I love summer.
On a deep cellular level, I love summer. I love it in a weirdly-intense, fanatical kind of way. Sometimes I love it so much that I’m sad while it’s happening because I know it’s going to end.
It often feels as if I’m holding my breath the other nine months of the year and when the days become longer – when we trade in our heavy jackets for t-shirts and swimsuits – when school lets out and routines become less routine, socks become obsolete, and meals are eaten out back— I exhale.
So the loss of this summer was a gut punch.
Covid has taken from everyone. Much bigger things than a few cancelled backyard BBQs or a trip to the beach. In my orbit we’ve dealt with illness and separation from loved ones. There have been two major moves and mental health crises. On a daily basis, we’re facing unemployment, financial insecurity, anxiety and all the daily upheavals that don’t make us in any way unique. I fully understand that despite the upheaval, we’re fortunate. I remind myself of this often, and I am grateful. Truly. But I’m struggling to find comfort in the gratitude.
In the spring, I moved through denial, anger and bargaining pretty quickly. But when summer was cancelled, I had nothing left to fight off the depression with. It was too much. The last drop in an already-full bucket, maybe. It hardly matters why – losing summer has just been too much. But staying stuck in depression isn’t an option.
So I’m trying to save summer.
Not every hour or even every day, but in the big picture. To make some summer happen for my kids (for myself) because right now, it feels like the only way forward. Reclaiming some traditions and creating some new ones – and sometimes remembering to document them (with my iPhone only this year).
I’m looking for the light. Seeking out those fleeting glittering moments. Leading me towards acceptance, and saving summer.