family. For befriending our BB in the state she was in. They had confused looks on their faces and one of them approached me and said I don’t think you understand. BB was sent to us. She was our Angel. She told each and every one of us we were beautiful. We were loved. That we were awesome. And sometimes after a long day when you hadn’t heard those words in a while, seeing BB at Jazzercise with her bright eyes and huge smile was exactly what we all needed. She didn’t need us, we needed her.</div>
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In this world, especially now in 2018, we need more hearts and souls like BB’s. She loved. Her love touched us all. She made you feel happy, secure, warm and welcome. I hope to love the way BB loved. To my family, to my friends, and to anyone that needs to feel that love.</div>
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<b>I Love You.</b></div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-22659028321762331632018-04-09T07:42:00.000-04:002018-04-09T07:42:00.228-04:00Monday March 19, 2018<div style="text-align: center;">
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Around 6am I rolled over in bed (for the 20th time) and unplugged my phone and did the morning scroll. I heard Dad come down the steps from his room upstairs with Gumbo the Boykin bounding behind him. The garage door opened and the two set off for their daily morning walk around the mountain.</div>
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Shortly after I heard the kitchen door slam open and my Dad's panicked voice yell out to my brother and I, his voice echoing off the post and beam built cathedral ceilings.</div>
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Beau! Katharine!</div>
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She's gone, </div>
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<b>She's gone! </b></div>
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He opened my bedroom door still with his headlamp shining his dark morning red light. "They just called, she's gone! Let's go!" We didn't cry or hug but all raced to get dressed as fast as we could. Dad ran upstairs and I washed all my zit cream off, Beau still putting on his pressed chinos while he was running to the car. </div>
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I don't remember what we said in the car that morning. We probably should have called for a police escort at the speed we were going. I know Dad said "I should have been there" and we quickly stopped that thought. I told Dad there is no way she would have died if his beating heart was in the same room as hers. The nurse that had called Dad said that "BB has taken her last breath while I was in here checking on her, she is at peace and now fully healed".</div>
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Hospice will tell you again and again that this is normal. We could have stayed in there with her forever and at the first meal break or coffee run she would go. Sometimes people like to leave on their own. </div>
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I wasn't sure I wanted to go into her room. I have never seen a deceased person, and wasn't sure it was an image I was emotionally prepared for. Especially not the person that had brought me into this earth with her own body. My mother, whose blood runs through my veins.</div>
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We opened the door and she lay still and quiet. The nurses had moved her on her back and prettied up her hair. Her eyes were forced closed but her mouth was open (something you can't prevent). Her hands were clasping each other and resting on her stomach with her rosary and two flowers in them. </div>
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It was a beautiful and peaceful sight. And one that I will never ever be able to get out of my mind. My last glimpse of my mother. My beautiful loving mother. Holding flowers as if she was going to walk down a church aisle for a wedding.</div>
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I did what any Boylan would do and slowly removed the carnations out of her hands and replaced them with purple tulips from my birthday flowers. Dad smiled and said that's a good daughter.</div>
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Her head was still warm and I kissed her goodbye. We all sat and stood there for quite some time. </div>
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The amazing Todd (that I have mentioned frequently in these last posts) arrived shortly after, called by Alice Myer to let him know what had happened. We prayed over BB and sat in the quiet, making decisions and started calling people once 8am rolled around. </div>
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Dad stayed busy calling while Beau and I messaged friends. If I had any advice I would make a list of most important people to call. I thought I had everything covered but of course we forgot a few. Friends had already started posting pictures and Beau and Dad agreed on a facebook post to let the rest of the world know. I probably posted it too quickly but I didn't want people to see the comments that were rolling in. I know people have a love/hate with social media but it truly is the best way to get information out in the fastest way possible.</div>
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We packed up her things, her bear, her pillows and her picture frames we had brought and loaded up the car. We kissed her goodbye and made arrangements with the Crematorium and we left Elizabeth House.</div>
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We would never visit my mother again. Never hold those hands, never kiss her forehead, stroke her hair, whisper that we loved her. We wished for her to be made whole again in heaven, but had no idea how much we would miss those moments here on Earth.</div>
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The rest of the day and week we went into planning mode. I will begin that on a separate post. </div>
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I didn't cry that much that morning, I teared up but the adrenaline of preparing for 200 of our closest friends and family coming to town took over. And that adrenaline would carry me until her funeral, and immediately wear off afterwards. </div>
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But after we went out to lunch and stopped into Gardener's Cottage our friend Libby came running through the door with tears streaming down her face and the floodgates opened. Mom was like a second mother to Libby and Gardener's Cottage was probably one of her most favorite places in Asheville. I walked the store and every single thing in there speaks to me. It is like a part of Mom is still in the store, straightening books, smelling candles, deadheading plants, tiptoeing through the tulips.</div>
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It will now always be a place I can connect with my Mother. And it is a beautiful place for such a thing.<br />
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<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-17845268218178574642018-04-06T11:30:00.003-04:002018-04-06T11:30:33.807-04:00Top 10 Things Take Them A Meal Should Also Deliver<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">**Top 10 Things Take Them A Meal should also deliver:</span></div>
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(Huge thank you to my friends that set up and signed up for this. Max is working late to make up for days off and I don't cook.) <a href="https://www.takethemameal.com/EKDE4225" target="_blank">Here's the link Dad</a>!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLW8Ax_4NOc5VynKwJGjL74EsnsxZGeWf3HdjEjWqpwLik6smRMbr3kXt8zI4-Rm_6VMNR6uzwFCFvcc9GnumU8ngx8rGu5IpJ1cwmz9-5Kr5J_xweINWWqTuEKrD425WMT8UiPpHkthU/s1600/MV5BYzhmOTEzZTctMmM3Yi00NDJkLWJiMDctM2Q1Zjg5YzEzMjAxXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNzU1NzE3NTg%2540._V1_CR0%252C45%252C480%252C270_AL_UX477_CR0%252C0%252C477%252C268_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="477" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLW8Ax_4NOc5VynKwJGjL74EsnsxZGeWf3HdjEjWqpwLik6smRMbr3kXt8zI4-Rm_6VMNR6uzwFCFvcc9GnumU8ngx8rGu5IpJ1cwmz9-5Kr5J_xweINWWqTuEKrD425WMT8UiPpHkthU/s320/MV5BYzhmOTEzZTctMmM3Yi00NDJkLWJiMDctM2Q1Zjg5YzEzMjAxXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNzU1NzE3NTg%2540._V1_CR0%252C45%252C480%252C270_AL_UX477_CR0%252C0%252C477%252C268_AL_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">1. A Babysitter</span></div>
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I love my kids and these extra moments I'm getting to spend with them because I am no longer back and forth to Asheville is amazing. But Amelie is also a three year old that yells at me if she doesn't get to open the car door (which she cannot open).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4C1Ml6lnax4-vd5G-zquHbZf1O3O0tomjsn6Qp52TOMArTtjoo0kYQ8jbYzjhj35RnCfW1YiADLjFdXiD9pJr4ZdrGlMfoZbbywzT03XsZ_xSlvm9IrSXDqC1oJYBYuOB94Af8s3ljlU/s1600/51Ca8-sCCBL._SY355_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="348" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4C1Ml6lnax4-vd5G-zquHbZf1O3O0tomjsn6Qp52TOMArTtjoo0kYQ8jbYzjhj35RnCfW1YiADLjFdXiD9pJr4ZdrGlMfoZbbywzT03XsZ_xSlvm9IrSXDqC1oJYBYuOB94Af8s3ljlU/s320/51Ca8-sCCBL._SY355_.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">2. Ritalin</span></div>
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Listen, Mom used to give me a few extra here and there because I fall asleep driving. Yep, I'm not a narcoleptic but I must just relax so much in the car I totally zone out. Monster, windows down, Girl Talk playlist can't keep me awake. And the last time I was able to indulge in the lovely "mother's little helper" I finally put all the laundry away. That was 2016. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMT-2JT5-gGDLBpCr6njVnUC_vTnKbgYJK1mku-DnbkXKIifE6yYiUw9DjfuNlDgQt-wxNeSm5FG-yC6mzFKN_-pYqh6AQ_4PSRJi3mmG1aiSOe9EamHl0hVjMKf6wF49_LmeLAZw9BFo/s1600/delivery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="428" data-original-width="778" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMT-2JT5-gGDLBpCr6njVnUC_vTnKbgYJK1mku-DnbkXKIifE6yYiUw9DjfuNlDgQt-wxNeSm5FG-yC6mzFKN_-pYqh6AQ_4PSRJi3mmG1aiSOe9EamHl0hVjMKf6wF49_LmeLAZw9BFo/s320/delivery.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">3. Wine</span></div>
