Everyone who knows me well understands that summertime is my season.
If you can’t get a hold of me (which is more often than usual), it is because I am away from my phone, enjoying a swim somewhere. I am either in a pool, a lake, or at a waterpark with my daughter.
I take most of my holiday time from work in the summer months. I spread my holidays out so I can take two or three longer breaks from work in July and August, when the weather is the best.
Summer is so beloved to me that I even have summer playlists – songs and albums that capture the essence and spirit of my summer vibe. My daughter has also adopted this habit – she will say, “Listen to this Mom! It sounds like summer music.”
Now that I am older, I realize that summer is not just my favourite season, but a way of life that best captures who I am as a person.
Spending endless hours outside, enjoying and exercising in nature.
No makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Less structure and overly planned activities.
Less work, more play.
Then, when the fall hits each year, I inevitably enter my summer withdrawal period.
Back to school for my daughter means vacations and outdoor swimming are over. School and work responsibilities will again take over, and extracurricular activities will start back up.
I go through a real and deep sadness and ache for summer that is only ever so briefly relieved by the beauty of the autumn leaves. Then, the brutal and cold Canadian winter takes over everything.
I know it’s not healthy to constantly pine away for a season that only lasts three months of the year. So I am going to try harder to find ways to keep that summer feeling alive through the rest of the year, too.
Because to be truly happy in life, I know it’s important to find ways to engage in all of it…not just the parts of it I like the best.
So I will try to find more reasons to get outside and enjoy what is beautiful about the other seasons.
I will free up more time in our lives for unplanned and unstructured activities.
Just because summer vacations are over doesn’t mean work, school and extracurriculars have to take up every free minute of our lives the rest of the year.
We all need room in our schedules to breathe. To fully relax and recharge. Not just three months out of every year.
My mother, Carol Veysey, was a beautiful writer and especially loved writing poetry. I know she would have loved to have had her work published while she was alive, but never got the chance. So one of my favourite parts of being a writer myself is publishing her work whenever I get the chance.
Here is a poem she wrote when she was younger, which I feel is fitting as we start a brand new year. She describes a desire to see a world filled with peace and free of war, which is just as relevant now as it was many years ago when she first wrote it.
A Changing Situation
by Carol Veysey
The dove of peace flies o’er the world, Disheartened, not contented, Seeing flags of war unfurled, And killing unrelented. This dove of peace swoops down to earth To view the situation; Finds only war, no joy or mirth, He feels an obligation To relieve the world of dire distress. But how? With shame, he lowers his head, Fellowship under God, no less - But he cannot help the already dead And suffering. The changing situation is accounted for - War and more war; The world will feel a moral decay: They’ll learn that war will never pay. Won't someone stop the eternal bickering, Warfare, and resentments; The peace…lights of many lands are flickering, Could we now make our amendments?
My little girl is graduating from elementary school.
Six years ago, I sat in this very same gymnasium for the parents’ night discussion about kindergarten. After that evening, I came home and wrote one of my very first blog posts: The Kindergarten Blues.
Now I watch my daughter and her friends, most of whom have been together since day one. They all look so grown up now, so tall. They wear their graduation caps with such pride, and they’ve certainly earned them. After all, these are the kids who started school during a global pandemic. They missed half of their kindergarten year together in person, and then had to return wearing masks and staying socially distanced.
They’ve always been a tight-knit group. Class sizes here were small, so they truly got to know one another in a way many don’t. My heart aches knowing their time together is officially ending. Yes, many will attend the same school next year, and some may even end up in the same classes. But it won’t ever be quite the same again. There will be new faces, new friendships, and new interests. And that’s how it should be. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Each school becomes its own little community, where everyone knows everyone. I will dearly miss ours. The support system we found here has been invaluable, helping us navigate the ups and downs of childhood, academics, and everyday life. All those daily drop-offs and pickups where parents and kids caught up, shared news, and supported each other. The incredible teachers who worked tirelessly to give our children the best education possible, who were welcoming and supportive, and who loved our kids so fiercely.
From our kitchen window, I can see the school. It has always brought me comfort to look down the road and know that my daughter was safe within those walls. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of her class walking past our house on their way to the park or the basketball court. But next year, when I look out that window, for the first time in six years, she won’t be there. I’ll never again see her with her class walking by. She’ll be at a school further away, out of my sight. And just picturing that breaks my heart into a million tiny pieces.
This week has stirred up so many emotions. While I’m incredibly proud of my little girl and excited for the new adventures ahead, I’m also profoundly sad. I’ve never been good with endings or change. I’m the one who clings to routine, to loved ones, to what is familiar and safe. Embracing the unknown has never come easily to me.
So I’m going to try – really, really try – to take the advice from one of my favorite movies, Hope Floats (1998):
“Beginnings are usually scary, endings are usually sad, but it’s the middle that counts the most. You need to remember that when you find yourself at the beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up.”
Fly high, Class of 2025. I’ve watched you grow with awe and pride, and I know you’re going to change the world in ways both beautiful and brave. This may be the end of one precious chapter, but there are so many more waiting to be written – each filled with new beginnings, big dreams, and all the magic that comes with growing up.
No more drama. Walking on eggshells. Making myself small so that others feel better about themselves.
No more working to the point of exhaustion. Burning out. Feeling like I always need to be achieving something. Pushing myself beyond my boundaries. Not spending enough time doing activities that align with my values and passions.
No more making plans I don’t want to make. Spending time with people who drain my energy. People who are negative, toxic, unkind. People who keep on taking instead of giving.
I want to be happy, that is all. Life is too short to be anything else.
Baby girl, you are enough. Don’t let the world tell you otherwise. You shine, you sparkle, you are beauty infinity.
Bad times never last. Life will always get better, I promise you this. Nothing is ever permanent. You will wake up suddenly one day after grieving a loss, and smile, and laugh, and feel joy once again.
People can be cruel, and life doesn’t always happen as planned. You will lose people. You will have dreams crushed. You will feel shame. Some may turn their backs on you.
Life is 50/50 yin and yang. Happy and sad. Soul-crushing and soul-soothing. This is what life is meant to be.
Because it is impossible to learn and grow and appreciate what you have until you understand loss and failure and disappointment.
Don’t let anyone, EVER, make you feel less than, dim your light, or crush your spirit.
You are enough, baby girl. You are MORE THAN ENOUGH.
Life Lessons For My Daughter 