Endless Summer

The hardest day of the year for me for years and years used to be August 1st, because that was the day that Adrianna would fly back to Louisville after her six-week stay with me in the summer that started the day after her birthday, June 19th, until August 1st.

I tried to enjoy those six weeks, and I did, but at the same time I was constantly aware of the countdown to when she'd leave.

"Now we only have 32 days... Now she leaves in just 24 days..." etc. I tried to live in the moment, and we did. We did a lot together. I found a job that allowed her to come with me so she didn't spend most of those 6 weeks in some day care. At the time we'd drive from rec center to day care to community center each day and I'd teach computer classes. She'd help me set up the computers, hand out papers, and occasionally participate in other activities that were taking place when we were at the location. It was great. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was enough and we were able to spend so much time together.

"Now we only have 12 days left..."

I'd take a week off during July 4th and we'd drive to spend some time at my grandparents' summer cottage in Lake Geneva, WI and also see my dad. It was a 16-hour drive, but she never complained and we had great conversations and listened to music.

"Now just 3 days..."

But then August 1st would come, and I'd take her to the airport and put her on the plane. She'd be quietly crying and I felt terrible for her, having to go back and forth, always missing one parent. I'd remind her that her mother will be so happy to see her. I'd remind her that she'd be back at Thanksgiving, which was "only" 3 months away. I'd usually say that with a catch in my throat, trying not to break down as I was trying to convince myself as much as her that 3 months was nothing. But, of course, it wasn't nothing. It was everything.

I'd stay until the plane took off and then drive home, the car suddenly so empty, trying not to cry but rarely succeeding,

I suffered these little deaths 4 times a year (and I'm sure she did, too), but the end of the summer was the worst. It followed the longest stretch with her that was then followed by the longest stretch without her.

Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.


And they were like little deaths that we both had to endure to survive. I couldn't image anything worse, or at least tried to not allow myself to imagine anything worse. But when something far worse did arrive, it turned out to be several magnitudes worse. Unbelievably worse, which of course isn't surprising and seems self-evident.

I always thought of The Beach Boys' album "Endless Summer," a compilation album released one summer when I was a kid, and I always wished for an endless summer with Adrianna, one that didn't consist of a finite set of days that counted down to zero. I always knew this was a stand in for life itself, whose days slip away one by one no matter what. I just will never forgive life for giving my daughter such a small calendar. 


But I'm thankful for the pages we did have.