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I'm out of my "allowed to drink Monday-Friday under $10" stash that Max has ruled the only thing I can drink during the week. Where are these drones that deliver things and why aren't they dropping wine off yet? (Huge thanks to WineStore for sending me two bottles of Lafage for Easter!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqQorIrH-qtM55ATTQBYrmOdY4VQPCUe8hikyJpioxht4GsnT1aqCE4NavgPaacri3FR7NUQqT7Gv_IvaNCAwTK2hDcMfo7bEY_VxX5_7ioaLesgHR-CwnVVVSEekPxvxXeqDG6w_fW4/s1600/IMG_2911.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglqQorIrH-qtM55ATTQBYrmOdY4VQPCUe8hikyJpioxht4GsnT1aqCE4NavgPaacri3FR7NUQqT7Gv_IvaNCAwTK2hDcMfo7bEY_VxX5_7ioaLesgHR-CwnVVVSEekPxvxXeqDG6w_fW4/s320/IMG_2911.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">4. A full size bathtub</span></div>
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(Like my sister in law's)</div>
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Our Master bathroom is the size of that unnamed gas station with a gravel parking lot somewhere near Bethune on the way to Pawleys via backroads. I would love to take a bath in a tub that doesn't have moldy ducks or rode hard and put up wet barbies.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6E3VsVdUKGjMOr1McFqGib3nLPfMas6ORb6hViNSuoDVacMAiu4aTjFZSm9UVJGXwnEAJECnG-9Mhsp6Rxx5QXw5qFLFOjoDu4qfhtNUXBcmhcerbnwaZIUDQ6DJfzU7rYkxDmm-ukLA/s1600/esquire-personal-trainer-12452234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="516" data-original-width="830" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6E3VsVdUKGjMOr1McFqGib3nLPfMas6ORb6hViNSuoDVacMAiu4aTjFZSm9UVJGXwnEAJECnG-9Mhsp6Rxx5QXw5qFLFOjoDu4qfhtNUXBcmhcerbnwaZIUDQ6DJfzU7rYkxDmm-ukLA/s320/esquire-personal-trainer-12452234.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">5. Personal Trainer</span></div>
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Because Margaret Tomlinson's ice cream is redonk and Max still hasn't bought me a Peleton. And we still haven't built that addition or purchased the new hose for said Peleton.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmqIJUQscSUuP6kRvYGO-8RS-00JKywNYgzMEVmo4IvE12zCRvYUqZ2Bm3k4oUnfCED1X3FXWOO1iJsoHJGrFx3kieTxaatpqHFMnpk_l3uZYuDBkjOu7ZiTUWXi-_7M90-UtvXhWP5Q/s1600/c700x420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="700" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFmqIJUQscSUuP6kRvYGO-8RS-00JKywNYgzMEVmo4IvE12zCRvYUqZ2Bm3k4oUnfCED1X3FXWOO1iJsoHJGrFx3kieTxaatpqHFMnpk_l3uZYuDBkjOu7ZiTUWXi-_7M90-UtvXhWP5Q/s320/c700x420.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">6. Personal Stylist</span></div>
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I really should stop wearing workout clothes and glasses and maybe take a shower</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1BpiexRLWT0FCX22YzrhkybM17xZCOQOYnRJ275DsABi3DzqilCcD6ZY6dVVA9VIURG3C5gKlmx18cxClhgb32KkT4RuaqucDave29vsZulU0FdSzhTx89uxb6NSR8hF36TS7Y7rbMM/s1600/IMG_8404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1BpiexRLWT0FCX22YzrhkybM17xZCOQOYnRJ275DsABi3DzqilCcD6ZY6dVVA9VIURG3C5gKlmx18cxClhgb32KkT4RuaqucDave29vsZulU0FdSzhTx89uxb6NSR8hF36TS7Y7rbMM/s320/IMG_8404.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">7. Hugs</span></div>
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Thank you MT for those big time hugs last night. I need more hugs. Do you hear that Max? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuapQOagZSWkIJoin3ehUMfnyxTwUMdQ7eXTLJ_XlQLH3cP3N7QHYReDu2kxCE_usoFa5m-klto15wtgYA_8AyxQE5mriIKkbhUcegd_yVGQKXg-ZrfS6WDKS73QXr0uu79bnWT-jKpeU/s1600/8f3c538e_edit_img_facebook_post_image_file_2387502_1421101389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuapQOagZSWkIJoin3ehUMfnyxTwUMdQ7eXTLJ_XlQLH3cP3N7QHYReDu2kxCE_usoFa5m-klto15wtgYA_8AyxQE5mriIKkbhUcegd_yVGQKXg-ZrfS6WDKS73QXr0uu79bnWT-jKpeU/s400/8f3c538e_edit_img_facebook_post_image_file_2387502_1421101389.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">8. Doctor</span></div>
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I've been sick since I came home from Asheville. First what I thought was the stomach bug and now a "cold" that turned into a sinus infection. I'm not good at leaving the house AKA safe little happy messy nest so I wish we had a person like I do for my kids that will show up and magically diagnose something that meds can fix. Finally found that e-visit option and I'm on the good stuff. (Alas, not ritalin).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaXj2W_XdOEJTgwVo7Xq-rLiq4qOSCjgoq-JU6vGtu8iof0lS7czy8krLPqN2e2NfABa0FovSLOyIOkUQB-m4SpOCYeb__N7t4ALwqkRhRK8ILdedPlzz_VqIT_yn3UsHpFUK0RLlh_Q/s1600/valium-sculpture-ashley-800PX-1Y1A9744_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="463" data-original-width="800" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIaXj2W_XdOEJTgwVo7Xq-rLiq4qOSCjgoq-JU6vGtu8iof0lS7czy8krLPqN2e2NfABa0FovSLOyIOkUQB-m4SpOCYeb__N7t4ALwqkRhRK8ILdedPlzz_VqIT_yn3UsHpFUK0RLlh_Q/s400/valium-sculpture-ashley-800PX-1Y1A9744_1024x1024.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">9. Valium</span></div>
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Thanks to an unnamed family member I also was gifted maybe one or two valium for the week to end all week's. I was mid meltdown over her slideshow and one of these fabulous pills slipped their way down my throat. What slideshow? I also accredit this magic medicine to how I was able to speak at Mom's service. 90 day supply please.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1Kj0_vF4IoA8h5cQNEpKnxUvg1YuUvv0Yl5mFVezPqXQM7rimBjoxR_K3C0bZKQPR8AaOWwnSQ9Ct1eR-RnxcWUP_JWUFCQbrx15ZfPg_ZZMEgFdHDDoa0Zm5m7YWJxyIc-enh20nwM/s1600/IMG_0201+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="1280" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1Kj0_vF4IoA8h5cQNEpKnxUvg1YuUvv0Yl5mFVezPqXQM7rimBjoxR_K3C0bZKQPR8AaOWwnSQ9Ct1eR-RnxcWUP_JWUFCQbrx15ZfPg_ZZMEgFdHDDoa0Zm5m7YWJxyIc-enh20nwM/s400/IMG_0201+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">10. Love</span></div>
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It's mainly my fault but I miss seeing people. I HATE HATE HATE the phone. I just can't do it. I wish I could teleport friends from all over into my office and just chat. I'm still in awe at how many of you came to Asheville and I will be eternally grateful for that forever. Starting thank you notes stat.</div>
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**If you found this post tacky as hell it was hopefully meant to make you laugh. And to make me laugh. It's a hard job to be the funniest person in your household WHILE grieving.</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-7562640465719133682018-04-05T10:35:00.002-04:002018-04-05T10:35:20.866-04:00March 13th-Moving to Elizabeth House<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RuPkqIwIZ4g5uxMdgo6-AllzpF9eBTy89s0Mbam3vTJbbMXgVjpnfGDlOLNQ2n-KRvUJXzpldfyXU_0weFhONVCZ59ioMwl7SDYmKlS8yBGj6v_yM4AEGv2AEPBPvIou2HgqLTsX1U8/s1600/IMG_7554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RuPkqIwIZ4g5uxMdgo6-AllzpF9eBTy89s0Mbam3vTJbbMXgVjpnfGDlOLNQ2n-KRvUJXzpldfyXU_0weFhONVCZ59ioMwl7SDYmKlS8yBGj6v_yM4AEGv2AEPBPvIou2HgqLTsX1U8/s320/IMG_7554.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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These posts obviously aren't in order but they all tell a part of our story and I felt they were each important to still write.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHgCJdjz1ERWaM4IMe8oLx0LvDId2NETAPUQn64bVzQ4mRJJ1CfyAZZptxMCLPerxUM03U82-Ys66lIjGuu4M8nUzTJ7PyMgV6brk293BLBKxAVJ9QrdBrypC9OBYlgPC5tALWPWPy68/s1600/IMG_7553.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHgCJdjz1ERWaM4IMe8oLx0LvDId2NETAPUQn64bVzQ4mRJJ1CfyAZZptxMCLPerxUM03U82-Ys66lIjGuu4M8nUzTJ7PyMgV6brk293BLBKxAVJ9QrdBrypC9OBYlgPC5tALWPWPy68/s320/IMG_7553.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Thanks to Mom's adorable hallmate with tourettes and the sensitivity of stopping forcefeeding (a very important post on this will come soon) it was suggested that we move to Hospice's private home, Elizabeth House. While Mom was on a no more food/liquid by mouth diet she still was receiving meds with applesauce and some shakes for other meds and they "no feeding" was a very gray and tricky area to try to discuss with staff. Moving her to the private home would be much easier to navigate with orders like this.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXRfvQjZYleelD5IJsALK00cFm-rAeMBh50ifq3y4nXs3QDm6GDhqvx9JmQBOKrebN0l_kpyohA1j0GXq_jp7sx7t9VtYV4ACLRA9TwACpcIMBXZhGfvYMafVAC9z-gPKlCsqGTibXLFg/s1600/IMG_7555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1544" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXRfvQjZYleelD5IJsALK00cFm-rAeMBh50ifq3y4nXs3QDm6GDhqvx9JmQBOKrebN0l_kpyohA1j0GXq_jp7sx7t9VtYV4ACLRA9TwACpcIMBXZhGfvYMafVAC9z-gPKlCsqGTibXLFg/s400/IMG_7555.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I headed up to Asheville on March 11th to spend time with Mom and see how her status was. I came back to Charlotte Tuesday b/c Max wanted to take me out for my birthday (Wednesday). Tuesday dad called asking about moving Mom. The idea of moving her from a place she had known for two years first made me panic. She had only ever left Aston Park for a seizure and head injury, and then for breaking her ankle/foot. And also once for a hair appointment that I brought her to (but ended up being a horrible idea). What I would give to take her out for ice cream now.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7xcPsXnNfZjlH3ab47f7TzAFvI2XTCdc08asWTNL0naaQV04cgrvnKZ20pjyOmMWtZqHKSJh7_zoV94Cnkneqrjdj84k1-EeTHp4lFXyoojKmZxBj96tf1Wv7BTjQriYReZexQxLH4Q/s1600/IMG_7557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju7xcPsXnNfZjlH3ab47f7TzAFvI2XTCdc08asWTNL0naaQV04cgrvnKZ20pjyOmMWtZqHKSJh7_zoV94Cnkneqrjdj84k1-EeTHp4lFXyoojKmZxBj96tf1Wv7BTjQriYReZexQxLH4Q/s400/IMG_7557.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My only real concern would be if she would be okay with the move. Would she panic? Would it cause her to decline even faster? The hospice nurses assured us this would be okay and they would sedate her for the move. </div>
