Summer, Forever Summer


Daisies, Summer’s Sunshine
Dylan, 18 years old, Spring 2010

I lost Dylan on June 25th 2012. Monday. 1:52 a.m. Only just having entered summer. In Ohio–where end of June through early July typically means shifting weather and at times, great thunderstorms and torrential downpours. Unpredictable weather. Perfectly wonderful, 65-70 degrees one day, 85 plus degrees the next, muggy and humid and sticky kind of prickly hot.

Summer, cusp of summer. Dylan took his life in summer. The day of his funeral, it was 103 degrees at 11:00 a.m. Then the wind started heaving, the skies drew black, great gusts and howling winds downed trees all over central Ohio. By 3:00, the temperature had dropped to 71 degrees. I’ve always thought God was grieving for Dylan, too, that nature wept as well.

What season am I in? Suspended–time out of time. Numb? Shut down? Maybe just holding my breath. Dylan attempted suicide 5 times, 1 suicide attempt per month, January through May. Here, now, in the midst of our very real cold January freeze where it is 7 degrees, I feel the same. There is no sap running through my trunk, I’m dormant for winter, I’m hollow, carved out, naked against the full on-front of winter’s attack.

But I’m okay in this weird kind of not quite anything season. I’m okay because this is what it is. Because I cannot change this–the mammothness of winter, the enormity of nature and earth and life cycles. This is what I must endure, come through, hunker down in, carve out a life in–this season, now, this passing the through my own death-birth cycle.

I died in summer 2012 when Dylan died, and I am busy reconstructing a self hearty enough to endure and live out the rest of “my”seasons without my son. And so it is winter–and ugh and please God and oh no–don’t bring me through all those living nightmare of Dylan’s 5 suicide attempts, psych wards, meds, doctors, treatment centers, critical care units–sigh, ER rooms, breathing tubes, bleack bleack bleack–

But in the end, what choice have I? None really, save to do what brings me a sensible calm and some semblance of peace and connection. I live right here, right now, just for this moment in time, in nature, in whatever season it is. Tonight it is cold and I am headed out to meet a friend for tea.

But summer? I have not yet reconciled summer. I dread even thinking about it, hold my breath when others mention it, still practice avoidance. I hate summer–it took my son.

Beth, Dylan’s Mom
March 19, 1992-June 25, 2012
Forever my heart, my wings, my love

By Beth Brown

Rememberer of dreams. Whisperer of gardens green.
At the whim of "Most Beloved" and a hot cup of tea.
I live life between, straddled here now and then,
My continuity through writing--
Pen dripping ink, mind swirling confused,
Love lingering still, and Most Beloved's purring soothes.

Blogger at "Gardens at Effingham" (where cats do the talking) and "My Forever Son" (where a mother's heart runs deep after losing her son to suicide)
Musician. Writer. Literary Connoisseur.
At the whim of a calico cat and a strong cup of tea.