Summer 2018

This was the hardest summer of my life.  It was also the quietest and the fastest, and those things (hard, quiet, fast) all feel opposed. But they coexisted, reminding me yet again that life is about contrast and contradiction and that just as soon as we think we have things figured out they shift again.

In addition, amid all the irritation, crankiness, and sorrow, there were, moments of great beauty. Already the specifics of this summer’s difficulties are fading into a generalized memory of snappiness, tears, and frustration.  This reminds me of how, so long ago, I described my experience of the first months of motherhood:

It’s fascinating the way the mind recovers and copes, isn’t it? My memory has smoothed over those weeks of tears and panic like the airbrush facility in photoshop: the pain is still there, I can’t forget it, but its pointy, prickly granularity is sanded down to a more general, uniform memory.

I definitely want to remember the bright moments, of which there were many. Isn’t it interesting that while the difficulties fade away into a generalized slurry, the joyful memories can sometimes become more brilliant, crystallizing somehow as they solidify into our recollection?  Maybe this too is its own coping mechanism.  Some of the highlights of the summer included:

We had a marvelous visit with my sister Hilary and her family

Grace and I made a last minute decision to go see Taylor Swift in concert (the uncharacteristic nature of that decision was part of what made the evening so wonderful) and it was great fun

Matt, Grace and I drove to the Cape to visit Whit and we had a great lunch

Matt and I spent a day on the Cape together before attending Cup Night at Whit’s camp

We played family doubles and swam to the line at the beach many times as a twosome, a threesome, and a foursome

Grace, Matt and I went to spinning (Grace and I in our matching camo leggings)

Whit and Grace took out Little Brea, the boat donated to the yacht club after gifts in my father’s memory and named for the boat he and my mother sailed for 20 years (see photo above)

Grace and I went to the MFA one rainy Saturday and loved seeing the pastels as well as the American art

I went for my first sail without my Dad, which was emotional but lovely

But when I reflect on the summer, I realize the time that stands out the most for me are the weeks that bracketed Summer with a capital “S,” early June and late August.  The weeks we were at home, the four of us, with not a lot else going on. They were the most ordinary of weeks.  We played family Hearts and went for walks for ice cream and watched movies that made us laugh (The Heat was the funniest, and we’re still quoting it).  They were also the sweetest.  I struggled with the last week or two, overwhelmed as I often get with This Is The Last – the anxiety of the endings and of the pending transition swamped me. I may write more about that.  But still, what I recall about those last ordinary weeks is how wonderful they were.  And now: into the next season, with barely time to take a breath.  Onward.