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The last time I saw Mom in Aston Park she was wide eyed and alert. She didn't smile much on that Monday or talk but we prayed over her and did a modification of last rites (as people in this state can supposedly still hear us, but I wonder if she could understand us). This would be the last time she looked at me. </div>
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Dad called Tuesday and sent pictures of Elizabeth House. Her move went smoothly and she was resting comfortably in her new room. It is a beautiful facility in Hendersonville near Flat Rock, a 30 minute drive from his house but such a more serene place for BB. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYuDe2Itr7EQiog5Bd1oCE3LlHRquC4_2tfxN1GSIvcyUC7O9NgYKe4BbAXVVTdJkfp_yccNGRcBi9iSmJM0spTRZKpoh8mba1nxVIC0KSiy1v_MncEBYUUK3jyfQb9Y-dTDHc47uFi4Q/s1600/IMG_7664.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYuDe2Itr7EQiog5Bd1oCE3LlHRquC4_2tfxN1GSIvcyUC7O9NgYKe4BbAXVVTdJkfp_yccNGRcBi9iSmJM0spTRZKpoh8mba1nxVIC0KSiy1v_MncEBYUUK3jyfQb9Y-dTDHc47uFi4Q/s400/IMG_7664.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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We had a private room with adjoining bathroom. There is a common area between our room and the next that leads out to a patio with chairs. We didn't have a neighbor after our first two days there so had this whole area to ourselves. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhW_A5gqwaFv1nr1o4EEvTJ_VVH4IeR1IvvPjwK27e8UvmC8-G9WYaD1zzxgvZSJU6yIlTPs_QuaGGykrJX_gj2jfaYPjfd4Ivc04cY8U5vk4l4JV7Zf1ugzdVMCZprgAgcaqZsXvm-4/s1600/IMG_7639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKhW_A5gqwaFv1nr1o4EEvTJ_VVH4IeR1IvvPjwK27e8UvmC8-G9WYaD1zzxgvZSJU6yIlTPs_QuaGGykrJX_gj2jfaYPjfd4Ivc04cY8U5vk4l4JV7Zf1ugzdVMCZprgAgcaqZsXvm-4/s400/IMG_7639.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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I cannot tell you what a blessing being at Elizabeth House was. I drove back Friday morning and brought Mom the birthday flowers a sweet friend had dropped off at my house. (Katie they got so many compliments!) Her room was huge, with a big window and bird feeders outside. I wish I had gone earlier. I wish I had climbed in bed and napped with her. </div>
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Dad and I went out to lunch in Hendersonville at West First and then stopped in McFarlan's bakery (the best in NC) and I promptly broke into tears. I always went to Hendersonville with Mom to the Curb Market and then to McFarlan's. This was our thing. She couldn't stay away from the bear claws and I'm a sucker for the dinosaur cookies. We headed back to sit with Mom the rest of the day. Mom had strong vitals even though she was mostly unresponsive so they told Dad to get a good night's sleep at home.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNB5YtRxqPaR0MUkdirkIxvXsOslguCsF1NeUBglpw91KYjq6RBomFZC-6YfTq5-wYF6VLtzP-9gWAnuR-jduqj716a5wJRj8fPZWPE0aNJQCsSFZlxXK0NFZt9fUEMXnLxFqdOPXlOo/s1600/IMG_7573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNB5YtRxqPaR0MUkdirkIxvXsOslguCsF1NeUBglpw91KYjq6RBomFZC-6YfTq5-wYF6VLtzP-9gWAnuR-jduqj716a5wJRj8fPZWPE0aNJQCsSFZlxXK0NFZt9fUEMXnLxFqdOPXlOo/s400/IMG_7573.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Saturday we were back early in the morning and our best friends Tommy and Alice who sat with us the entire time. I held Mom's hand, told her I loved her and that it was okay to go. We went out to lunch and shared some laughs and praise God my brother hopped on a flight and arrived by 4pm. Tommy and Alice you will never know what your friendship has meant to us throughout this illness. And Beau, I know your March was a sh*tshow but you coming up Saturday made your little sister very very happy. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SWpmc0dsP9bSxLFoOw7nC6-nkBRM7lzOUGLsITtjI2mD_zg6v61iHXHM7AxoS1r1Ebv-tNVnTTtLPbkhwJK9vIchYwVwuo8cIlm9fgXWqeuGL1xUt_MS5eOfCaGyM79OhnGBPEyB0Y8/s1600/IMG_7610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7SWpmc0dsP9bSxLFoOw7nC6-nkBRM7lzOUGLsITtjI2mD_zg6v61iHXHM7AxoS1r1Ebv-tNVnTTtLPbkhwJK9vIchYwVwuo8cIlm9fgXWqeuGL1xUt_MS5eOfCaGyM79OhnGBPEyB0Y8/s400/IMG_7610.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Mom was re-positioned every 4 hours and given pain meds through a port in her leg. She was sleeping peacefully the entire six days at Elizabeth House. We monitored her vitals hoping for a sign. We had no idea how long this would last. Doctors and nurses met with us regularly trying to decipher her stats and where we were on this final approach. So many friends had told us that oxygen below x means y, or that pulse means this or that blood pressure means that. None of it really makes sense. Mom was a healthy young woman with the exception of this horrible f*cking disease. There was no telling how her body would slowly shut down.</div>
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Saturday her status wasn't good, and her breathing had started the "<a href="https://www.crossroadshospice.com/family-caregivers-blog/2017/august/09/what-is-a-death-rattle/" target="_blank">death rattle</a>" what my friend Scott has nicely renamed the "travel rattle" so Dad spent the night. Usually they might be able to tell you when you have hours left but there is no perfect science to this. Beau and I drove home and came right back early in the morning.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUF8Kilq9ruVYGYuCnlPr_LrIKtGoRE0GfyNulm61YyqklwvpoOQLHuM4eko_h8RKc8tanHqB-I0uXk4NeANZzTuyjZTpPVlCj34qg8t0_C4Vp8SgfC0pf-wg1uSZ0pJ4sUX5Z9TCRIo/s1600/IMG_7689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwUF8Kilq9ruVYGYuCnlPr_LrIKtGoRE0GfyNulm61YyqklwvpoOQLHuM4eko_h8RKc8tanHqB-I0uXk4NeANZzTuyjZTpPVlCj34qg8t0_C4Vp8SgfC0pf-wg1uSZ0pJ4sUX5Z9TCRIo/s400/IMG_7689.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Sunday was a long day. Her stats dropped all morning and we all felt we were close. Our dear friends the Elmores brought us lunch and the MVP Gaines Myer snuck in Zing Zang and vodka. I almost drove to Ingles for some cheap wine because Sunday was torture. Alcohol is prohibited at Elizabeth House but promise they could have copper bird feeders in the hundreds if they had a bar. Thank you to the friends that continually texted me through that. Even though the place was quiet and beautiful and attentive it was absolutely draining. The doctor came to talk to us around 3 and said Mom still had a strong pulse and that we could possibly even have hours to days left. Looking back now I should have been thrilled. But we were exhausted and emotionally spent. Dad decided to come home with me and Beau. Before we left I gave her a rosary I found in her dresser. I'm assuming it was hers or her mother's. She was raised Catholic and I thought maybe this was something she needed to pass through to the next world.</div>
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That was the last time I would see my mother alive.</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-64922709921982213442018-03-06T08:17:00.001-05:002018-03-06T08:17:45.186-05:00An Update on BB-March 5th, 2018<div style="text-align: center;">
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Hundreds of minutes on the phone and countless texts and emails and we came to the decision. Prayer and faith led us here, along with what we knew Mom would want. She would not want to be in this state. She would not want to be force fed baby food. She let us know this when she filled out her advance directive.</div>
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Yet is is still so hard to say out loud. To tell your hospice team, we want you to stop feeding her.</div>
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But the bottom line, and the thought that keeps me from a guilt avalanche, is that we need to do what BB wanted. BB would want you to stop feeding her. That is why her body cannot swallow, why her body is slowly turning off the computers, dimming the lights, closing the door.</div>
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And she did not want this.</div>
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As of yesterday Mom is no longer receiving food or water. They will keep her mouth moist (maybe with Dewars?) and keep her completely comfortable. Being the court jester I have been for the past 7 years I told my Dad, "I'm the one that brought the morphine Mom!" Her doctors are all in agreement, they have seen this before and this is not agony for them, they know where she needs to be. And it is not on this Earth riddled with this horrible disease.</div>
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To Ford and Amelie and Max, please be the one to rush to this decision. It has been agony for us. But I'm telling you now (and updating my paperwork at Northwestern Mutual) that you SHALL withhold life prolonging measures if I have a terminal diagnosis. And especially if I am in depends, in a hospital bed, and away from my loved ones.</div>
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Alzheimer's is the cruelest way to go. And it is our duty to let her leave with as much dignity and comfort as humanly possible.</div>
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We don't know the timing of this. I'm a basketcase because I'm worried about the Alzheimer's Gala this weekend (we still have spots at our table!) and how I don't want to let them down. Or let my friends down that have bought tickets.Or let Ford down on his slime themed birthday party wishes. But truth be told I want to curl up in my childhood room and sleep while we wait.</div>
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But....I'm a Mom, and in this sandwich generation..... so I need to forge ahead with daily life.</div>
