Summer Grief || By Laura Zwisler, LPC
Someone gave us the idea that summer is always light and fun, full of hope. I’m pretty sure it was Shakespeare. He constantly paints winter as miserable and summer as glorious. Wherever we got the idea, we all wait for summer to come, thinking that this will be the season where we don’t catch colds, get to simply slip on flip flops as we pop out the front door, and will be eating popsicles and fresh peaches. All of those things are true, you are probably doing them right now, but it doesn’t mean you’ll be happy. It doesn’t mean bad things won’t happen.
In a movie, if someone dies it rains. It doesn’t sprinkle, it pours onto the funeral-goers trench coats and into their high heels. They stand under black umbrellas and then go home to streaked windows where they hold mugs of cold coffee and cry rivulets of tears to match. Well-meaning people feed the grievers casseroles- thick, hearty dishes that are full of fat and comfort. People are allowed to lie in bed, wallow, cry, or just be lazy, because, presumably, who’d want to be outdoors anyway? In movies, people only die from November to April. No one is expected to grieve in summer.
So what gives? I’m not sure about your life this summer, but I’ve seen an unseasonable crop of divorces, deaths, suicides, estrangements and breakdowns. Oh sure, people are going on vacation and having barbecues, too, but the fun events are somehow scheduled between the huge bouts of loss. I was wondering why I wanted to go to the ice cream shop every night for four weeks straight. Now I realize it’s because ice cream is a culturally acceptable way of grieving. Whether it’s on a cone in a crowded park or by the light of the fridge in a dark kitchen, grieving and ice cream are Bert and Ernie.
I know that when life has to deal its dirty hands we don’t get a say about when. It’s never a great time to grieve, ever. But man, I feel like I’m also losing the best part of the year. We waited around in the frosty winter dreaming about days we could feel the warm air on our bare legs. Now I can’t feel much of anything at all. The Buddhists believe in something called The Middle Way- it’s a spiritual path of trying to find balance between extremes. However, it seems sometimes the balance can only be attained by holding both ends of the spectrum at the same time instead of landing somewhere in the middle. If that is true, perhaps this summer grief is just another incarnation of the same principle- the best and worst at the same time. Is it the divine balance?
I’ve decided to lower my expectations this year and start leaning on Autumn to fill my emotional needs. I will say this, though: For as weird as it is, it’s new and somewhat refreshing to grieve in the summer. They should write comedy sketches about whether or not you’re allowed to wear shorts to funerals and how to manage pit stains in formal settings. Honestly, though, if you’re also grieving this summer, maybe you can use the Life is Short perspective you’re bound to find yourself feeling as an excuse to go skinny dipping or hit the road for a few days of unplanned leave from work. Make this season your own. For my part, I’ll be eating ice cream every single day, short shorts be damned. But shuck your clothes off and skinny dip if you need to, whatever makes you feel like you’re still alive.
