I wish so much the beaches were off leash. He wanted to run so badly. Everyone had their dogs on leashes, and signs said leashes only, so I kept him on his. At least he was allowed to walk with me. This was our one half day of sunshine, but drove out of blue skies right into another storm.
We are currently parked across from scenes like this in Astoria, Oregon.
From the Park's website:
"The land was purchased between 1938 and 1968 from private owners, and includes one gift of 10 acres from Lincoln County made in 1963. In the days before the completion of the Coast Highway, the beach between Newport and Seal Rock was used as an access road. Motorists would travel at low tide, following the mail carrier who knew the best way to cross Beaver Creek. The park was first known as Ona Beach State Park, but was renamed in 2013 to honor the first Oregon State Parks and Recreation Commission chairperson."
This is our view out one window. We are going to stay the night here and hopefully won't be asked to leave in the middle of the night. That's a risk at almost every place we stay.
There's a nice walking trail around the water. It's raining steadily again, but the morning was dry. Even with the clouds, the dry weather was a tiny reprieve from the constant sound of rain. We saw the sun for almost an hour yesterday. It felt like a magical life line. My mood drastically changed the moment the sun debuted. My niece had me buy some Vitamin D and said to start taking that for the rain induced depression. She said it really helped her.
between raining and sprinkling, but not downpouring.
in Astoria, Oregon. We're parked right near the tracks and water.
Nothing in these photos captures the constant tug at my heart that I feel as I watch the independence and life force fade away in my mother. Nothing in life prepares us for that. There's a sadness that cuts deep inside me as I'm faced every day with my mother's physical losses.
I wrote a dear friend about some of this today. Just thinking about it makes me tear up. Her mind is strong, but without meaningful or useful sight, it's a game changer in so many important ways. She is so dependent on everything because of her sightlessness. What I really miss is sharing the beauty of nature with her and being able to talk about the sights. It's like I'm traveling alone in some ways, but not with the energy that comes from solo traveling. It's very strange and somewhat draining.
I bought her a portable clock that "talks the time" when a button is pressed, but it needs a new battery and we need a special screwdriver to access where the battery goes and I've lost that. (I lose something every day.) I try to remember to randomly tell her the time during the day.
I can't often put her prescription drugs in her hands because her hands are semi numb (neuropathy from Cipro) and she can't see the pills either. I have to put them directly into her mouth. Sometimes she can tilt the little pill cup into her mouth if I make sure only two or three little pills are in it, but I need to watch to make sure none drop out.
She also has swallowing difficulties so the pills sometimes don't go down smoothly, and if they jam in her throat where she has a diverticuli (sp?) issue, it can slice open the soft tissue and make swallowing painful for weeks. I sometimes need more patience than I have to wait between swallowing the pills. It takes several times to get through all the pills morning and night. Her swallowing reflex takes extra time to work. Two pills have to be ground up each day and put in pudding for her to take because they are simply too large for her to swallow. Sometimes I mix it in peanut butter. I'm tearing up just thinking about all the ways she has lost her independence. Just three years ago, it wasn't like this. I never even imagined it would ever be like this. Of course, I'm very grateful her mind has stayed strong. Her voice still sounds mostly like the mom I've always known. It's just very hard to witness how much the body fails with age.
Our parking spot worked out well. That's always a feeling of great relief.