Well, we had a mom-worthy adventure at the beaches of the Oregon Coast. Low tides right now are not very low, and man it was a stormy sea for the few days we were there! our first beach for scattering, Heceta Head (the top pic is the beachwe were at), was beautiful and lovely, but lacked tidepools. We clambered around a little point to try to find some, but ended up scattering mom in the waves breaking on the rocks. I also ended up wet to my knees because the tide had literally just turned and some waves just snuck up on me. The water was warm but the air was cold...so my wet jeans were, well, chilly. Our second beach was Beverly Beach, which had beautiful sand. And the last place where we left some of mom to be swept out to sea (we stopped a lot of places but not all were worthy) was Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach. We went out for the night time low tide--10.46 pm--because it was actually a negative tide. We took flashlights and walked out there across the beach from our hotel. it was so dark, and the stars were incredibly beautiful, and my brother tried to tell me that orion wasn't orion, but he was wrong. We found some tidepools by almost-illegally clambering around at Haystack Rock (a bird sanctuary or something), poured out the last of the ashes, and looked at anemones for a few minutes before saying goodbye and walking back. In the morning Dad and I walked out there again, as the tide was going out again. It is significantly closer in the light. And, of course, she was gone. I mean, she was gone before too but now she's really gone. it's hard to grasp that I will never see or hear my mother again, that I will never have another argument, hear another "I love you", give or receive another piece of advice, comiserate about silly family members, or laugh about horridly dressed people with my mother ever again. it's not just something you take in all at once, you know? No more emergency cooking calls. No more "guess what I just did" or "what I just saw" calls. No more Christmas visits. No more inviting my mom to hear me preach. no more of her asking me how it went at church and me telling her "well, everybody loves me."
I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, mom's ashes will spread so far and wide that whenever I go to a beach, she'll be there. And maybe she will be the grain of sand that becomes a pearl one day. Maybe. I hope so. I would like to think so. Because, as far as I can tell, that's the best that can come out of this situation. people keep saying she's better off now, there's no more pain, and that's probably true. But in my reality, the this-worldly dimension, there is no possible way that it is better when one's mother is dead. Especially at 47. No way. So please: it's not better. in fact, it's distinctly worse, possibly the worst. but maybe one day there will be some wonderful pearls and then, maybe, it will be better. maybe.
that's all for today. we are going to eat mexican food for the first time since mom died. We'll see how that goes. Maybe I've gotten the cryingout of my system while I've typed this. I hope so.