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I want to thank you all for continuing to read these updates. They are hard to write at this phase but I don't want to let any of my ALZ followers down. There is no manual for this and I want to be as honest as possible about how this all unfolds. If you think our decision is wrong, and that we should let her lay motionless in a bed all day, please keep those thoughts to yourself; especially if you have never witnessed a visit.</div>
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All of my love,</div>
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Katharine</div>
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**Family I sent an email yesterday morning regarding this. If for some reason you are not getting those updates and reading here please send me your email.</div>
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<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-17236212416416520302018-02-20T09:15:00.002-05:002018-02-20T09:15:55.444-05:00What I Want to Remember<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYm2h_XJHsMGjGJaU8Amevt8rYex0cKZUp3rnNd-yVrefu0EtA4ZLK_hym8e14QTHliOc8RSxIH1bCxPKBauPqRdHo5fE7-k-kLmUB8u_NaNpxtqFLJHElXWfYbpsMhvWfR_8bVGAb7YI/s1600/IMG_6963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYm2h_XJHsMGjGJaU8Amevt8rYex0cKZUp3rnNd-yVrefu0EtA4ZLK_hym8e14QTHliOc8RSxIH1bCxPKBauPqRdHo5fE7-k-kLmUB8u_NaNpxtqFLJHElXWfYbpsMhvWfR_8bVGAb7YI/s400/IMG_6963.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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One of the worst things (and there are a LOT of them) with Alzheimer's is that your most recent memories of your loved ones aren't the ones you want to keep. I'm talking about the bathroom trips, the screaming, the irrational behavior. And of course you know that it's not their fault, and not them, but that is what is freshest in your mind. You have been losing this person for so long you don't have voicemails, texts, even emails from when they were themselves. </div>
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A good friend told me that once they die, that all the good memories come flooding back. Both for them and for you. I certainly hope this is true. The other night I was up working late and poured a glass of wine (bottle) and forced myself to think about each phase of my life and to try to remember how Mom was back then.</div>
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Birthday Parties-My cakes were always over the top. Not the crazy confection productions of today, but Doberge from Gambino's, Pink cursive writing and sugar flowers from Ingles, where ever they were from they were always gorgeous. My parties had themes (not like today's Pinterest, but in a totally 80's way) and were always a big production. Scavenger hunts (for either gold coins because St.Patty's Day or for eggs b/c early Easter). Doilies for snacks, the silver would be polished, flower arrangements on all tables. She always made birthdays a big deal. Even as a teenager. She took all of my girlfriends and I to Joe's Crab Shack (this was Asheville in the 90's, and this place was LIT) and then to a Matchbox 20 concert. My freshman year of college we went down to Palm Beach and bought so many goodies from C.Orrico and Loehmann's. (Remember that place?) Sunbathed and ate too much. I wasn't spoiled rotten but she knew how to celebrate people.</div>
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Ballet and Tap-She would take me to Fletcher School of Dance every Saturday morning and help me get my hair up and always packed this parachute material blue bag with a white bear on it with all the perfect goodies. She would sit up in the waiting room and read while I took dance, sometimes watching through the window. Every Saturday for YEARS this was our routine. (Until our Nancy Ball visits at the Hendersonville Farmer's Market) And when I no longer enjoyed dance I tried Cheerleading and the coach was so mean she yanked me right out of there. She was my guardian and my protector and if she didn't like something she showed her teeth. I remember (very vaguely) swimming lessons when they just threw you in the deep end. I remember staring at the black line on the side of the pool (where they make the T) and she grabbed my hand and got me out of the water. I still to this day cannot freestyle swim and have a legitimate fear of the black lines. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4KInWlwOFz_u_GUsoxs6pmT2p6Qia2pfeXkun3fByMPgRTjJeaKnUe5_-REx8r2kpXv_WOJzVPYh_ZgLsCtTxn2kddz_bgueD0hN6lTSnX28rML8aYez2B9WOsWrcA_By6AVYTj60klY/s1600/IMG_6961.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4KInWlwOFz_u_GUsoxs6pmT2p6Qia2pfeXkun3fByMPgRTjJeaKnUe5_-REx8r2kpXv_WOJzVPYh_ZgLsCtTxn2kddz_bgueD0hN6lTSnX28rML8aYez2B9WOsWrcA_By6AVYTj60klY/s400/IMG_6961.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Sick-When I was eight years old I got so sick and nobody could figure it out. I was rushed to Urgent Care and they tried to make some horrible accusations and she and my Dad let them have it. They were the best health advocates and because of them my Dad's buddy finally took me for an X-ray and realized I had a kidney stone that had become lodged and my kidneys were shutting down. I was in the hospital for three weeks and she spent every day there only leaving to take walks down Biltmore Avenue. In College I got the flu and it was so awful, she came to Chapel Hill and put me in a hotel room (she worked for a chain of assisted living centers and they had one there) and nursed me back to health with movies and the only type of care a mother can provide.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWf7KEsMerKWWomF60WDY-2JiTRrF1_28_nNk8WBLL2zE4XHNh9ZXGVm5dy9e8io2L2RSW90-6vEpb6BCBVo0rxjSB94oV3PMNDoIkH9sK_WsWykaI_6FXoZzobvwliv5Ckyc3HTAYRNU/s1600/IMG_6964.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWf7KEsMerKWWomF60WDY-2JiTRrF1_28_nNk8WBLL2zE4XHNh9ZXGVm5dy9e8io2L2RSW90-6vEpb6BCBVo0rxjSB94oV3PMNDoIkH9sK_WsWykaI_6FXoZzobvwliv5Ckyc3HTAYRNU/s400/IMG_6964.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Hostess-Most of you know that Dad was the Chef, but she was the behind the scenes beautifier. While he made the most delicious food, she made the most beautiful flower arrangements, the most inviting house a home, and greeted any guest as family. My friend Sallie from High School has the best comment on how coming over to my parents' house was and I'm trying to track it down so I can update it here.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgR_AC7CP88Dcz0r9-X0KQ8r78BFpo3bYkvEl2UpoIdMUH0jw5NbwAImXTihIoXqX2elyqElMGY80TuK1L0aswmCh-uEgRHDK_Zql6NeWgYN7P-vStph69oyfLBHTUn83IN5Ri5RnrXXE/s1600/IMG_6962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgR_AC7CP88Dcz0r9-X0KQ8r78BFpo3bYkvEl2UpoIdMUH0jw5NbwAImXTihIoXqX2elyqElMGY80TuK1L0aswmCh-uEgRHDK_Zql6NeWgYN7P-vStph69oyfLBHTUn83IN5Ri5RnrXXE/s400/IMG_6962.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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Mom-Above everything else she was my Mom. She wasn't June Cleaver. She didn't bake and wasn't head of the PTA. She brought Pizza and diet coke as Tennis Mom when clearly bananas and Gatorade were more needed, but that was her. Irreverent and exquisite. The day I told her I had had sex she wasn't mad, she was excited for me. And if I felt guilty over it she said sex is like hats, you put them up in the closet and forget about them. Hysterical...only BB. Her responses allowed us to have an open conversation about anything in life. Oh the things I wish I could talk to her about now. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLRo1ner2xTDh-1KjQ-3KRvBdQDJpfmPBzrKgpSZn8rMnQgSlWZ3__hhauzTQ5t10kdfP_D8XyDITGPGmSTSDw-yfQzC9feXRAXaia8AnNIswbNMyq88nElDecxwXIZcXeAXj3FCAvDU/s1600/IMG_6967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghLRo1ner2xTDh-1KjQ-3KRvBdQDJpfmPBzrKgpSZn8rMnQgSlWZ3__hhauzTQ5t10kdfP_D8XyDITGPGmSTSDw-yfQzC9feXRAXaia8AnNIswbNMyq88nElDecxwXIZcXeAXj3FCAvDU/s400/IMG_6967.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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She came to visit me in College and would always take me to the store to load up on food, and then the liquor store to stock my bar. She knocked on doors of my guy friends and offered to buy them beer and pizza if they would help us with furniture. (Remember this Phil and Pat?)</div>
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Proud-The day I got into Carolina she must have bought the entire section of UNC gear at Dick's along with 30 balloons and decorated my room while I was at a Rotary Meeting. They called me (on my car phone) to say I needed to come home right after my meeting b/c my room was a mess and they had company arriving. She loved surprises like that. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gYqo7vlnmvsr5vqD2iZnhY1lX8lCR8KIKDPk6X2f2OyEtaJ6vx4GLGZSaISbulBKeVsg9IKapN3Oa85atbd-CPNNNOlxoCFvNc0bmFeBopNliNzX60Y_a1iaWmm_0l2E5-yFlhjeDAU/s1600/IMG_6971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2gYqo7vlnmvsr5vqD2iZnhY1lX8lCR8KIKDPk6X2f2OyEtaJ6vx4GLGZSaISbulBKeVsg9IKapN3Oa85atbd-CPNNNOlxoCFvNc0bmFeBopNliNzX60Y_a1iaWmm_0l2E5-yFlhjeDAU/s400/IMG_6971.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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She would scream Smoke Em Smoltz at my tennis matches. I wasn't #1 but she made me feel like I was. Not in a participation trophy kind of way, but in a way that I knew she believed in me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId2za-UkYwouSsGQYxwUYr3weZYkpSbPeSep2XYG3ZYvlfqBKNszzZZQvWUoPlpe_hVtAhmLPrjx5Y9zUVTyJjjKkpJoyR5WpqzXQI2MJS-wLYjI8_U9570fx5MWu7a_lwENJ3-1uYw8/s1600/IMG_6968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjId2za-UkYwouSsGQYxwUYr3weZYkpSbPeSep2XYG3ZYvlfqBKNszzZZQvWUoPlpe_hVtAhmLPrjx5Y9zUVTyJjjKkpJoyR5WpqzXQI2MJS-wLYjI8_U9570fx5MWu7a_lwENJ3-1uYw8/s400/IMG_6968.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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That is what I want to remember. And just typing it all out brings back so many wonderful memories. She was a card sender, a note writer, a care package sneaker, a flower giver, a flower arranger. She did the little things, the things that mattered. As I got older she would offer me the shirt off her back if I complimented her on it, if I liked her earrings?? She would send me a matching pair. She would do anything for anybody. She was an includer, a lover, the ultimate giver. I never went to Disney as a kid, but I didn't need it. I had my own magical fairytale in my mother.</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-87835641087960986332018-02-09T10:20:00.001-05:002018-02-09T10:20:20.402-05:00Tough Questions-An Update on BB February 9<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrElWCHp2Dit9kLAhCZAfRkJYWRLvv1YQP5jrSzKVTZJ2ho4GO8MqjJbe0UXSPbFjNBK2MG5IROLKqppWMj2ETTvIlniaBoFr4NTOXlFfdE0I-yGvuFHVAJdNYYBWf8JnYShnds_Vwxw/s1600/IMG_6511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnrElWCHp2Dit9kLAhCZAfRkJYWRLvv1YQP5jrSzKVTZJ2ho4GO8MqjJbe0UXSPbFjNBK2MG5IROLKqppWMj2ETTvIlniaBoFr4NTOXlFfdE0I-yGvuFHVAJdNYYBWf8JnYShnds_Vwxw/s400/IMG_6511.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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I have debated posting about this but I want to stay true to my mission of being transparent about this disease and the process around it.</div>
