Debby Does…

First, I think I must say that my thoughts are more than a bit disheveled on this topic. I need to take myself through them and around them, and I’m dragging you along. Maybe something will resonate for you and maybe you’ll just step away thinking that I have too much time to think these days. Either way, it must be done.

Summer has always been a lonely time for me. As an only child, school was my main opportunity for socializing and companionship. My mom was much more attentive during the summer months, without those papers to grade, but there was still something quite solitary about my existence from mid-June to September. I do not recall feeling particularly sad about it, but there was a lingering sense of quiet melancholy and resignation about those hot summer days.

As an adult, I seem to have structured my summers around being on my own, as well. I’m not sure it was intentional, but, as I look back, many days of my break from school were filled with time at home, stripping paint and wallpaper, cleaning out closets and cabinets, and talking only to whichever dog was lucky enough to be part of our lives at that time. My summer with Scout as a puppy was one of my favorites, as she never left my side, and gave me solace from the ache of wanting my own baby.

My days were occasionally broken up by time with my mom, watching our crime drama of the summer or making Lebanese goodies with which to fill our freezer. Sometimes we ordered in lunch and, on crazy days, when the tide was high, we’d take a dip in the lagoon. Crystallized in my memory is a perfect day—low heat, no humidity—with the Phillies game on the radio, as we lolled about the porch in the shade of the awning, grilling hotdogs on the “cooker,” as she called it. I don’t know that there has ever been a day so grand. I kept trying to repeat it, but it was a single moment in our life.

Rarely was I invited to go to the beach or to a gathering, and on weekends, Judy and Jim and I were busily providing everyone else with summer fun at Chez Judy. Folks were watered and fed and entertained as we porch sat our way through summer. We were in the business of providing experiences for people and we were quite good at it. Coming to our house for the summer weekends or the holidays was expected.

This summer is quite different for me because we’re in a new home, in a new state, starting over. We have friends here, but our lives are not in sync, and we are trying to find our pace and place. That will come with time and surely with jobs. Our house is a wreck and months will go by before we can put things to rights. That is, whether it looks it or not, a struggle, my friends.

Still, I find myself isolating and hiding in the cool air conditioning with my dogs, my writing, baking, and reading. I quite recommend it, most days, but there are times when I find myself to be truly lonely. Or lonesome. I’m not sure what the difference is, but I find there’s something much more poignant and sad about the notion of being lonesome. It’s not just companionship that I’m missing. I’m missing a deeper connection, most definitely with my mom, but maybe elsewhere.

Jim and I, to the world’s view, must seem to be insulated, strong, and capable of adapting and surviving, regardless of the challenges that life has been throwing at us for the past few years. We have continued to host and entertain, even for Thanksgiving, mere days after my mom’s death. It is always a top priority for us to make sure that no one feels left out and as though they are not welcomed somewhere. No matter where we live, we take in all kinds.

In the past three years, we’ve spent more holidays alone than I care to count—Thanksgiving, Christmas, the big ones. I’m not completely sure how I feel about that. Jim and I are well known for making “lemonade” out of difficult situations, and I know it looks to most like these holidays with just the two of us are just lovely. Still, I can tell you, with all candor, that there are times when we need to be taken care of in the same way that we care for others. There are a few people in our life who have recognized that and stepped in, but it’s been eye opening to see how many people simply could not be bothered. I believe that has created some anger and a deep ache in me that I can only describe as being lonesome.

Get over it, move on, suck it up, rub some dirt in it…

Truly, you cannot expect everyone to submerge themselves in your grief or struggles, but I cannot tell you how many times it would have soothed our souls for someone to show up with a casserole or invite us to have pizza during some very dark hours. It has caught me off guard that relationships I thought were forever seem to have faded away for lack of convenience or even a change of address. I never anticipated that and tried to keep those connections alive. Maybe it was my mom that was the vital link there. I cannot be sure.

When fall comes, with its crisp days and crunchy leaves, I hope this dark feeling will dissipate. It’s such a summer sensation that never seems to leave me, popping back up every year as Memorial Day passes on the calendar. Is it seasonally symptomatic or is it simply part of the fabric of Debby? I’m not sure that I’ll ever know.

What I do know is that connection is important, even when it feels hard or inconvenient. I pride myself on being that friend who reaches out at the perfect moment or drops off soup when you’re sick or even throws a note in the mail so that your mailbox isn’t empty. Is it essential? No. It’s just what my mom would have done, so I do it. It’s what my granny would have done, so I do it. It brings me great happiness to care for others and show my love.

And, while I’ve prattled on about summer loneliness or lonesomeness, I guess I’ve found that this feeling has seeped into my soul, regardless of the season. It seems to have taken me all these paragraphs to recognize how much I miss my mom, how empty the Judy compartment in my soul is, and how much I have needed to feel loved and cared for over the past few years.

I guess it wasn’t just about summer. I seem to be uncertain about more than just a little here. Thanks for letting me work through this with you.