We were at my kids’ school last week for a meet-and-greet with their new teachers. It was a lot of fun, reuniting with old friends, finding out who was in the same class, and combing the classroom to find their new seats. My 7-year-old was at the front of the classroom when I heard another mom excitedly approach him (her child is very good friends with my kid) and ask, “How was your summer?” and he said, “Good.” And I thought, “Here we go.”
For some, asking how someone’s summer went and getting a generic answer is satisfactory. And then there are others who view the q as an opening to do a full-fledged deep dive. That was the case here.
Apparently, “good” wasn’t good enough. She followed up her initial inquiry with, “What did you do? Where did you go?” In typical kid fashion, my child responded, “We did nothing.” That’s what kids will commonly say, even if they spent the entire summer full of days that leave them exhausted come evening.
For once, my child was fairly correct. My littles didn’t do much this summer. That wasn’t the issue. What the problem was the person’s response: she stood there and looked down at my child, the expression on her face a mix of disappointment and, dare I say, pity.
Momma Bear: activated.
I walked/sprinted to the front of the room, went up to the mom, and said, “I heard you ask my child what he did this summer. Why? Do you know why my kids did nothing this summer?”
I’ll tell you. My best friend died.
I spent almost the entire summer in the hospital with my honey. I witnessed firsthand the insidious nature of cancer. I watched helplessly as my love withered away. I spent nights sleeping at the hospital in a recliner that didn’t recline and had a finicky footrest that caused me to trip and fall more times than I care to count. And when I wasn’t doing nightly sleepovers with my sweetie, I spent 12+ hour days with her in the palliative care unit, seeing daily signs of her decline, working with the nurses (who are truly angels) to ensure that she got her cocktail of Ativan and Dilaudid — the only thing that helped in the final days of her life — the second she showed signs of terminal agitation.
I don’t share this to get a proverbial pat on the back or to get a gold star. I say this to show that some summers aren’t as shiny and happy as others. Some can actually shake your soul.
Because I was at the hospital day and night, my kiddos were back at home with their older siblings (who I lovingly call The Bigs), without their mother. We didn’t get to do all the things I had planned, and boy, did I have plans. Each day was meticulously mapped out (hyper organized, I am).
That’s not to say that they did absolutely nothing. In fact, they were happy how their summer went. They had playdates, swam in the pool, and we went to Kalahari Resort in the Poconos. Was it traveling abroad and going to Antigua and Barbuda? Nope. But we had a blast at a local fair that blasted 80s music, ate fair food like deep fried Twinkies and Oreos (if you haven’t tried these, you haven’t lived), and tried to touch laser beams that shined above our heads.
Now, I’m extremely grateful that, first and foremost, my Bigs were there to pick up the slack when I couldn’t. And I don’t take any of these aforementioned activities for granted. But I live in a fairly affluent community where spending a summer in Singapore at a luxe resort is standard. I’ve always felt that asking what you did over the summer is akin to meeting someone for the first time and asking them, “What do you do for a living?” It’s a not-so-subtle way of assessing how much money you make. So if a kid goes to Greece while another stays at home, conclusions about excess income can become apparent.
Of course, you could argue that asking my kids how this summer went got under my skin because they spent more time on their tablets than touring Tibet. And you wouldn’t be wrong. But this summer, I think we learned more to live in the moment rather than hinging our happiness on outdoing ourselves on vacations that are vacuous.
I guess this summer was so much more than an additional stamp in our passports. It was about how families come together in times of crisis, about being there for friends no matter what, and learning what really matters in this life. And sometimes, the ending is bittersweet, leaving you broken inside.
So what did we do this summer? Nothing — and everything.