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Mom is being spoonfed baby food, as she has since her swallowing issues began last Fall. Dad sent me a picture on Sunday that really just hurt my heart. She was almost asleep but still being fed her entire meal while wearing an adult bib. (see below)</div>
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This is nobody's fault. This is standard protocol. It is a horrific gray area in the course of this disease. Should she be being fed like this? Should she even be being fed? Does she feel hunger? Thirst? We know that if she stops eating she will die.</div>
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So making decisions about this directly affects when she will die. </div>
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These decisions are hard. And guilt ridden. I have lost sleep. I have had dreams about these decisions. </div>
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But we need to remember the most important thing. What would and what did she want?</div>
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It wasn't until yesterday that we looked up her advance healthcare directive (something we all need to have) and she specifically stated that if she has advanced dementia her directive is that her healthcare agent may withhold life prolonging measures/supplements.</div>
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And then you have to put yourself in her shoes. My parents used to joke that they wanted the pillow. If they were to be put in a home, just give them the pillow instead. It's a horrible and cruel saying but Mom worked in long term care for years and she saw. She knew. </div>
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So at this point by feeding her what are we prolonging? She no longer recognizes us. She is in pain sometimes from her osteoarthritis so she has to be on pain medication. Smiles and "I love yous" are a rare occasion. I am so damn glad my kids got a smile from her last visit. She would not want to be like this. </div>
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Hospice has been incredible. I reached out via email to ask them what they thought and they have this way of wrapping you in comfort with their words. They know these feelings, they have seen families beat them self up over even uttering these words. But they know in their hearts what is best for the patient.</div>
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I am thankful that my brother and father and I are so close throughout this process. We have a sense of humor that is helping us lighten the load. You should see how horrifically ugly urns are these days. If you can't laugh at a tacky airbrushed urn and how she would curse us for the rest of our lives if we picked one of those out........ then you aren't going to make it through this.</div>
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I am also thankful her sisters and brothers all agree that she wouldn't want to be like this. She is their baby sister and it hurts them just as much to see her incapacitated and frail.</div>
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I love you Beau and Dad. We have been planning quite the celebration. And there will be Cheetos and Scotch for all.</div>
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If anyone riding in Iris can send me some Iris beads I would be forever grateful. She rode with her sister-in-law, Jennifer Boylan, and said it was one of the most fun things she ever did. (It's on my bucket list)</div>
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All Hail BB, Queen of Aston Park.</div>
<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-59843418742428836452018-01-16T08:48:00.002-05:002018-01-16T08:48:57.223-05:00Are You in The Right Room? BB Update January 15th<div style="text-align: center;">
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"<a href="http://www.jennyandrewsanderson.bigcartel.com/product/opera-house" target="_blank">Opera House</a>" by Jenny Andrews Anderson</div>
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I haven't posted an update because there isn't much to post. I am headed up to Asheville this weekend to see BB and for a baby shower. I am trying to shake the guilt that I am not up there more often but I need to remember these two little crazy children are my main priority. And my job, and my life here.</div>
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We received an email from one of Mom's amazing Jazzercise buddies. These women visit her regularly and helped us so much in those beginning stages. They brought Mom home from class, took her out to dinner, they even hosted a class for all the patients when Mom was in the Alzheimer's wing.</div>
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They stated that she was sitting up in bed watching TV (something she has never done since moving to Aston) and told them she loved them. I jokingly asked Dad, where they in the right room? Laughter.......you have to try to keep a sense of humor throughout all of this. I love that the TV was on. She doesn't look at it but I would imagine it would be comforting to hear the familiar Hoda in the mornings. I get lonely working from home and sometimes put on Friends episodes as background noise in the afternoon.</div>
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I'm guessing this recent stability is from her either being leveled out on her meds or hanging out on the "up" part of this seesaw phase. I love that those incredible Jazzercise ladies got to see her looking so good. I'm hoping for a smile this weekend.</div>
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We received an email from our hospice team over the weekend and she is down 8 more pounds, after losing 17 in three weeks. She is eating around 25% of her pureed breakfast and lunch with a little liquid.</div>
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Dad and Beau and I are doing okay. We all spent my father's birthday together and that was so needed. I'll post a recap tomorrow. I honestly didn't want to go on this trip for fear Mom would die while we were gone, but hospice urged us to go. It was so good being together and getting away.</div>
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Now we just wait. I am still trying to trust in God's timing. I am trying to move forward with life here in Charlotte. I still find it so difficult with my Mother's death looming on the horizon. Waiting for your Mom to die while trying to maintain some normalcy for young children (or your marriage) (or your job) is not for the weak.</div>
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I want to thank you all for commenting on my posts, instagrams, sending me texts, DM's, tweets, facebook messages and just following our story. Lots of people eyeroll social media but since I sit in this home office M-F with not much human interaction it really really does help. I love you all so much.</div>
Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-41806310719850353412018-01-02T11:40:00.000-05:002018-01-02T11:40:46.963-05:00Update on BB-December 23-January 2nd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello everyone,</div>
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I'm sorry I didn't post an update sooner. I meant to post an update after seeing Mom on the 23rd but I was shocked at her decline and didn't have it in me with Christmas looming.</div>
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When we went to see BB she was asleep in her new chair and made no response to us being there. Seeing her in that state was a shock. The Priest that married us, Todd Donatelli, was there along with our best family friend Alice Myer to give BB communion and pray over her. It was a beautiful and therapeutic moment as Todd prayed over Mom and we all held each other. Alice had her hand on me, I had my hand on Dad and Mom, Dad had his hand on Mom and Todd had a hand on Mom and Dad. It would have been a beautiful picture.</div>
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After communion our Hospice nurse and social worker came to visit and give us an update on Mom. She has slowed her fluids/food and has lost 17 pounds in the past 3 weeks. She would most likely become bedridden in the imminent future. I asked if my brother should try to change his flight as he was coming to visit on January 5th and they said yes....</div>
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After the Hospice nurses left Mom's music therapy began. We hadn't planned on staying for that but I'm so glad we did. We sang "I will", and "I get my with a little help from my friends", "Carolina in my Mind" and ended with "Away in a Manger". It was beautiful. Mom started moving her feet a tad and we weren't sure if it was to the music or just one of her muscle jolts. Here is a short video (don't laugh, I didn't know all the words)</div>
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At one point I was standing above her and talking to her and she opened her eyes and forced a tiny smile. I think she knew I was there.</div>
