Where Did Summer Go?

 I know technically summer isn't over, but hey, the kids are back in school. To me, that always meant summer was over. It used to be they went back after Labor Day. It seems they go back earlier every year. 

Why should that bother me? I mean, I don't have school-age kids, heck, I only have two school-age grandkids. 

Yet for some reason I feel sad about it every year. Maybe it's because I remember my own going back. I hated getting back to the routine of bedtime earlier, especially as it was still light outside. All summer they got to stay up late, played outside until 9:00 and sometimes later. Getting them to settle down was no easy task, but that wasn't the only reason. Nope, it was fun letting them stay up late and watching them play outside. I loved it. 

And, of course, I knew what was to come. My least favorite time of year, my least favorite season. I was okay until January. It wasn't terribly cold in November and December (at least not usually, although there were a few years). I don't mind the snow. I actually think it's pretty. I just don't like driving in it.  Although most times, the road crews are pretty good about keeping it clear. But those big snowfalls when you can't even get out of the garage without shoveling, well, suffice it to say, I'm not crazy about them. 

There was a time, in my younger years, I actually loved snowstorms. Loved going out and shoveling and playing with the kids building snowmen and making snow angels. But those days are long past. These old bones have trouble shoveling nowadays. Praise God, I have a nephew who does it for a living, and the great guy that he takes mercy on me and plows our drive. 

I have no desire to flee south for the winter, even if I could afford it. Nope, I love Ohio, love being near my family especially. So, I'll live with it and look forward to next spring and summer. At my age the time goes pretty quickly, so it'll be here before I know it. Until then, I'll continue to wonder, where did summer go?

Things My Mother Never Taught Me by Roseanne Dowell

 

Dedicated to my mother who passed away on Nov. 22, 1996

My mother never taught me about the thrill of a first kiss or the hurt of that first breakup. She never told me about the love between a man and a woman and the joy of standing at the altar, vowing before God, family, and friends to love him forever.

My mother never taught me about the emotions of holding my newborn child in my arms for the first time or the feeling of responsibility for their lives. She never told me about the overwhelming sense of awe I'd feel knowing that this child came from within me. That I created the life, nourished it for nine long months, and now had to nourish and care for it in the real world. She never taught me I'd feel this amazing sense of awe with each child.

My mother never taught me the feeling of swelled pride at watching my children take their first steps or hearing their first words.

She never taught me about the combination of pain and pride I would feel as I watched my children waltz off to school looking so grown up and yet so young. So independent. She never told me how I’d feel when they came home and said “But Miss so and so said it was better to do it this way.” and the realization that I was no longer the sole influence in their life.

My mother never taught me about the fear of having a child in the hospital undergoing tests by a neurologist after a normal eye exam discovered a problem or sitting in an emergency room while your child undergoes an emergency appendectomy. She never told me how difficult it would be to watch your children suffer through typical childhood illnesses, stitches, or broken bones.

She never taught me about the fear of letting your children go down the street to play or crossing the street for the first time by themselves.

My mother never taught me about dealing with my daughter’s first crush and heartbreak and lost love. She never told me how hard it would be to watch my children struggle to get good grades or make the team or try to fit in.

She never taught me about the pride of watching my child march down the auditorium to receive their diploma or hearing about their first job. My mother never told me of the deep fear I’d experience when they learned to drive or getting that phone call that told me they had an accident.

My mother never taught me of the excitement of their engagement and the trials of planning a wedding. She never told me of the happiness and pride I’d feel watching them walk down the aisle to stand beside the one they would vow to spend their life with or the worry that this child was now totally independent of you.

She never taught me of the sense of wonder I’d feel holding my newborn grandchildren for the first time.

She never explained that these feelings of worry and concern never go away when my children grew up. My mother didn't tell me the worries would only strengthen as my children married and had children of their own. That I’d have more to love and worry about.

She never told me how it feels to be a mother. She never told me about the joy, pain, and overwhelming awe of being a mother and grandmother. I now know why my mother never taught me these things. Because these things have to be experienced to understand the wonderful sense of being a mother.

But the biggest thing my mother never taught me was how I’d feel when she was no longer here to talk with, to share my feelings with after she passed from this world. She never taught me how to deal with the sense of loss at losing a loved one or the pain deep within that I would carry through the rest of my days. She never told me how much I’d miss her.