Second Summer

A strange thing has been happening as I have been taking pictures of this summer in Chile. I love photography, and I use a digital camera as often as I can instead of my phone. Every few days, in order to make room on my memory card for new images, I batch delete some old images that have already been downloaded to my laptop. This is my normal process, but it has turned out that as I am making room for this summer’s memories, I am simultaneously deleting photographs of our last summer in Maryland. So a few moments before I take a picture of a February sunset in Viña, I am reminded of our July beach trip to North Carolina. Delete. Snap. As I prepare to capture an ice cream smeared smile against a colorful backdrop, I catch a glimpse of my former backyard garden just before sunset. Delete. Snap.

These reminders would probably be less jarring if that last North American summer had been a typical summer. As school let out and vacation began, I had high hopes for a summer of adventures and exploring with my children. We were no longer held back by diaper bags, naps, and car seat meltdowns. We had lived in the same place long enough to know all of the best playgrounds, pools, and libraries. We had friends! I could pack lunches in the morning and we could go for miles in any direction – to a museum in DC or to a trail in Virginia. I could send a text and meet with friends at a moments notice. I could pull out our bikes and we could ride in a line of 3 – oldest, youngest, me – to our local park. We had three months together before it was time to send my youngest child to kindergarten and for me to turn a page in my book of motherhood.

But those are not the photos on I see on my camera. What does pop up as I’m photographing our new life here? The selfie with my husband from our North Carolina beach vacation. I see our smiling faces and the giddiness of the whispers we share – we have a secret. I see the photo from an evening out with my brother and his girlfriend when I passed on drinks. That trip to the farm with a friend with whom I had shared the news. We talked about baby gear and hand-me-downs while I was assaulted by barnyard smells. There’s an image of my children coloring in their playroom; their main source of fun as I laid in bed nauseous. The picture of my backyard garden before sunset; the only steps I took outside the house that day. A picture in a hospital room. A trip to Pittsburgh for a big family celebration the next day; no secret to reveal, no big announcement to share.

Just three months separated the end of summer in Maryland from the beginning of summer in Chile. We didn’t know it when we started planning for the move (just before that picture in the hospital was taken), but arriving in time for a second summer turned out to be an unexpected second chance. After a summer defined by loss, this summer in Chile was an opportunity to reconnect, to reflect, and to share one big adventure together.

Our second summer came to an end last week as the kids returned to school. I took their back-to-school photos on the steps by the garden of our apartment building. They were so handsome with their uniforms and fresh haircuts, both of which make them look older. They started over again with kindergarten and 2nd grade, and I started over again as a mom who has sent both of her children off to school (this time without the rush of selling a house and an international move on the horizon). I have now officially turned that page in my book of motherhood, along with a few others that I hadn’t expected during the last six months. But, as with many of the defining moments that make up the story of motherhood and life in general, these experiences have forced me to be braver, have made me stronger, and have brought me closer to the people I love – and for that I am grateful.