There was a time when summer days stretched before me. Hours and hours to fill. Playdates, going to the pool, knowing every playground around, packing snacks, lunches, and sippy cups, putting on sunscreen, eyes on my kids at all times. Each day was wide open and simultaneously full. I was tired each night in that way that comes from being everything to my kids. That deep, physical tired that allowed me to sink into my bed each night and go right to sleep and wake up the next morning thinking, “What are we going to do today?” I had years of summers like that. Where one summer day felt like the last one and the one to come tomorrow. Just the boys and me, with me at the center coordinating it all and them along for the ride. A very sweet spot. I somehow never thought those days had an expiration date because they seemed endless.
This summer has been nothing like the summers of the past 15 years. Gone are those endless days of togetherness, the ones that were exhausting and ran together, one into the other. Joey has a part time job working at a baseball camp. He also started this strength and conditioning program four days a week. He finished driver’s ed and takes his learner’s permit test in two weeks. He is playing in a summer baseball league and has had up to 5 or 6 games a week. He makes plans with his friends without me. And I am the driver to all the things.
Each day starts with me thinking of where Joey needs to go and what time we need to leave and when I will have to come back and pick him up and what’s up next for today. There is no predictable rhythm this summer, but this summer is so very sweet. Because by next summer, he will be driving himself. That makes my eyes feel heavy as they fill with tears and my chest tightens.
You see, this likely is the last summer that Joey needs me as much. I feel him pulling away from my orbit and becoming his own star. And gosh, I am so proud and know this is how it is supposed to be and how very blessed that this is where he is right now. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t make me sentimental for those open, exhausting days of parenting.
I love being in the car with him, driving him places. I love our talks. Being the person to see him after his very first day of work or his first new workout. Or riding home together after a tough game. Helping him navigate it all. I just love having him sitting next to me, together, even when he’s quiet and on his phone.
I am feeling so many things so deeply nowadays. As any parent of a child with a disability knows, we have big dreams for our kids but also know that life is rarely a linear journey for our child with a disability. I recognize that some of the experiences I have with Joey, like teaching him to drive, may be the only time I ever get to experience that as a mom. And while we would never limit Ian and know he has big dreams for himself, knowing that we get to experience all of this with Joey makes it so much sweeter.
I just love being his mom. I love seeing who he is — this beautiful person who doesn’t even realize how beautiful he is. How he lives his life with this quiet confidence, thinking of others, accepting everyone for who they are. Being so very kind and a safe place for all.
This is where I am as a mom right now — in a very sweet spot. When I think back to how I dreamed this summer would be, I thought that our days would start with Ian, my fellow early bird, and I taking Buddy for a walk to each morning as we started our wide open days. We’ve only gone on one walk and that was rushed because I felt bad that we hadn’t gone on one yet and I had to leave in a few minutes to take Joey somewhere. I have let those morning walks go and have embraced my right now — hanging on to being so very important to our son. Because by next summer, it will all change. And that’s good and how it should be. But a part of me hurts even as I rejoice.
So I choose to rejoice in my right now. Driving and driving and talking and talking and being present for every single thing. Because it will never, ever be like this again. The endless summer of driving. I’ll take it.