Final Summer
There is a quiet, sacred rhythm to being an adult child who returns home each summer to care for aging parents. As an educator, having those summer months free, has always been my anchor, a precious window of time to step back from the demands of a busy school year and pour myself entirely into nurturing the two people who poured their all into me.
Since my brother passed away, the weight of responsibility and love has settled solely on my shoulders. I am the only remaining child left to ensure that my parents are well-cared for as they navigate the twilight of their lives. It is a labor of profound devotion and love, but it is not without its heavy moments.
My dad, at 92, had weathered a remarkably long life, though the last three years had been especially rough. After suffering a stroke that robbed him of his mobility, his world shrank. Yet through it all, my mom remained his steadfast anchor. She dutifully and lovingly cared for him day in and day out, embodying a brand of loyalty and devotion that took my breath away.
This past summer was no different. I packed my bags, headed home, and sank into the familiar cadence of caregiving, shared meals, and quiet conversations. I spent a truly wonderful summer by his side moments that, looking back now, feels laced with a quiet, golden grace. Deep down we both knew this time was different.
When September arrived, the calendar forced me back to reality. Work resumed on September 1st, pulling me back into the rush of a new academic year. But the transition lasted only a few hours.
That very first morning, my phone rang. It was my mom. Dad wasn’t responding.
The ground beneath my feet simply vanished. In an instant, the structured world of office visits, scheduling, meetings and school bells dissolved, replaced by a paralyzing panic. I prayed with every fiber of my being that he would turn it around, that he had one more fight left in him, that he would pull through.
For six days, we waited and hoped. But on September 7th, the Lord saw fit to call my wonderful and amazing Dad home.
Grief is a strange and unique landscape. Losing my brother years ago helped me navigate the loss of a sibling, but losing my father, the patriarch, who shaped my life in more ways than I can quantify and with whom I spent this ‘final’ summer holding close, feels like losing an entire chapter of my history. It has changed me. I can neither fathom nor imagine how my mom must feel losing her life partner, the one she loved and did life with for over 60 years.
Yet, as I sit here sorting through the ache of his absence, my heart overflows with gratitude to God. Memories of him throughout the years are forever etched in my heart and mind. I am profoundly thankful that my last memory of him isn’t rushed or distant. It is defined by a whole summer of presence, of shared laughter, and of love expressed in its purest form. He knew he was cherished. He knew he was loved and now he is safe in the arms of his Creator.