There is a weird balance between this being a true Blog and a pure campaign site. That synthesis comes most clear when I use the space to verr into personal refelction on a matter unrelated to the campaign - realize I didn't agree to stop being myself just to win the seat. The site was up before I was a candidate and it will be up after I am not. So.
So my weekend was a difficult one - my father, who has been living with Parkinson's for several years, fell the Friday before spring break. that resulted in a broken hip, days before my mother was scheduled to fly to France for a month. Between the hospital, me, and several very dear friends, it was decided we could care for Dad and still give Mom the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The demands of providing for some aspects of his care required me to make the drive from the Rogue Valley to the coast (my parents live in Bandon, about 2:45 away) for three of the past four weekends. That scenario on it's own is enough to make one wax philosophical. But this weekend, a new item entered the picture: EXPECTED loss. People who know me know I've had a tough pet year, losing one cat to a car in June, one mysteriously in August and two more to dog attack just before Christmas, none of them more than 18 months old. Those losses are shocking and tragic, but their impact is due mostly to the their sudden and unpredictable arrival. Dad's situation (while not at all looming) was a subtle reminder of that which is inevitable (someone with Parkinsons WILL eventually have a balance loss resulting in an injurious fall, for example) about the living and those who grow old.
This weekend I got it twice - first from the visit with my father, but then from a phone call from home, where a friend was feeding my pets. When my ex-wife and I were engaged in 1992, we visited the Humane Society on a lark. There we met an energetic, personable, loving Shepard-Akita mix named Bandon (yes, that name comes up a few times in my life tapestry). Nancy proposed to me on the beach at Bandon in the summer of 91, and we believed this dog's name was a sign... We adopted her on the spot. After we divorced, we shared her - Nancy's new family was also very dog-laden, so Bandon was mostly with me, but Nanc took her during this most recent soccer season, and on occasional weekends and trips.
Bandon was at least 13 years old - a remarkable age for her breeding. Her weight was a challenge over the past several years and her hips were failing fast. This weekend, the slope slid completely away - from Friday afternoon to Saturday evening, she deteriorated rapidly. Saturdy night, she apparently took herself out for her final rest, though it had not come yet when my friends arrived to feed on Sunday morning. From where I was on the coast with Dad, there wasn't much I could do - call Nanc and her husband, ask that they get over and see what was going on, and get back myself as quickly as possible.
Nanc worked to figure out a way to restore some level of comfort to Bandon for the past 24 hours, but this morning, she again took herself outside to try and find a quiet secluded place. She was telling us what we knew, though didn't want to know. It was her time. I sat with her until the last minute I could this morning before going to work. Nancy and Troy took her in a little before 10am and called me at 10:20 to let me know this wonderful, gentle creature who had shared my home for a dozen years was no longer with us in this world.
And I am supposed to be focusing on Lawn Signs.
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