Until this year, every fall brought a feeling of anticipation. Crisp air, cool evenings, new school supplies.

As long as I didn’t linger on nostalgic thoughts of easy friendships, endless potential, and running with my college cross country team – a couple of aspects of younger me that I sometimes wish I had back – I could dive into the possibilities of a new school year. I would try not to pay too much attention to the darker mornings and the briefer evenings. As summer closed, I would frenetically finish house projects so they wouldn’t tempt me once I started the homeschool year.

Then came this year. This summer, the Chaplain and I poured so much into our relationship. I estimate we covered about 270 miles this summer walking together in the evenings. We wore out the Chaplain’s shoes and got into shape. We finally, finally got some ease back into our relationship.

We went on adventures this summer. A trip to the beach. Trips to Grafton Lakes. A camping trip. All these little moments of family time, all the time outside, had put me in touch with the world in a way I haven’t been in a long time. As the days were getting shorter, I noticed.

So fall came around. I imagined months of having to bundle up and force ourselves out the door in the cold darkness if we wanted to keep up our evening walks. I imagined hours spent in the living room reading to the kids and being read to for school. I thought about not being able to swim again for months and months. This was the first summer in a long time that I felt like I had gone swimming every time I could have. I’d gotten some serious bang out of my summer buck. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

This year, we are looking down at some changes. After much deliberation, we decided to put Six in Preschool. It breaks my heart to even write that. But he was using up SO much of my brain with the hyper-vigilance he required and his demanding nature that I wasn’t able to focus on my beginning readers last year the way I wanted to. I knew a second year of that would be untenable. I waited till the last minute, but God saved us the last PreK spot at our church’s school.

After Six’s first day of school, we packed everyone except for One up and went to Grafton again. It was two days after our last trip there, on Labor Day. There were only about 20 other people at the lake. Only one lifeguard was on duty. At 5:45 p.m., instead of a voice coming on the loudspeakers to greet us, the lonely strains of “Closing Time” floated over the water. A child of the 90’s, I recognized what was happening right away, even as the kids continued to play in the water, oblivious.

We hadn’t realized it until after we got there, but that was the last night the beach would be open for swimming for the season. I was surprised to find myself welling up as the voice came on over the PA system to say goodbye and goodnight. For someone who doesn’t think of myself as a cryer, I’ve been doing an inordinate amount of crying lately.

The lifeguard left. Usually, everyone climbs out of the water and hovers near the lake’s edge for a while, if they don’t leave right away. But that night, people stayed in the water. People who hadn’t gone in started to wade in. The Chaplain walked over. “You know, you could go for a swim.” He told me. I thought about it. I hadn’t even worn my bathing suit that night. We’d gone primarily to let the kids play.

But I knew I would regret not taking the opportunity. I took my shorts off. My underwear that night could pass for bathing suit bottoms. My bra couldn’t, so I left my shirt on, and jumped into the water and swam all the way to the far rope. I did some laps. I floated. I jumped up and splashed down and got water up my nose. I swam underwater. It was wonderful.

I encouraged the Chaplain to do the same after I came out of the water. He did, and when he was done, he was smiling with the abandon of an innocent kid.

That night sums up the way I feel about summer ending. It was a precious summer. My oldest is rapidly growing up and is spreading his wings. This is the last summer my youngest will be a baby. In future summers, it will be easier to go for a swim when we take our kids to water, because there will be fewer kids who we have to watch like hawks. Future summers will probably be easier in a lot of ways. But they won’t be this summer, and this summer is almost over.