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On Christmas day we went as a family to visit BB and she was in bed and didn't respond much at all. She briefly opened her eyes as Ford snuggled up to her but that was as much as we experienced that day. Ford has been very emotional about BB. I think because he and I are so close so he sees me get sad. Any recommendations on books/readings for kids would be helpful. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBP5M4dFMYnCYJ7XoD0OXSP8yQ-vslY135ZtcdS6gvVpsaEzHqvAZ3CpGXsgsvlwPBVHHwJmEhJy1KJzJyxYngqRC3HALmCGo76tbpVr8dsHqKUJczeg1h79plIBRZId0pmdOWQxfPV7k/s1600/IMG_4533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBP5M4dFMYnCYJ7XoD0OXSP8yQ-vslY135ZtcdS6gvVpsaEzHqvAZ3CpGXsgsvlwPBVHHwJmEhJy1KJzJyxYngqRC3HALmCGo76tbpVr8dsHqKUJczeg1h79plIBRZId0pmdOWQxfPV7k/s400/IMG_4533.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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The day after Christmas I went by with Dad and we met with another Hospice nurse. BB was in bed again that day but we did hear that she was drinking a tad more and ate some pureed breakfast.</div>
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I held Mom's hand when Dad stepped out to speak with the nurse and told her I was okay if she wanted to go. I had several friends tell me this was a good idea and I wanted her to know I would be okay. </div>
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I came back to Charlotte heartbroken but with a purpose of planning in my head. We worked on her obituary, I made checklists, set out to find a size 6 navy blazer, made sure Max's dark suit was clean. I have had my dress for awhile, (I think) and Amelie will most likely wear the Skylar Bee Dress from The Proper Peony. It has three Bee's..... for our Barbara Brown Boylan.</div>
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But on the following days BB has showed improvement. She began opening her eyes more and smiling for visits. She is still taking a few bites of pureed food and drinking about 100 cc's of juice.</div>
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If I don't sound thrilled I apologize. It is confusing. I don't want her to go but this roller coaster is an emotional storm. While most have been celebrating the "new" year with a "fresh" start, I have been thinking that I will be planning a funeral in the coming weeks. There is a great article that can possibly explain this confusion/pain on Scary Mommy called "<a href="http://www.scarymommy.com/dying-parent-absolute-hell/">Watching your parent die is absolute hell</a>". </div>
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I wish I had better words to describe where I am. And what this feels like. I'm also mentally spent with school being out and a long weekend full of solo parenting duties. If that makes me sound like an asshole I apologize again, but good Lord 3 year old girls are crazy. CRAZY. Irrational, moody, nap dropping potty training failing adorable crazy little people And I always always want to remain authentic. I'm not going to paint a rosy picture. BB will die soon, and just when you think you have everything figured out it switches paths and gears. I need to trust in the Lord's timing. I am trying to. But because I see no quality of life for her.....experiencing and watching her die this slow death is awful. She looked like she was dying on the 23rd. And now she looks like she did back in October. I just don't understand.</div>
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I know that I should be living my life right now. I want to put Amelie in Ballet. I need to find an indoor soccer league for Ford. I need to plan my father's 70th birthday in 6 days. But I feel handicapped and frozen in place as I wait for my mother to die. I feel like I cannot move forward until then. </div>
<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-7913088197420562022017-12-21T09:51:00.002-05:002017-12-21T09:51:52.848-05:00Pillows for Christmas-An Update on BB-December 21st<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfSMLODBWDneIHEI5Hycu9O3pye1e7pNMSsJFhaWfvf2aa5PV25_7ZF1r-aKPj1oeZY8y4PYqq3T4nVf2nVVLZgJ8JcTBaJCfPifv1VTOrx2KCCjIOq9b2X2gLrve0aStN2sVj4nP7wd0/s1600/twin-bedding-in-christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="610" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfSMLODBWDneIHEI5Hycu9O3pye1e7pNMSsJFhaWfvf2aa5PV25_7ZF1r-aKPj1oeZY8y4PYqq3T4nVf2nVVLZgJ8JcTBaJCfPifv1VTOrx2KCCjIOq9b2X2gLrve0aStN2sVj4nP7wd0/s400/twin-bedding-in-christmas.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I posted an update on Instagram but since I keep that private I wanted to do a post here for family that is following our journey along.</div>
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Dad went to visit Mom last week and she was sound asleep. We both assumed it was the ativan (for her outbursts/myoclonus) and dilaudid (for her osteoarthritis) making her sleepy. She didn't wake up or realize Dad was there visiting. </div>
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Hospice has ordered her a new reclining chair and it should be there by this Friday. Her current new chair does not support her head and neck enough so she ends up being slumped over. I am leaving first thing tomorrow to meet her new Hospice team.</div>
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They have requested we buy pillows, as many as we can to prop her up, keep her comfortable, etc. So, this year BB will get pillows for Christmas. </div>
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Concerned over her increased sleeping I reached out to our team and while the update isn't wonderful, having a team in place to answer all of these questions is....</div>
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Mom is sleeping more due to the overall neurologic decline. Her mind is dying, and it is tired. It is partially from the drugs but mostly from her body and mind signaling a slowdown.</div>
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Tuesday we were informed she is no longer eating or drinking very much. Thickened liquids are just as difficult to take in and she is not opening her mouth for bites. They will try pudding and ice cream to see if that works. We will not do a feeding tube because there are so many adverse reactions to that type of supplement. You can read about that <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/30/health/tube-feeding-dementia-patients.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="https://www.agingcare.com/questions/pros-and-cons-of-feeding-tube-145548.htm">here</a>.</div>
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Most of Tuesday Dad and I called each other crying. Of course this is what needs to happen, but it doesn't make it any easier to comprehend. On Wednesday Dad went to one of her meals and she did take a couple bites of food and had some apple juice. So maybe not as imminent as we had thought the day before, but possibly soon.</div>
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Our amazing Dean Todd is coming Friday with us to give BB communion. We will sit down with her incredible team of caregivers and try to ask questions that they might not have answers to. </div>
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I will try to update more frequently as this process happens. Mainly for family but also for the friends and friends of friends that message me weekly going through the same thing. I cannot tell you how often I receive an Instagram DM, twitter DM, facebook message, email about someone that knows someone that just got diagnosed. I am flattered they come to me as an expert, (which I'm not sure that I am) but I want to do all that I can to help people going through this disease. </div>
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Beginning in 2018 I am going to post on her journey from the beginning, as requested by a dear friend. The warning signs, the differences between ALZ/Dementia, how we got diagnosed, what we did after...etc. </div>
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This is a difficult time of year for so many. Please show each other grace and love. I think I got half of our Christmas Cards out and I'm missing gifts for so many, just know I love all of you very much and have thought of the BEST gift ideas ever, my execution is just off.</div>
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<br />Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-73048950126720969132017-12-07T08:45:00.000-05:002017-12-07T08:53:41.552-05:00Southern Bourbon Mountains Christmas Wishlist 2017<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rtLU54_q7hnR5YNRnu34nuW-DwnqP1WiVuHzfPgCawEmGuvXbULG4C_a6PFBr6F0kzpjbkTOnszdqTtsZbW3BGscu6HjPdYlAce0aO519oZuvZvIAuIn4Qqq-Fl4ukEdCSSvzXE-bvE/s1600/de253dfa8f672771d263c58ebede8574.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="592" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rtLU54_q7hnR5YNRnu34nuW-DwnqP1WiVuHzfPgCawEmGuvXbULG4C_a6PFBr6F0kzpjbkTOnszdqTtsZbW3BGscu6HjPdYlAce0aO519oZuvZvIAuIn4Qqq-Fl4ukEdCSSvzXE-bvE/s400/de253dfa8f672771d263c58ebede8574.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The best gift ever. Pictures of people we love. *already framed is key</div>
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(Scene from The Family Stone, a fantastic Christmas movie)</div>
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My number 1 gift? Old pictures of my Mother I have never seen. Or an email with a great story.</div>
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I have read dozens of gift guides and quite frankly they used to be my favorite types of blog posts. But after the explosion of the holidays what are you left with? Junk? Stuff? Another pair of silly earrings? (<a href="https://mignonnegavigan.com/" target="_blank">Mignonne Gavigan</a> are serious earrings and do not fall into the silly category...hint) Here are a few things that are more of boring practical needs than wants that have been on my wish list. This is probably because I am approaching 40 and am trying to not be a hoarder of cocktail napkins and candles. (Both always welcome still while I have cabinet space)</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.warbyparker.com/retail/charlotte/atherton-mill" target="_blank">Warby Parker Glasses</a></b></div>
