Summer has always felt nostalgic to me. It is the time of year when the weather heats up, and our bodies slow down.
As a kid summertime meant bare feet and sprinting down the sidewalk to my friend Lori’s house before they blistered on the pavement. It was a game of Marco Polo, Kick the Can, and Connect Four.
Summer was sitting on my back fence eating plums by the dozen. It was getting up at 6 am to get to the barn (I used to ride horses) for my lesson before it got too hot. It was eating an enormous burrito in dirty jeans and boots and messy hair smelling like horses but being so so happy.
I moved to Santa Barbara just before my 19th birthday. Summer back then was sandy toes and a flip flop tan. It was reading US Weekly and eating Skittles with my roommate at Butterfly Beach. It was working at Shoreline Beach Cafe on the 4th of July and having the best seat in the house for the fireworks at the Harbor.
It was seeing the same people at 80’s night at Q’s for breakfast the next morning at Mesa Cafe and then Sunday Funday at 634.
After I started having kids, summer took on a hectic pace. Over time, the self-imposed pressure to find the right camps and cram in the best vacations was overwhelming. The need to keep the kids engaged and entertained, and, if I’m being honest, out of my hair, stole all the lazy blank space I love about summer.
And then there was the summer Aiden got sick.
Aiden was in that perfect sweet spot between baby and toddler. He was talking and on the verge of walking. One day in the car, Owen and Peyton were taking turns trying to get Aiden to say their names, and I told them, “Just you wait. It’s about to get really fun.” We saw family and friends and planned our annual end-of-summer trip to Cambria when the world stopped spinning… at least for us.
Aiden was diagnosed with a brain tumor on July 31st, 2019.
Summer ended while Aiden was in the PICU, and before Thanksgiving, he was gone.
Last summer, while on lockdown, it felt good to have the excuse not to plan. It was strangely comforting like the whole world was grieving with us. But faced with a blank calendar and my grief, the 12 weeks of summer felt like a slow march to the anniversary of the worst days of my life. Lockdown meant I had no choice but to be present for it all. There were no vacations or lunch dates, or camp drop-offs to distract me. It was hard, but it was also good.
This spring, as the school year was winding down and everyone around me was planning trips and scrambling to sign up for camps,
I chose EASE.
I wanted this summer to feel like an old polaroid, a little sun-bleached and with no sharp edges. The kids did a few camps, and we had some long-overdue hugs with family. When July 31st came around, it didn’t have the same sting as it did last year. Part of me feels guilty for that; part of me thinks it’s healing.
School starts in a few weeks. I don’t feel rushed or like we missed something. I also don’t feel like this was the best summer ever. I feel content, rested, and ready to turn the page.
This is where I am today. Thank you for listening.
