Labor Day. The end of summer, though not here in S.C. But we'll put our white shoes and white pants away, which is probably a good thing because they've gotten tight over the summer. What hasn't?
I cut up what might be our last watermelon of the summer today. (I cut up watermelons and put them in sealed containers in the refrigerator to make it easy to eat without having to commit to a whole slice. Plus it saves room in the 'fridge.) The "last" watermelon was light pink and as dry as it could be and still be called a watermelon. It came from Texas, which is my own fault because I could have driven to the Farmer's Market and bought a pile of local watermelons for not much.
So many things I could have done. Yet summer is officially over. I don't even want to think about it. Yes, I complained about the heat, but summer is my favorite season. Summer is the opposite of winter. Summer is life. Winter is death. Summer is long days filled with light. Winter is quick darkness. How do people in Norway manage? I need sun.
There's a lot I need. Right now, I need relief. My mother has had Alzheimer's for nine years. Yesterday she did not know me. My father, who is more filled with life than I am right now, seems to struggle more every day.
The lesson I should be learning from this is not to save myself for old age. LIVE! But the lesson I seem to be soaking in is grieve, grieve, because your summer is ending, too.
Watching people you love die kills something within you. You want to help, but you cannot change things for them beyond showing them love and care. And it never feels like enough.
Watching old age has changed my perspective. For a while my reaction was to throw away my health -- eating whatever I wanted, stopped exercising, just quit taking care of myself. As if I was afraid healthy living would lead to old age. Yeah, that's smart. Make yourself an unhealthy person and still live a long life. So I'm trying to turn that part around. (Still glad to see those white pants go into the storage closet, though. Hopefully they will be baggy next summer.)
This is all foolishness. If your parents live to be 95, you should be grateful. But there's still no way to be ready for their deaths, no matter how old you or they are.
I need to make a choice here. I cannot keep them alive by dying with them. (In the metaphorical sense; this is not a cry for help.) I need to choose life for myself. A full life. Today I will go to the pool before it closes for the season. I will swim with my daughter and her friend. I will chat with my husband in the gift of sunshine. I might ride my horse. I'll take a walk with the dog on this gorgeous gift of a day. I've already done some bible study and realize, yet again, that I am much loved by One who fully understands. What I don't get around to doing, I won't beat myself up over. The grief is real. The grief is there. But so, too, is youth, love and many tomorrows. I will have to push myself. How we live is a choice we make, no matter what season we are in.
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