The Summertime Blues

 

Try telling a teacher that the summer will be hard, and you will receive anything from hysterical laughter, to an eye roll and a flip sounding "Yeah right."  As teachers, we covet our summers from September to May, and we cherish them from June to August.

My summer months are typically filled with days at the beach, tennis, meeting with friends, reading great books, shopping, trying new recipes, working on my house and garden, and generally doing things that the rest of society wishes they were able to do on a random Tuesday afternoon.  Summers are a blessing that I do not take for granted.

This year, I've been participating in all of my favorite summer activities, but under a dark cloud.  It is ironic, really.  As the bright summer sun calls me to be cheerful and full of joy, so many of my days have been spent wishing for a thunderstorm or a drop in temperatures to match my mood.  It's almost like the beautiful summer days are mocking me.  Grief fit much better in the dark, cold, and brutal days of winter.

This summer is another season that my Matt is not here with me.  He's not swimming at my parents' pool, meeting me for fireworks, hosting barbecues at his apartment, organizing groups to go to concerts, making us see all of the big summer movies, or coming to sleep on our couch, order pizza, and take over our living room.  He's just not here.  Another season of him gone is another round of experiences and traditions to have without him.

In my thoughts, losing my brother continues to feel like a perfect combination of "OH HELL NO THAT DID NOT HAPPEN," to "I miss him so much I don't think I'll ever feel whole again."

Furthermore, this summer was supposed to be "Pregnant Summer".  That is not God's plan for us.  After losing our pregnancy in May, I have learned that it can take several weeks, even months for my body to heal, and be ready to start again.  The timing seems unfair based on how much energy and flexibility it takes to be a woman doing IVF.  Wouldn't it make sense for me to be able to do treatment in the middle of my summer vacation?  Instead, we will be waiting until the middle of August.

In my thoughts, going through this fertility journey continues to feel like the perfect combination of "WHY GOD? THIS IS NOT FAIR, CUT ME A BREAK, MY FAMILY NEEDS SOME JOY," and in a much more calm and peaceful tone, "Jesus, I know that you have a plan for my life, and it is perfect, and please help me to trust you."

I never thought that I would wish to rush through summer, to get to Labor Day, the cooler September weather, leaves changing, students, grading tests, and lesson planning.  However, I found myself wishing that I could rush through summer so that my broken heart over losing Matt would heal further, and that Jer and I could move forward in our fertility journey.

In my pain of waiting for life to feel like my  life again, I come back to this verse;


"Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:4

In these gorgeous summer months, I am in the valley, the darkest valley of my 33 years of life. I believe that God wants me in this valley for a little while.  Why?  

I am becoming deeper and more compassionate.

I am learning that I cannot control my life.  

I am healing.

Me and God are getting super close.  We've gotten in some fights, but we're working through it.

I know that He wants me here this summer.  He wants me to learn and grow, to heal and accept that this life here on Earth is not perfect.  It is not my timing, it is His.  It is not my way, it is His.  I think we have to go through pain, the trials and tribulations...the stuff that just feels awful to truly appreciate the beauty and joy that are also here.  I do believe that joy is still here, even if it is only in small and unexpected moments.  

Last night, Jer and I took the dog to the beach for a twilight swim.  The water was freezing, even for a girl who grew up swimming in Lake Michigan.  I stood in the lake up to my knees, holding up my dress, and feeling my legs grow numb.  I so wanted to experience the freeing and beautiful sensation of swimming in the open and quiet lake.  I knew that it would be painfully cold, but I also knew that Matt would have dove in and savored the moment.  That's how he was.  

I threw my cover-up on the beach and dove in.  It took my breath away.  I actually felt my heart start to race as the water covered me and I lost my breath.  Something inside of me last night told me that I had to fully experience this moment and keep swimming.

I dove under again, and began to swim out past the rocks, where the water was deep and dark.  My arms warmed up, and my breathing became normal.  The water began to feel refreshing and invigorating instead of painful.  I flipped on my back and looked up.  The clouds and sun fought to dominate the summer sky, creating that beautiful picture of rays cutting through the fluffy masses to look like beams coming from Heaven.  I felt Matt with me at that moment, as I so often do when I am at the lake.  Matt was with me in the beauty of the swim that was inspired by him.

Even in the valley, there can be joy.  Jesus is teaching me to slow down, look around, and find happiness in the midst of my pain.  He is teaching me to stop rushing through my life, trying to get to the next "better" moment, the fall instead of the summer, the time of being parents instead of just us, a time when I can see Matt again, a time that won't hurt so badly.  He is teaching me constant joy.   

Joy can be a twilight swim with a golden retriever and a husband.  A little joy can be a slight reprieve from the "summertime blues".

Gilson Beach, Wilmette