How Does One Sum Up a Summer?

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[Costco check-out line, 11:17 am, a busy Saturday morning in August]

Having placed what will add up to hundreds of dollars of bread, cheese, fruit snacks, toothpaste, milk, almond milk, and almonds, along with many other items my children will eat or use this first week of school on the checkout belt, I, still having half a cart to unload — but, aware enough to not want to hold up the line — pull out my membership card and hold it out to the cashier.

Costco is a well-oiled machine. Please pay attention.

The man in a plaid shirt and kind eyes smiles, scans, and says, “Good morning! How are you today?”

I pause for just long enough to blink my eyes and inhale.

How am I today?

Well, it’s a Saturday. And I’m here. Which, if you’ve ever been to Costco, is the last day of the week anyone should ever choose to come, but it’s the day many people have no choice but to come. And I’m here today because my children go to school on Monday and I haven’t been here for a while, and we need some food. Also, my oldest leaves for college two days later and she’s sleeping right now.

This sounds silly. Or crazy? It’s just that I planned this trip specifically to coincide with not missing any more of her waking hours than I have to. It’s not that we’re spending all our time together. It’s just that I want to be around when she’s around. While she’s still around. Because she’s leaving soon.

How am I today?

I’m sad that the summer is over.

In many ways, it feels like I barely hung on: skimming emails and wiping a countertop here and there, grocery shopping, working, loading the dishwasher on the fly. Has any laundry been folded in the last 10 weeks?

And yet our oldest graduated. And we threw a big, fun backyard party.

And we had this family trip Chris and I only mentioned in passing through the years, like a dream — one that felt so real but could never actually come true. Except it did. And we took our children to see the house their grandfather grew up in, and to meet their great aunt for the first time, and to stay with cousins and eat pounds and pounds of gruyere and chocolate and hike trails where all we could see were mountains, belled cows, alpine flowers, and each other.

And of course there was swim team and the pool and friends and an annual beach trip with my in-laws.

But all of this coming to an end means new beginnings are waiting at the door, hand up, knocking.

One chapter of life is over, another has packed up her sweatshirts and is ready to move into her dorm room.

And I’m not great with transitions.

How am I today?

The question lodges in my throat.

I didn’t realize saying goodbye to my daughter’s friends yesterday would catch me off guard, that suddenly, this feels more real. And I do not yet know that later today, after I’ve put most of this haul in its respective places, I, for whatever reasons — or (shall I admit?) for reasons that are small but significant to me — will lock myself in my bedroom and fall apart at the seams.

Even as it’s happening, even as I have the impulse to get it together, I will allow the tears come, to hold the painful ache in my heart with care, because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that emotions shoved or stuffed won’t sit nice and tidy for too long.

And yet, I’m also so happy. So excited! What an experience, what a privilege — to go away to college! The contrast to my own life’s path … it doesn’t take much to imagine how redemptive and healing this feels.

Plus, she’s ready. And summer is over. And, for once, I felt like we were so intentional with these months. Which is helping me be okay.

Able to hold multitudes, aren’t we?

I exhale, look the man in the eyes, slide the card back into my pocket, smile and sum it all up by saying, “I’m good. How are you?”