The Struggle is Real, but the Summer is Not.

Our kids’ grief, like ours, is evident on tear-stained cheeks. Tears that started in March continue to flow.

Kids can’t grasp the gravity of the pandemic, the deep roots of racism, or the fears of recession any more than we can. It’s impossible to comprehend really.

Like parents, kids vacillate between “This feels fine; we are going to be ok” and “This is the worst; I have literally nothing to look forward to.” Even our dogs look disheveled and tired from lack of grooming and adventure.

As our kids lose the season they depended on most for social growth, regeneration, experimentation, creativity, and freedom, kids, (and their parents), mourn a lost summer.

When experiencing loss of any kind, grief can seem insurmountable. The last thing anyone grieving wants to hear is someone else’s comparison to the loss. To kids, a lost playdate can feel huge. Imagine what 6 months of zero playdates must feel like! Imagine the loss of school followed by the loss of pools, camps, friends, grandparent visits, and freedom.

Regardless of demographics, all parents want our children to be happy. We want them to just be kids. We, too, want to brush off the stress and be kids for a day. After all, that’s the promise of Summer.

Kids have already lost out on many memories big and small. Holidays usually spent with others have been spent basically alone. Birthday parties have become awkward drive-by affairs.

Another Holiday came and went. Then another… St. Patrick’s Day. Passover. Easter. Memorial Day.

Then finally, summer came . We all thought, “now, maybe this time, was going to be a time of reprieve (from the pandemic nightmare, stuck at home, and parents stress).

We could finally breathe a sigh of relief that the rain and snow had passed. Still, it’s hard to bask in the sunshine when we are reminded of disease and death at every turn. Between Covid-19 and George Floyd, we are reminded that deep breaths are sacred.

Where is the fun, carefree season we were promised (or at least promised our kids)?

Plans with friends require complex coordination and large amounts of transparency and trust. Social distance bike rides or a hose and sprinkler is the best summer fun we can muster. Granted, that would normally be more than enough! But, the lack of ease with which we take each cautious step towards fun makes it that much less enjoyable.

Cue Independence Day.

This is not the first year some parents mentioned the relative freedoms, or lack thereof, that we enjoy (compared to other American families). This may not be the first year that we noted the hypocrisy of America.

The 4th of July, for many in the Pacific Northwest, is less the celebration of our founding fathers, and more a celebration of seeing the sun for 4 consecutive days.

With so little excitement to look forward to, losing out on epic fireworks was especially hard.

Thankfully kids are always up for finding joy in a relatively cheap thrill. The smiles that came with sparklers are evidence that we must celebrate, spin, shine, and laugh. We need that levity now more than ever.

What now?

With the faded sound of occasional fireworks, summer stretches out before us. What do we do with the tears and the anger? Blowing bubbles is out, for 🦊 sake! (That would just blow germs on everyone, no?)

What can we do to protect our kids and shelter them enough to be kids, yet keep them safe? What are we willing to risk this summer to keep the tears to a minimum and smiles on repeat?

And after Summer? The season will be over long before the pandemic is. Kids keep asking what the Fall will bring, or what school will look like. We simply don’t know. If only we could see into the future.

When we are sad, holding space by simply listening is often what anyone grieving needs most.

Kids deserve both the space to cry and opportunities to laugh. So do their parents.

We need to find moments of reprieve from our running list of losses whenever we can.

We must continue to find joy in small moments, and things to get us past our tears. Trying to remember the good stuff or enjoy small wins is not easy, but it’s literally our only option.

The ice cream truck. The sandbox. Painting or reading. Dance parties. Snuggles. Impromptu photo shoots. Walks around the block. We are still so damn lucky.

Summer may be lost, but summer’s stolen moments can remain in tact, if we allow the space for them to happen.

And, we already have had precious moments. Despite the vision of summer falling short, it’s only just begun. There are moments that hope replaces worry.

One such moment happened at bedtime, after a long and stressful day. I shut my laptop and tried to take it in. To just be in the small moment of “bedtime reading snuggles”.

We climbed into bed, and I breathed a sigh to let out the day. Then, observing the book my son chose gave me pause. Of course, his choice for the moment of reflection I was swimming in was spot on. “It Takes a Village” by Hillary Clinton, shows the “helpers” and do-gooders working together to build a community playground. I smiled as he said he picked it out just for me. (He knows “mama loves it.”) What can I say? The kid has my number.

The artwork by Marla Frazee is perfection. Besides the work of creating together, it shows all the simple, small summer activities that go along with it, like sharing a round of cold drinks, or reading on picnic blankets, a mom nursing leaning against a tree. The families, all diverse and varied, are all looking out for each other.

As I started to read, I couldn’t help but compare the summer in the book to our present summer. Absorbing the pictures of communities uniting, supporting each other, serving each other across genders and generations was warming. All the kids enjoying the outdoors, together, was hard to miss.

I tried to hide my grief over a summer with no playgrounds, no community, no holding someone’s baby, and no great transformation. My son instantly observed, “Mama, why is your smile crooked?”

It was on my face: The struggle remains.