When it comes to Summer, I was a wet blanket for some time. Only in the last few years have I truly grown to appreciate the season. My parents died in the Summer of 1998, two months apart. While it was forever and a day ago, the fact that it happened while I was so young has made it a defining moment in my life.

There are advantages and disadvantages to being thrown to the wolves as a kid, and my ability to survive like a little cockroach is unquestioned. Unfortunately, cockroach or not, I am always a little somber. It’s a subconscious thing, I guess; I take pills, so I don’t throw myself off a roof, so that’s cool at least.

Anyway, the depression cranks up during the beautiful New England Summer, and I can’t run from it. My Mom died on June 2^nd, and my Dad on August 2^nd, so the season is bookmarked by sadness. Only in the last few years have I learned to enjoy the season. Being a college student helped with that, as well as my 2021 marriage and road trip spectacular, which changed the way I look at the World as a whole.

Now, I garden. I’m surprisingly good at it too, as old memories of my mom showing me transplanting and seed sewing techniques start washing over me every time I play in the dirt. This year, my wife finally got the rose garden that she has always deserved, and I’m going to have a lot of weed.

I do have a troublesome maple tree that has begun growing right up against my deck, but I need to wait until the Fall to deal with it. I will be crown pruning it to control its height and then transplant it to a spot behind my house. We have a hill behind us that could use some trees. Waiting until they go into hibernation is the best way to prevent shocking the tree for all this. I’m not cutting it down, though; that would be a waste.

Back to Summer; as for dates, the infamous June 2^nd also happens to be the birthday of my soon-to-be 12-year-old dog. I love her, and she was my only constant companion throughout the turmoil that was my early 30s. She’s blind, has no teeth, cracks like Rice Krispies, and she always kind of smells. She also takes Gabapentin every day for her arthritis, and it has also stopped her seizures. Her epilepsy has been a lifelong thing, but it’s manageable. Even with all the required maintenance, she’s my girl, and getting old with her has been an absolute privilege.

Dogs, man.

I have two more dogs as well, including a young‘un, who is always attached to my hip. My little homie needs to be outside for bug hunting and ball, so he keeps me busy in the sun.

There are a pair of exhibits at the Springfield museums that my wife and I are going to see this June 2^nd. Both of my parents are buried in the city as well, and so I’ll be stopping by there to smoke a fatty and sit in the grass quietly for a bit. It sounds morbid, but to know that they are both mere feet away from me gives me some odd sense of calm. I’m not going to set anybody up in a rocking chair or anything, but being near them is nice.

I don’t normally go on the day of either of my parents’ deaths to avoid running into people I haven’t seen since the 90s. I am unrecognizable at this point, so I’m not too worried. I very much miss my mom’s side of the family, but I haven’t talked to any of my aunts since the funerals. My mom’s oldest sister, Aunt L, used to send me Christmas cards, but they stopped coming years ago. I know my brother and his wife have tricked another one of my aunts into giving them money that was instantly converted to meth, so at least he talks to them.

All these years later, emotions still exist. I’ve learned to process instead of running, but that took me a long time. I actually look forward to the visit these days, as strange as that sounds. It brings me inner peace, which is normally difficult with my consistent inner turmoil.

My lit professor would bust my balls about the lack of a conclusion, but I am ever the rebel.

Until next time,

Tommy