When the Whole World Changed

My summers are always the same. I start with a yell as I run down the stairs, slip out of my shoes, and jump into the lake. The sun-heated water the first sign of summer. The feeling of love, of fun, of promise. A way to know that all is okay and that the summers of freedom are endless.

But this will be the last one. As I walk through the yard and look down the long set of stairs. Debating a scream, but afraid I wouldn't be able to stop. My sneakers laced too tight to slip off and my body too numb to think of the temperature as I watch the water lap at the dock.

This first summer without her is torturous. For many reasons, but mostly for the quiet that permeates the house. There is no more music, laughter, dancing, or joy. It doesn't feel like an endless summer anymore. More like an endless cycle of numb. As we travel through the house, I am blindsided by the stark contrasts of what was vs. what has become. It's been only weeks since I was last here and yet I can't seem to find that same sense of life that has been here since I was five.

Starting in the bedroom, I see the way we used to create a fort of pillows, hide all the junk food inside with us, and watch scary movies in the hopes that we wouldn't get in trouble; from who I'll never know. Now the pillows are boxed up for donating, the couch looks bare as it is readied for moving, and the TV that used to give us such trouble finding a station, sits quietly by the backdoor.

As we move to the sunporch, I smile at the singing of her classic musical soundtracks, and watch as the old VHS tapes are sent to new homes where that music will hopefully sing loud once more. The telescope and books on all things Cape Cod sit in one corner until someone decides, who gets to carry on her scientific side. The seashells are thrown back to the beach and the old TV set is thrown into a truck, carried off to the junkyard.

Next comes the basement full of old toys, tools, decorations, and all things unknown. A giant dollhouse takes up one whole wall; where a young girl would play while her grandfather worked. A Christmas tree sits wrapped in trash bags inside a sauna that never was on. We walk into a labyrinth of curiosity and leave with one box of memories to abide. The rest goes to sales, charities, and others as she would want. To fill someone else's basement once more.

The den is small, but the memories immense. Movie nights, rainy day reads, sleepovers, and morning coffee chats. They all took place on this worn carpet; a young girl too restless to sit on the chair. I watch as the books are placed into boxes. My one part I keep from this house each summer. From Nancy Drew to The Da Vinci Code, I learned my love and started my collection from these very books. Now they are mine to add as I wish, but my one wish is to keep them here with her.

We end in the kitchen; her gathering place. Family and friends laughed as she sang and danced through each recipe. Her coffee mug still sits in the microwave, her cookies hidden in the highest cupboard, her fancy china in glass-covered cabinets ready for company at a knock on the door. All of it goes into boxes and trucks. Sent off to new places to brighten new faces.

When I finish my trip down memory lane, I walk down to the dock and dip my toes into the sun-heated lake. A tradition of summers past, that will no longer exist. At least not for us, but someone new. When the house is sold and the new items added, some other young girl will wildly yell as she runs down the stairs, shakes off her shoes, and jumps into the water to start off her summer.