Saying Goodbye to Summer

We had nothing much planned for Labor Day weekend, so my husband suggested that we take a road trip across the Bay Bridge. His sister and brother-in-law recently bought a house on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, and they haven’t even moved into it, but they were there for the weekend. They have very little furniture in the house, but they are making themselves at home, bit by bit.

We were supposed to bring a few folding chairs for ourselves, but—in the excitement and chaos of leaving our house—I completely forgot. So, we pulled into the driveway with a few bathing suits and hot dogs for dinner. Mostly, we brought a longing to squeeze the most out of the holiday weekend.

Our family met us with open arms. Their chocolate lab, Ruffy, was there with them, and she could not contain herself. She adores our boys, and she was thrilled to see all of us. She ran from person to person to person, wriggling under our hands for pats and scratches, flopping on her back for a belly rub, and expressing joy as only a young lab can.

Our boys tolerated the house tour for a while and then went to play with Ruffy while we finished seeing the new home. Then, as soon as our sons had the parental OK, they put on their bathing trunks and headed for the pool in the backyard.

As I sat there watching them play in the water, I could almost feel the last bit of that sweet summer freedom slipping away. This was likely our last pool day of the season. The busyness of autumn is looming large.

With a bouncy chocolate lab jumping into the pool to fetch sticks and our boys’ happy voices calling, “Ruffy! Ruffy!” I wished I could freeze time. There was something about the joy of the moment, the excitement of that genuine summer fun, that I wanted to hold onto.

But, of course, time kept flying. Even as the adults chatted, I heard the conversation turn from the moment to the future—to October and then to Thanksgiving, tumbling forward and leaving summer behind. Soon enough our sons were out of the pool, shivering in the late-summer chill, wanting to change into dry clothes, ready to move on to the next thing.

Even Ruffy was ready to dry off and go inside for dinner and time together before we said our goodbyes.

As we headed home and crossed the Chesapeake Bay, the light was fading from the sky. We were surrounded by extraordinary beauty. My mind was full of memories of a wonderful day with people we love, and my heart was full, too.

“Be happy in the moment, that’s enough,” Saint Teresa of Kolkata told us. “Each moment is all we need, not more.”

Time is flying, but we have the joy of today. And we will hold onto that, marveling at the beauty of the present—even as we look toward the future.

Copyright © 2022 Catholic Review Media

 Print