Suddenly Summer

Ah, summer. The longer I teach, the shorter it gets. The milestones in our family seem to fly by so quickly that I barely have time to capture them in words. So many fleeting, beautiful Moments...I wish I could carry a dictation machine around with me so that I could write down every single one of them exactly when they happen.

I kicked off summer with a trip to Nashville over Memorial Day weekend. Dad and I flew out and spent a few days with my brother. It was a trip that had been previously planned by Mom, so we went to both honor her wishes and to have some time together doing the things she wanted to do. Time alone, just the three of us, is rare, so this trip was pure bliss. We learned how to Lyft, we discovered what the fuss is all about at Waffle House, and realized that the people who write hotel reviews on Trip Advisor are legitimately trying to help you.

PSA: If a hotel averages a one-point-five star review, you should probably not book that room.

Even if it is part of a super-amazing-package deal.

Even if it is a Days Inn and you have previously stayed at a Days Inn and found it to be just fine, you should still listen to the reviews for that PARTICULAR Days Inn.

Even if there is a five-star review sprinkled in every three or four bad reviews, you should still not book that room.

Even if it is super close to the airport.

Don't do it. Trust the masses.

Anyway. After moving to a more reputable four-star-reviewed Sheraton late late at night, we felt much more relaxed, and Dad wasn't worried anymore about possible drug deals in the hallways and I could actually breathe in through my nose and not feel like gagging. On a brighter note, that was the only bump in the road. We wandered up and down Broadway, made good meals at the apartment, and filled up every second with conversation. Stevie came along, which was a bright spot for all of us. Mom always thought she was wonderful, and it felt just right that she was there. We toured the Opry, spent quality time with Johnny Cash, and wrapped it up with a big hometown concert from Church himself. Mom went everywhere with us, and I couldn't have asked for a more meaningful memorial.

School let out shortly thereafter and our level of chasing children to sporting events kicked up another notch. We played softball this summer like our very lives depended on it. Emma played on three different teams at various times over the course of the summer. An invitation to play with the 18U on a few occasions was a particular highlight for her. Granted, she leaked nervous tears all the way to the field each time out of fear of letting down the Varsity girls, but her worries were short-lived once she arrived. Those girls are the kindest, most wonderful mentors a Mama could ever hope for. She had a ball, and carries real awe and reverence for those girls when she sees them at school.

Carys played a full 10U softball season learning three new positions and continuing to swing the bat with all her might. The love she has for fishing seems to have grown exponentially this summer. One late night I was walking through the house turning out lights and checking on the kids and discovered that Carys wasn't in her bed. It was 11:45pm, everyone was asleep, and my child was missing! A few brief moments of panic surged through me until Aaron mumbled, "she's still on the dock." Sure enough, she was sitting cross-legged at the end of our dock with a headlamp on her forehead, a fish trap full of sunfish, and her iPod plugged into her ears. (Which is why she missed the call to come in and go to bed.) At only ten years old, this summer she learned how to get to the bait shop on her own, and get whatever she needs whenever she needs it. She can tie her own lures, and take off any fish as long as she's got a glove and a pliers.

Cooper surprised all of us this summer; he hung up his baseball cleats and picked up a tennis racket. I couldn't have been more surprised. We're kind of a baseball family; I can't think of anyone on either side of our families who play tennis, so I'm not sure where he got the idea. Walking him to the courts on the first day felt surreal; I was certainly out of my element, and second-guessed this decision all the way there. As usual, I shouldn't have worried. He came home thoroughly pleased with himself, stating boldly "I was born for this sport!" I don't know about that, but at least he isn't short on confidence.

Sandwiched in between matches and games, we dabbled in basketball, gymnastics, piano, soccer and cello. As July wound down and August rolled in we all tried Children's Theater for the first time. All three kids were given roles they loved and threw themselves into; it was my first time directing Elementary age students in musical. Somehow we pulled off a full-length show in only 8 days. I owe it all to  three incredible assistants and a whole lot of caffeine. The program is remarkable, I  feel so so lucky to have been part of it.

As usual, it went way too fast. These kids are growing so beautifully into the talents they've been given. I feel like I learn a little more about myself every year, going through all their ups and downs. I do know how lucky I am. 💙

Waiting

I wasn't sure what the anniversary of Mom's death was going to feel like. I felt it approaching; was viscerally aware of it as the days and minutes ticked by. I waited for a feeling; I waited for emotion. I waited and waited for something to come washing over me.

It didn't come.

I woke up on July 31 the same way I wake up every day; reluctantly. I've always been a night owl and mornings simply are not my thing. I opened my eyes to a regular day, and filled up the minutes doing regular things and just waited for something terrible to come rushing in.

It didn't come.

Dad and I and John all checked in with each other, carefully, carefully. I waited to feel the air leave my chest and my heart to feel that familiar squeeze and I waited for the broken feeling that I was sure was coming.

It didn't come.

I was careful to hold the day close to me; I was careful not to mention it or say words out loud, fearful that Despair was lurking around the corner and listening for me to call him.

But he didn't come.

Instead, friends stopped by to say hello, and the kids splashed on the beach and bounced on the trampoline all day. We grilled out and ate good food and laughed with each other.

Instead, I opened a lovely message from a single aunt. Just one of Mom's nine remaining siblings who let me know that Mom was remembered, that she was loved, and that she was missed. I opened that perfect message and Despair was nowhere to be found. Just warm love came pouring out, over my fingertips, up my arms and into my heart.

Instead, one of my friends showed up in my kitchen with a candle and a card and a letter. She'd remembered every time she met my mom; she detailed all their conversations and listed every interaction, reminding me that Mom was more than a memory, but a real person who loved me. I was touched beyond belief by that gesture; I don't think I've ever been as good a friend to anyone as this friend has been to me. I don't deserve it, I know, and I am so grateful for her.

The day wound down and everyone tumbled off to bed, leaving me to watch the day recede into darkness. I still felt wary, still felt cautious, still waiting waiting waiting for the thing that I was sure was still coming. There were hours, hours still to endure in the quiet of the evening, anticipating with dread what was almost certainly coming.

Around nine o-clock, the house went quiet and a car pulled up out front. A third blessing got out of it with a blanket and a beer. Curled up on the beach chairs, I toasted my mom with maybe the only person I know who could relate to me on this particular level. We sat on those chairs until 2am. She saw me safely into the next day and made sure I crossed effortlessly over. We watched the moon come up, and the stars come out. We cried a little bit and we talked a little bit and we laughed a whole lot. We woke up the neighbor and we were nearly attacked by the local mink who wasn't expecting us to inhabit the beach at that hour.

We breathed deeply in the cool night air. I let memories float in the air and drift over my skin, retelling some good things and some hard things and giving a name to the feeling I'd felt all day, safely anchored by the bonds of this golden friendship, which has come to mean so much to me.

All through Mom's illness I reminded myself that Mom knew how to do hard things. She taught me how to do the hard things, and how to survive them when they came. I kept expecting today to be one of those hard things. I was waiting for it, bracing for it. I did it, Mom. I'm doing it. The hardest thing, every day.