The Last Day of Summer

This is my story ...

He had decided today would mark the end of summer, a final chapter in more ways than one. July twenty-ninth felt like the perfect date to declare the season over—not just in the calendar sense, but also in the story of his life. At sixty, with two months until his birthday, he couldn’t shake the feeling that life comes in seasons. Fate, it seemed, was nudging him toward autumn—a time for change, harvesting memories, and preparing for the inevitable winter.

Returning to civilization after two decades in the embrace of the woods felt monumental. It was more than just a farewell to summer; it was a farewell to denial. He had abandoned family and societal expectations, choosing solitude over the trappings of modern life. The deeper he ventured into the wilderness, the more he struggled with the realization that this was the last day of hiding from his own truth.

He chuckled at the irony that this journey began on his fortieth birthday, when he had everything: a house filled with love, a devoted wife, a bright-eyed son, and even a cat he never quite warmed up to. He had a successful career as an equity fund manager, a Spanish villa, and vacations that seemed to stretch into eternity. To the outside world, he was the embodiment of success.

Yet one day, to everyone’s shock, he announced his intention to live in the woods.

“I need to find myself,” he had said, though he couldn’t quite explain what that meant. It wasn’t a midlife crisis, he insisted; it was a calling, a whim, a destiny he had yet to uncover. Even as friends and family expressed concern, he felt a pull toward the wild that he couldn’t resist.

Settling his affairs was surprisingly straightforward. He left his wife a safety net of finances, gave his two weeks' notice, and purchased an expanse of woodland with a simple cabin, outfitted for a self-sufficient life. With enough supplies and tools, he vanished into the green embrace of nature.

At first, the elements had felt harsh and unforgiving—the biting cold, the sweltering heat, the cacophony of nighttime creatures. But as the days turned into months, he found comfort in the wilderness. The moonlight became a gentle guide, the rustling branches a protective shield. The distant hum of civilization faded, lulling him into a profound peace.

Isolation transformed from a lonely void into a sanctuary. Friends and family made attempts to coax him back—tearful pleas, angry confrontations, and weary acceptance—but he stood firm. It wasn’t until eight years later, when his son visited one final time, that the weight of his choices began to settle in. His son, then ten, was now twenty-two, and he felt the years stretching between them like an unbridgeable chasm.

In solitude, he found clarity. Few truly know themselves, he mused, and he certainly didn’t until he was alone with his thoughts. Loneliness, he discovered, had become his paradise.

But now, as he packed up his camp for the long journey home, he faced a different truth. Colorectal cancer loomed like a dark cloud, a family curse passed down through generations. His father and grandfather had both succumbed to it in their forties, and now, he recognized the signs—pain, fatigue, the unmistakable bleeding. He had tried to escape it for twenty years, believing he could outrun fate. But denial had only cost him precious time.

He wouldn’t seek treatment; he had made peace with that. Instead, he was haunted by the thought of all the moments he had lost—twenty years spent in fear rather than love, rather than building memories with his wife and son.

As he stepped onto the familiar country lane, he felt the weight of his choices pressing down. Today was not just the last day of summer; it was the first day of reckoning. It was time to confront the life he had left behind and embrace the man he had become—flawed, yet ready to return to the love he had once known.