This summer has been different from most summers in that we’ve had a lot of summertime change, grief, and a hero name tag.

Summertime Change

Change of scenery, of home, and of where the drawer that holds my silverware is. It’s the summer we moved from Northern Virginia (a suburb of DC) to Colorado, where I was born. While I recognize I’ve complained about the humidity and bugs out east, and bragged about how Colorado is a place where you can stand at the playground and not need to constantly fan gnats from your face, Colorado is also new-ish in a way.

I grew up in Denver, but Colorado Springs is foreign and new. New to me, and also new, where we live. When I was a kid, this home I live in now was fields and the home to coyotes, mice, and birds of prey.

Today, it’s a shade-less development with good schools and more square feet for the dollar.

A known place for a new place.

A bigger home with a larger yard but without a gas stove and closet space. Also? They took the towel racks.

Summertime Grief

This is a summer of remembered loss and renewed grief. It’s the summer that’s one year past our unexpected grief and watergun magic.

Grief that it’s already and only been one year. How does the world still spin since I sat with two mamas on porches, remembering their sons? We saw butterflies.

And yet, how can the world not still spin, with loved ones in it?

I saw the grandma and the mama of Tucker’s friend this week. They’re on a trip Out West. It was beautiful to see them. And also a time to remember this month is hard. It’s already been almost a year.

Grief too, that my Facebook feed was full of reminders that I sat in church, remembering Brad (my ex-husband). I’m so glad I went to the funeral. I wasn’t sure about it — feeling like he was no longer “mine” to grieve, but learned that our people – past and present – are always ours to grieve.

His mama and I went on a walk. We saw butterflies.

She’s in Colorado. That feels like blessings and family and another place for love.

This is a summer of welcome.

I’d forgotten how friendly neighbors and mail carriers are out west. Everybody says hello, and would never pass you by on a sidewalk while you’re carrying a newborn.

This is a summer of memories.

For as much as I’ve missed Colorado the past 15 years, it’s also the place where I lived when my mom left my dad for my brother’s hockey coach. It’s where I lost my virginity, and, sometimes, my dignity.

It’s where my ex-husband and I bought our home and then sold it. It’s where I was pregnant and then wasn’t.

Virginia is where I had my son.

Colorado reminds me of awkward high school days, and two lost boys named Ricky. I connected with Ricky One on Facebook recently. Either he doesn’t remember, or he doesn’t want to say.

A Hero Name Tag

Tucker’s had developmental delays and a speech and language issue since well, ever. We didn’t know about it until he was two years old, but there were whispers of it before then.

In Colorado, this summer, we were driving to Lego Robotics camp one day, and he started to cry. Hard.

Remember the loud kid tears that break your heart and remind you of the three-year-old he used to be? Those tears.

“OMG Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t go,” he said.
“Can’t go to Lego camp?” I said. “But they’re putting motors in Legos, and when you saw it online, you said it looks awesome!”
“But nobody will know my name,” he said.
“Honey! I don’t understand. Why won’t they know your name?”
“Because I stink at words and they’re going to think my name is Taco.”
“No. No they won’t,” I said. “I’ll go in and tell them your name.”

He told me about a substitute teacher that thought his name was Joshua. Then guessed. How kids thought his name was “Taco,” rather than Tucker, because he can’t yet say the “r” at the end of his name.

“Hey buddy,” I said. “What if we tell them to call you ‘Tux’ or “Tuck” because lots of your friends call you that!”
He continued to cry.
Hard.

I promised him that if we went in and the camp guide didn’t understand his name that we’d leave.

We got there and guess what? They had nametags.

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week, our prompt is “It was the summer of…” Kenya Johnson of Sporadically Yours and I host each week.