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I am -5 and -4 in my eyes and HATE my contacts. I have tried everything and they have me on dailies now and I feel like they are too flimsy...anyone else? I wear my glasses M-F and only put on contacts if I have plans. My current glasses are Tory Burch from my eye doctor and I think insurance covered part of them. The issue is they are BEAT UP. Toddlers, hair dye, zit cream...I have no idea what but they are losing their tortoise shell in places so I would love to have one or two new pairs since I wear them constantly. I visited our local store recently and (apologies for so many pictures of my giant forehead) and here were the ones I liked. My brother said I needed round so I didn't look like a secretary...thoughts?</div>
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<b><a href="http://www.caycee-hangingwiththehewitts.com/" target="_blank">Frame Warehouse Gift Certificate</a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiND0Hjv52hvlYkhanjw2LUskOfaEDkfeYmvRX8Swn2GQHbs74i2yK3wdcLfHra5GeWlBAy5H3V-Whb7LA2ZADWSepjOvXhZlaKZT4UTj6i_AXYq4QmW9mL7y1_gSK5MH819Cojv85_br4/s1600/4aa8c8db9c889809cb97d143fbc209fa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiND0Hjv52hvlYkhanjw2LUskOfaEDkfeYmvRX8Swn2GQHbs74i2yK3wdcLfHra5GeWlBAy5H3V-Whb7LA2ZADWSepjOvXhZlaKZT4UTj6i_AXYq4QmW9mL7y1_gSK5MH819Cojv85_br4/s400/4aa8c8db9c889809cb97d143fbc209fa.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I have so many things to be framed. (And no wall space I might add) But I have been sitting on at least 7 favorite things for awhile and would love to take them in. Question, what is your opinion on frameless paintings? They have a store right up the street at the corner of Quail and Carmel and the NICEST and most helpful woman runs the place. And I'm an ass and can't remember her name. </span></div>
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<b><a href="https://www.loft.com/lou-&-grey-signaturesoft-cowl-tunic/452630" target="_blank">Ann Taylor Loft Sweater</a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8o3hzo__qYb5gm36fqNCkQy_kUAc-wSUfzkW-DM4ZPpdxWpNBbDVUmbV4WUFwDoGS6xIg_mOfNIvklNq2-M0UqZmx84kZ3y4mKdsMQ9d_65iGznn_Z13hEAhBY7a8DFzYmy0zfFSG1Y/s1600/imageService+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="436" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8o3hzo__qYb5gm36fqNCkQy_kUAc-wSUfzkW-DM4ZPpdxWpNBbDVUmbV4WUFwDoGS6xIg_mOfNIvklNq2-M0UqZmx84kZ3y4mKdsMQ9d_65iGznn_Z13hEAhBY7a8DFzYmy0zfFSG1Y/s320/imageService+%25281%2529.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
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I own this in blue and it is the most comfortable sweater ever. I might just go ahead and order it today and apologize to our credit cards later. Thank you to <a href="http://www.caycee-hangingwiththehewitts.com/" target="_blank">Caycee</a> for posting about this last year. It is my favorite!</div>
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<b><a href="https://www.zappos.com/p/ugg-classic-tall-ii-chestnut/product/8727081/color/278" target="_blank">Real Uggs</a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRk87R7FVcG-1Bud3VZ5_c0WDJ4ESfMuX5G64mZAJXc5aEyGptUllqGvJLPFql2Iapn1mblNjez7pBbgtdkGSzTRnRUVcRrLTAMBbu8EfpZuaYugbszY_7NPakYpI1uPocyGyj97O3cY/s1600/Reese%252Btakes%252Ba%252Bbreak%252BUiEC8ej_6WVl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="399" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQRk87R7FVcG-1Bud3VZ5_c0WDJ4ESfMuX5G64mZAJXc5aEyGptUllqGvJLPFql2Iapn1mblNjez7pBbgtdkGSzTRnRUVcRrLTAMBbu8EfpZuaYugbszY_7NPakYpI1uPocyGyj97O3cY/s320/Reese%252Btakes%252Ba%252Bbreak%252BUiEC8ej_6WVl.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
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Sams doesn't have my Fuggs (Faux Uggs) this year and I've had these for 5 years and it is time to get a new pair. I think Uggs are seriously hideous but so were my <a href="https://www.rei.com/rei-garage/product/109316/merrell-jungle-moc-shoes-kids?CAWELAID=120217890002939207&CAGPSPN=pla&CAAGID=16061554960&CATCI=aud-54816614184:pla-312315609278&cm_mmc=PLA_Google|404_63444|1093160009|none|d0d6936e-3387-4417-b1e1-0a75d5da0f5f|aud-54816614184:pla-312315609278&lsft=cm_mmc:PLA_Google_LIA|404_63444|1093160009|none|d0d6936e-3387-4417-b1e1-0a75d5da0f5f|aud-54816614184:pla-312315609278&gclid=CjwKCAiA6qPRBRAkEiwAGw4SdrneoHZVJ-GQIiLtDPU7RCBUkS7h4zTXxXBKowU6VnHI6-ce3XCW5xoCLq4QAvD_BwE" target="_blank">Merrells</a> and I loved those. I work from home so I live in these things from November - March. I wish I didn't. I really wish I got up and showered and put on make up and did my hair but.......ain't nobody got time for that. I just cannot handle spending almost $200 on glorified slippers. So if anyone has seen them at Sams text me! (Also Reese's hair would be great too thanks)</div>
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<b><a href="http://www.lindseyreganthorne.com/services/" target="_blank">Make-up session with Lindsey Regan Thorne</a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwwZfWvDwaeUwrHwYLPTd-JsEwq7D2j4CAYFq482kaR_6vNsh5x3-i2LW1VYi0L7gJQzSeCgHDvacf-nFpJn4uYgOgkYDaNMvVLQEebr-UBLC37Ju_yLnfbEVJjBod5UuuChCAteDB1YE/s1600/1db2a592f4f609d2905f45e8a13ab257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="592" data-original-width="890" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwwZfWvDwaeUwrHwYLPTd-JsEwq7D2j4CAYFq482kaR_6vNsh5x3-i2LW1VYi0L7gJQzSeCgHDvacf-nFpJn4uYgOgkYDaNMvVLQEebr-UBLC37Ju_yLnfbEVJjBod5UuuChCAteDB1YE/s400/1db2a592f4f609d2905f45e8a13ab257.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I started following Lindsey on Snapchat and fell in love with her honesty and humor as she struggled with fertility. We have met several times and are still trying to get our boozy dinner date with Kate planned. She offers makeovers where she shows you how to use make-up. Because at 37 I still don't know how. She has to promise me no brushes though. I'm a fingers on the face girl because make up brushes......ain't nobody got time for that.</div>
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<b>Family photo session</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxORVmnZyqkFOXbUZ9cA1NcicXAXGVNxzhrpkO5s4ctgA66pinD9RC_zqzQeJWOo3I6JhW4nGOOTVpZ5xUru3jezD6HXYlkeHrL086X5pJDSzznP4_WoABceMDUFzuFS0ntIQHs2dU1x4/s1600/gallery-1449861340-1449005975-royal-family-charlotte-portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="980" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxORVmnZyqkFOXbUZ9cA1NcicXAXGVNxzhrpkO5s4ctgA66pinD9RC_zqzQeJWOo3I6JhW4nGOOTVpZ5xUru3jezD6HXYlkeHrL086X5pJDSzznP4_WoABceMDUFzuFS0ntIQHs2dU1x4/s400/gallery-1449861340-1449005975-royal-family-charlotte-portrait.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This is impossible to plan for us because my stepson is only with us certain times of the year. We got a great picture at the beach but I have lost a significant amount of weight since then and as a vain human being would love new pictures by a professional. We never do this....in fact I have done this twice in my years as a mother and if I could I would have pictures taken every season!</div>
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<a href="https://www.biscuit-home.com/collections/custom-pique-accent-line" target="_blank"><b>Big Girl Bedding</b></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_G2NfdYc6fwj3z53FMVN2hJ6vmRfJhiEdSMkKkg46fc-L4WBIpCV1kpdhi_6SAvBPYtSHMXGDumsOa4pugSgQrXdz9SoAmaf-6ZyQAXpWrAi5jWzOifnCfsXFmnygXuwCjzBAoBTenk/s1600/Biscuit_Oct1_2017-56_preview_large.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="343" data-original-width="480" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf_G2NfdYc6fwj3z53FMVN2hJ6vmRfJhiEdSMkKkg46fc-L4WBIpCV1kpdhi_6SAvBPYtSHMXGDumsOa4pugSgQrXdz9SoAmaf-6ZyQAXpWrAi5jWzOifnCfsXFmnygXuwCjzBAoBTenk/s400/Biscuit_Oct1_2017-56_preview_large.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I will finally feel like an accomplished adult if Leontine, Biscuit or D.Porthault ever grace my mattress. Oh and Amelie needs too. I'm a King, she's a double. </div>
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<b><a href="https://winestore-online.com/" target="_blank">Case of Wine from Winestore</a></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekwluQkm0mr9THpaPZGDCAWG6zBZ6RuIMdQqxGOzUeQ1pFLDU4MQi3CQm5DdjIary8L2F0UQJlKrovi62LTe1qw-uAiYi8MRn5BCwJyVScj1NOsa2G65TTxzNaROuBWgqR20ADuXW2tA/s1600/B1657D2A-200C-4836-AF31-2A662FF086CA.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1315" data-original-width="1600" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekwluQkm0mr9THpaPZGDCAWG6zBZ6RuIMdQqxGOzUeQ1pFLDU4MQi3CQm5DdjIary8L2F0UQJlKrovi62LTe1qw-uAiYi8MRn5BCwJyVScj1NOsa2G65TTxzNaROuBWgqR20ADuXW2tA/s320/B1657D2A-200C-4836-AF31-2A662FF086CA.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Let's do 6 bottles of Leese Fitch Cab, 3 of Waccamaw, 2 of Banshee and 1 of Willowlake. I would do the reverse but I'm being considerate to my gift givers. </div>
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<b>New Laptop</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEe0jrp6a4nvBo1gwakBFy8nYivYWsf1Mw7n_s4u4WdTd1eOtEHdULJDWnm0OzhaZomZcneq3uZZAU0zRL-DfhGUV578cs2K4Xn-wjiqirEERcMMZ4TKhOcPzOYBPetcyF8JlP3UynE2A/s1600/tmhnks.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="444" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEe0jrp6a4nvBo1gwakBFy8nYivYWsf1Mw7n_s4u4WdTd1eOtEHdULJDWnm0OzhaZomZcneq3uZZAU0zRL-DfhGUV578cs2K4Xn-wjiqirEERcMMZ4TKhOcPzOYBPetcyF8JlP3UynE2A/s400/tmhnks.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: center;">I wish I had space for another desktop but my double monitors for work take up my only working place. I have finally started using LightRoom and all the old floating laptops around the house don't have the right encryption for that type of software. This is a huge present and I don't like my husband's tiny surface pro so it would need to be something significant. And I'm not a Mac girl, I prefer Dell/HP/etc. </span></div>
