Summertime
I am not a big fan of this time of year. It is not the humidity, or the mosquito’s, or that my daughter does not understand that summer is not a vacation for Mommy from household stuff. Even though at the moment, the house looks like I have taken a vacation! It is always around this time of year that I really start thinking about my Dad’s death. July 4, 2000 was the last holiday that I got to spend with him. I had no clue that in less than thirty days he would be gone. None of us did.
My husband and I came home from Kansas City for the weekend and my parents had just moved into their new house. They had moved from the house I had lived in since I was thirteen, to a smaller house in a gated community. Downsizing they called it. I have no memories of my Dad from that holiday at all. The only thing I remember from the visit is that I cut my knee on the toilet tank lid while getting out of the shower. (don’t ask how, I don’t even think I could explain) I have a scar to prove it. Anyway, I wish that I could remember something about being with him for that holiday…but I can’t.
So, when June turns to July my thoughts seem to fast forward to the end of July and August. It will be eight years this August that my Dad died. Every year does get easier. But, I want to say that it is not because “time heals all wounds”. Time heals nothing. I have really had to work hard at grieving my loss and accepting it. Still, this time of year the excitement of summer begins to fade for awhile. I have to wonder if it will always be this way?
