Finally, The Summer Of Nance

Seventeen years ago Rick had his first back surgery. That summer, the boys were teenagers, seventeen and fourteen. They were a big help to me while their dad had to lie and sit, not bending or twisting or lifting. He spent a lot of that summer lying on a chaise out by the fishpond or lying in his recliner whilst we did pretty much everything under his careful observation and, when it came to the yardwork, his gentle specifications. Most of the time, however, we teased him about lolling around and goofing off. And we dubbed that summer The Summer Of Rick. It was All About Him, for we had to pick up his slack and haul around his chaise. And we babied him a lot.

"Next year look out," I warned him. "Next year is The Summer Of Nance." I wanted my payback, my chance to lie about and enjoy a sultan-like existence. I don't need to tell you how Life had other plans, year after year, and I kept waiting and waiting for The Summer Of Nance.

This past winter Rick had another back surgery. Dear friends moved out of state. My mother was diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's disease and needed more help. In May I suddenly turned sixty years old. Life seemed very...big.

And then I realized, with the help of a very wise friend, that if I was going to have The Summer Of Nance, I was going to have to simply make it happen, that it was a matter of Perspective, and that it started with me, internally. I had to choose to have an Independence Day, and celebrate from there.

Sixty was my Pivot Point, my Liberation Day. I thought about how long I had lived with the shadowy presences of Guilt, Should, and Worry clouding my days. I took a hard look at how often I lived in two days I could do nothing about, Yesterday and Tomorrow. I analyzed all the stupid rules I made for myself about how I spent my time and conducted my life, and I looked carefully at just where they came from. And I wondered why I was so kind and forgiving and thoughtful to everyone except myself.

I decided that, at Sixty, it was about time Those Days Were Over. The only thing preventing me from having The Summer Of Nance was...Me. Me and the consistently bad (but well-meaning) choices I made.

I think as a woman, a mother, and a teacher, I was in a particulary vulnerable role, susceptible to the kind of mindset I was in for so long. I was the director, the planner, the nurturer, the command center, the fixer, the rule giver. And that's just the Adult Me. Habits formed in those roles are hard to break.

The benefits of Reclaiming Me have been many. I'm reading books again, and that is a profound Joy. My migraines are lessening, and my days are busy and happy. I don't think about Tomorrow or dwell upon Yesterday; I'm very content in Today. Guilt is almost completely gone, and I rarely use the word Should.

I sometimes mourn--briefly--the time I lost being so stressed and unhappy. But I know there were many Happinesses tucked away in there, and I know that I always did the very best that I could.

When I was about fourteen, I went to the doctor because I couldn't take deep breaths. I was simply unable to. The doctor, an elderly man who practiced family medicine in a pragmatic way, checked me over and listened to my chest with his stethoscope. He thumped my back a few times and pronounced me perfectly healthy. Nothing changed, really, for the remainder of my life. It was only a few months ago that I realized that I was finally able to breathe--deeply and fully--whenever I wanted to. Can you imagine?

So, this is The Summer Of Nance. I wish with all my heart that it is Your Summer, too.


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