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<a href="https://furbishstudio.com/collections/pillows-throws/products/got-it-all-together-needlepoint-pillow" target="_blank"><b>This pillow from Furbish</b></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0m_7AVfPG4NIHngTaRJUcG00yliKy6cSmL1cd_cPXmVw1tG7JgE2YpwUPxblD2wQN_J9LcdM-AUo8cqrJb7XvYs8-77tjPVUyzvn2gRrzlhdDnZlDiOWYo1BZUXzP1UxREX0U99UWOI/s1600/Got_it_all_together_needlepoint_pillow_4a08ee63-93f6-4abc-b281-6bb8e0b81090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="1082" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0m_7AVfPG4NIHngTaRJUcG00yliKy6cSmL1cd_cPXmVw1tG7JgE2YpwUPxblD2wQN_J9LcdM-AUo8cqrJb7XvYs8-77tjPVUyzvn2gRrzlhdDnZlDiOWYo1BZUXzP1UxREX0U99UWOI/s320/Got_it_all_together_needlepoint_pillow_4a08ee63-93f6-4abc-b281-6bb8e0b81090.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Because.....Alzheimer's. </div>
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I would also love hardwood floors, monthly facials, a garage, a BMW X5 in Carolina blue, a stylist to get me out of my fashion rut....you know the basics.</div>
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Merry Christmas you filthy animals!</div>
Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-38139745294137153732017-11-28T08:33:00.001-05:002017-11-28T08:33:22.402-05:00Giving Tuesday and THANK YOU!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHzcJX744OnnoSbTXF4IVHMqh-qC8_3M1Emq2NGlfHGaYVPLgCW5h-bhE5zxL0xZZcQx9KB_Xk7PVI_4W54275zgGFXxzMog5tFWJsQwmzbgY9frLTBDxEeZHlPnLXwbBtOGsZ19kOvE/s1600/IMG_1506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="445" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHzcJX744OnnoSbTXF4IVHMqh-qC8_3M1Emq2NGlfHGaYVPLgCW5h-bhE5zxL0xZZcQx9KB_Xk7PVI_4W54275zgGFXxzMog5tFWJsQwmzbgY9frLTBDxEeZHlPnLXwbBtOGsZ19kOvE/s320/IMG_1506.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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This year's Walk to End Alzheimer's raised almost 600,000 in Charlotte. I cannot thank my friends at the Alzheimer's Association enough for putting on such a spectacular walk this year. Jessica, Caitlyn, and Katherine work tirelessly to put on these events so that we can hopefully one day have our first survivor.</div>
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Today is Giving Tuesday so if you still need to make donations before year-end please <a href="http://act.alz.org/site/TR/Walk2017/NC-WesternCarolina?px=6247682&pg=personal&fr_id=10574" target="_blank">consider donating to the Alzheimer's Association</a>! We have until December 31st to reach Charlotte's goal!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWte8kAofuIH2FXlzJu-8Ak2pVa8jg_bCohMXYfmW2zdrcNslaEN9E-lqWBkvG3wFwXXmDJXV4C_7UgDlgoF9Kl9RYK-Hn_U0k3a99gYuAJlYdqUpnuXiIgISI5enKWXjl5uXXvCuQLd4/s1600/IMG_1958.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWte8kAofuIH2FXlzJu-8Ak2pVa8jg_bCohMXYfmW2zdrcNslaEN9E-lqWBkvG3wFwXXmDJXV4C_7UgDlgoF9Kl9RYK-Hn_U0k3a99gYuAJlYdqUpnuXiIgISI5enKWXjl5uXXvCuQLd4/s400/IMG_1958.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Krewe BB raised just over $11,700. I want to send a huge hug and thank you to my friends that came to walk with me that day. Betsy, Elie, Abby, Anna and Rebecca, Chic Series Kate, Julia, Lacey, Riley...having you there with me meant everything!!! I also want to thank all the team members of Krewe BB that couldn't be there that day!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfr8dsKKyCFspumirUrycWeCnuJCjybQfG4tq2qp234s-28Ghtt3nkbT4qNcsKP6RoSdgT4BgklFt8VzFomGFEGi2AMgl_PBXqKl_hxIiGbEahZTC6pE3ElnzghU8h63BqDuNEzqxp2xk/s1600/IMG_3352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfr8dsKKyCFspumirUrycWeCnuJCjybQfG4tq2qp234s-28Ghtt3nkbT4qNcsKP6RoSdgT4BgklFt8VzFomGFEGi2AMgl_PBXqKl_hxIiGbEahZTC6pE3ElnzghU8h63BqDuNEzqxp2xk/s640/IMG_3352.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And another HUGE thank you to the people that donated to our walk. Some of these friends have small businesses so I want to list them here in case you need to do a little shopping, reading or anything! LOVE YOU ALL! </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Elizabeth and Lynn my Rockbrook Mamas</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://countrystore.tabasco.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tabasco</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://lequirephoto.com/portrait-photography/lz65or1o429lesro7aymawthoe20vd" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Kristen Lequire Photo</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.bettysweetwrites.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Betty Sweet Writes</b></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.thegardenerscottageasheville.com/" target="_blank">The Gardener's Cottage</a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/bitsyboutique/" target="_blank"><b>Bitsy Boutique</b></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/HatchCoveDesigns" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Hatch Cove Designs</b></span></a></div>
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<b>(A map of Pawleys painted by her is on my Christmas List!)</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.hmproperties.com/agent-details.cfm?AgentID=520" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Meg Wilkinson</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.shadylanecellars.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Shady Lane Cellars</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://theargylealligator.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Argyle Alligator</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://leitnerconstructionco.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Leitner Construction</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.chairish.com/shop/mattersofstyle" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Matters of Style</b></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.beautycounter.com/Mary-lairdgarrison" target="_blank">Mary Laird Garrison-BeautyCounter</a></b></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.myfundanoodle.com/GAYA/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Fundanoodle Girls</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.ericaeldridgephotography.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Erica Eldridge Photography</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.thewowie.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Wowie</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.mariannestronginteriors.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Marianne Strong Interiors</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.etsy.com/shop/lovelucydesign" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Shop Love Lucy</b></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.ellebrightdesigns.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Ellebright Designs</b></span></a></div>
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If I missed someone please let me know! Thank you all so much for your donations!!!!</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7089393369502570478.post-90827862776903405902017-11-15T22:53:00.002-05:002017-12-06T13:00:41.835-05:00Dear Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJywO9DLXfKLRBtXBMrWxVcvfN5Qot7dV8kVBoaI9KG7qpC-vOlGmQFKJcOF00_v1MeCSopGHwbG613h2vW2SVnmoyHbeWR_hJCzjdhQiczQqa71FoyqfBgqbg17j1FR__2HOwfVkvkQ/s1600/BF784CE7-6B1F-422B-BFEA-EA97C67A181D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJywO9DLXfKLRBtXBMrWxVcvfN5Qot7dV8kVBoaI9KG7qpC-vOlGmQFKJcOF00_v1MeCSopGHwbG613h2vW2SVnmoyHbeWR_hJCzjdhQiczQqa71FoyqfBgqbg17j1FR__2HOwfVkvkQ/s400/BF784CE7-6B1F-422B-BFEA-EA97C67A181D.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Dear Mom,</div>
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The holidays are upon us. I'm scared to take the bins out of the attic. Every ornament and every tabletop accessory is something you either gave me or bought with me while we were on a mother-daughter shopping trip. My day to day craziness usually blurs my grief somewhat but holidays and their decorations stop me dead in my tracks. I miss you so much. I am devastated that we are missing out on the years where we are best friends, battered by the scars of motherhood. We were always friends and never had those teenage fallout years but I feel like I have been cheated out of these wonderful older years. All those times you told me "When you have your own kids you will understand".....we could laugh hysterically at all that and drink wine (and scotch) and watch The Holiday. We could laugh at how neither of us cook and trade gift cards for chinese food. I could teach you how dry shampoo is the new baby powder and you could continue to try to perfect my gift wrapping skills</div>
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Your cousin Campbell died today. I know he was one of your favorites. I think he was everyone's favorite. A huge heart, mischievous laugh and the irreverent demeanor that only Browns and Braselmans understand. I feel like the good ones are taken from us too soon. I'm sure he and Aunt Kathleen are up in heaven having a cocktail laughing at the state of America today.</div>
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I wish you could see your grandchildren. I wish you could have seen Gaines get married last weekend. I wish I could tell you that I take my friends to all of our favorite places in Asheville and while it warms my heart to make new memories I am heartbroken at every stop. I wish you were here to help me through this exhausting yet rewarding part of life. </div>
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I miss you so much.</div>
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I'll love you forever, </div>
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I'll like you for always. </div>
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As long as I'm living, </div>
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my Mommy you'll be.</div>
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Katharine @ SouthernBourbonMountainshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03383419424779724533noreply@blogger.com3