Last Summers

August 22, 2018

I can still recall our last summer…

We watched Momma Mia 2, after Momma Mia because there must be an order with these things… I watched on Broadway in my 20’s the age of the daughter and here I am in my 40’s connecting with the mother…Watching with my children who are slipping through my fingers all the time. I try to capture every minute. The feeling in it slipping through my fingers all the time…

And summer moves slowly without noticing like the clouds that drift across the sky, until it is August and you want to drink it in, until it is late August and you want it to start again.

My life has turned on it’s head… in the early mornings I practice yoga at the Windrift, where I used be with friends in the evenings on warm summer night. But underneath we had a fear of flying, of getting old, a fear of slowly dying…

I made a pact with a friend my senior year of college that no matter what we would have fulfilling and meaningful lives. We vowed not to sell out. I think my 22 year old self would approve. My life is authentic, it’s grounded, it’s real.

This summer we gathered on the beach in Avalon – all college friends old and true while our children built sandcastles, and rode waves, played football in the surf. Middle aged and happy, laughing at youth and summer jobs. But despite the freedom and fun of youth – I wouldn’t trade any adult responsibility – even taxes, even alarm clocks sounding, and the millions of things you need to remember, and never enough sleep for the joys of watching my children on the beach with some of our oldest and dearest friends.

Today I am counting last summers with my children until college, and considering internships which would stop summers at sophomore year or earlier. 5 for my eldest, 7 for my middle man, 8 for my youngest. Slipping through my fingers all the time, I try to capture every minute…

I don’t know why I love the summer with it’s heat, and heavy air. And maybe it isn’t the summer – it’s who we are in the summer. It’s how we are. But the evening air is turning crisp, and smells of autumn and leaves.

I dropped my baby at high school this week for preseason. With seniors. And college prep. And AP classes. She got out of the car and I felt my heart leave with her.

They are slipping through my fingers all the time. I try to capture every minute.

And maybe I should still be making pacts, but with me this time. To keep first things first, to be present, and embrace all we have. Because they keep on growing… And all we have is now.