This past summer was the one where my sister called me into a consult room at the children’s hospital her oldest son had been in for six weeks, except for the part where he went to an adult ICU to get his lung removed, and she told me the doctors said there was nothing left to do, and could I fly her other kids back from our other sister’s house today?
It was the summer my tomato plants thrived from all the rain. They nourished the squirrels for weeks, too, because while I’m optimistic in the spring, I’ve never been a great harvester in our warmest months.
It was the summer I told my team we’d go makeup free at the Locket Sisters because when crisis pulled my heart in a different direction, I made the decision that we’d focus exclusively on taking good care of our customers by taking good care of their lockets, and that was it. We’d start wearing lipstick and sending newsletters again when we could.
It was the summer my Aunt Dorothy died. Her farm is in so many of my childhood memories, and visiting it while remembering her life was an easy way hear her laugh across dimensions, see the cotton candy skies I remember during Seven Steps Around the House and Kick the Can, taste the BBQs and Special K bars from her kitchen.
It was the summer of cancelled plans and blurred timelines. The one where I tracked the days by the label on my hospital name tag. The one where I felt hope after getting a fortune cookie that read “Believe in miracles” and then despair after I believed it was too late for one to occur.
It’s the one where the Locket Sisters was featured in the Toast section of Mpls/St Paul magazine but I was focused on other things so I didn’t notice.
"SWEET SYMBOLS: Rock a photo of a loved one, or gift one to your bridesmaids. Sterling silver locket ($175) and 14-karat gold fill locket ($250), both by The Locket Sisters. thelocketsisters.com"
It was the one where crying made me so dehydrated that I had to start wearing chapstick. The one where I puked from a stress migraine before composing myself for a prayer vigil, and gagged at the end of a meal in a hospital cafeteria when my appetite sharply left my body.It’s the one where I got to know the valet guy at the hospital because he let me park illegally when I needed to, and the front desk staff became invested in my nephew’s wellbeing while greeting me each morning with “Good Morning Ms. Hughes” and politely waiting to see if I’d like to give them a Henry update.
It was the summer my friend Adam didn’t go on lake trips with his wife and kids, because someone killed him in February, and I said “Hi Adam” every time I saw a bald eagle, which were more bald eagles than I'd ever noticed before.
It’s the one where I learned hope is a baton you pass around, a relay race without a finish line. And the one where I called everyone in my family to tell them what my sister told me in that consult room. I heard each of their reactions, one by one. Softness, screams, silence.
This past summer is also the where one I witnessed a miracle, and wondered about all the people who never got one. The one where my nephew was no longer on comfort care, was no longer in the PICU, and no longer in the hospital. It’s the summer my nephew went home, alive. Heart beating. Legs moving. And I wondered if that fortune cookie was a sign of hope across dimensions after all.
It’s my turn to carry the baton again. And we’re gonna start wearing lipstick, too.
Warmly,
Allyssa