Finally, An Empty Suitcase!

Last night I finally unpacked my weathered blue overhead bag and ancient flowered toiletry case—the first time they'd seen the inside of a closet since July 12. The worn zippers and faded fabric tell stories of a whirlwind month that began with Rob, Aden, William and me hiking from Maroon Bells to Crested Butte through the wildflowers. Since that golden weekend, I've ricocheted between British Columbia's family gatherings, California's blazing pool decks, New York's relentless sidewalks (helping William launch his adult life), and finally Colorado's towering peaks where Aden and I conquered another fourteener. I haven't moved through the world with such velocity since my consulting days—before marriage, long before children—and the freedom tastes intoxicating.

The six scorching days in Clovis, shuttling teenage swimmers between hotel, pool, and restaurant, exceeded every expectation. I videotaped races and award ceremonies, recorded splits, and cheered until my voice cracked. Working alongside athletes I barely knew before, I felt relationships kindling in the chlorinated air—trust building one encouraging word at a time. Leaving my family just one day after our Canadian return to coach other wonderful kids was wrenching, especially with William's departure looming. Yet I needed to nurture this coaching path, to cultivate something sustaining for the approaching empty nest years.

After a frantic few days moving William from Boulder, we boarded our direct flight to LaGuardia with three bulging suitcases. Clear skies welcomed us to Brooklyn, where his loft bedroom and experienced roommates offered William the perfect launching pad. We split our days between acquiring necessities at the delightfully named "Amazing Savings" and wandering Manhattan's transformed landscape. Thirty years has elapsed since my last visit, and the city stretched endlessly across my vision—a glittering testament to human ambition, architectural audacity and the emotional strength to rebuild after 9/11.

Saturday brought ten miles of walking through Central Park's verdant paths, past the financial district's gleaming towers, into Hudson Yards where William's office will soon relocate. The reclaimed Highline carried us above the streets while voices in Spanish, Italian, Polish, and Yiddish wove a linguistic tapestry around us—English surprisingly rare among the international throngs. Sunday delivered gluten-free crepes and coffee before we ventured via Metro to Wall Street's canyon of commerce, Battery Park's harbor views, the memorials at the North and South Towers, and finally the best everything bagel I've tasted in decades at Modern Bread and Bakery.

Saying goodbye to William after Sunday dinner proved predictably devastating—tears soaking my pillow as I mourned this latest milestone in our family's evolution. Yet beneath the heartache pulses profound gratitude for these accumulated adventures, for the energy and courage to seize each opportunity. I can still recall being paralyzed by autoimmune illness, too anxious to drive, too overwhelmed to navigate a simple grocery store. This current freedom to move through the world—to chase summer across states and seasons—feels like grace beyond my wildest imagination. As the children conquer new territories I will have even more good reasons to explore and be amazed.

Golden Hours and Goodbye Hugs

Roasting marshmallows over flickering campfire flames, the satisfying thud of corn hole bags finding their mark by headlight beams, dancing barefoot by the pool as sunset melted into dusk... we've savored countless twilight hours with our neighborhood families over the years. Monday evening, we seized another such golden moment from our relentless schedules to celebrate five college graduates—boys who marked their COVID-disrupted high school graduation together just four short yet transformative years ago. Now they stood before us as polished young men, diplomas in hand, headed for careers in far-flung cities stretching from coast to coast and beyond.

The logistics defied reason: two had flown in the previous night on late flights and multiple graduates would catch early morning departures the next day. Yet for three precious hours, we had them all gathered together under our familiar shade tarps. The rhythmic thump of corn hole punctuated bursts of laughter and soft melodies drifting from the bluetooth speaker. We blessed our fortune when cool breezes arrived to chase away the week's oppressive heat wave, bringing partly cloudy skies in place of the threatened thunderstorms. Hanging porch lights twinkled as summer flowers glowed in vibrant clusters of pink, yellow, and orange.

After demolishing Chipotle bowls and sweet watermelon slices, we pulled the boys from their competitive corn hole tournament. My friend Heidi had orchestrated the evening's surprise: photo books chronicling twenty years of shared memories. Basketball tournaments and baseball diamonds, water polo matches and swim team victories arranged alongside countless afternoons at Caterpillar Park's weathered benches and camping adventures on mountain peaks and beside rushing streams. The books concluded with recent graduation photos and family portraits contributed by every household.

We hadn't choreographed the presentation or prepared speeches—simply placed the five books around our wrought-iron porch table while Heidi gestured to them, saying "Now you can take your friends with you wherever you go." As each young man settled into his chair and opened their copy they began turning pages in unconscious unison, voices rising in delighted recognition over forgotten memories and cameo appearances by old friends. Parents and siblings instinctively gathered around the table, leaning over shoulders to join the chorus of "remember whens" and good-natured groans over questionable haircuts and experimental bleach jobs. The motion sensor light flooded our circle in bright illumination each time someone shifted, creating a spotlight for this impromptu ceremony as they patiently waited for everyone to finish examining each page before advancing together.

My heart swelled until it physically ached, overwhelmed by the generosity of friends, the serendipity that had woven our lives together, and the approaching pain of separation. We mothers shared a quiet moment on the porch steps, pledging to support each other as we navigate this next phase of life. These young people—our sons and their siblings—who now prepare to leave us and sculpt their independent adult lives, shine more precious than gold. Their boundless potential, infectious optimism, open-hearted generosity, relentless drive, soaring ambition, and earnest yearning to craft meaningful lives—we will feel their absence while knowing they need fresh horizons, and our fractured country desperately needs their visionary energy.

As political leaders across the globe contemplate warfare as acceptable means to dubious ends, I find it impossible to fathom the tragedy of sacrificing young people like ours (like any!) to hollow displays of force. We owe them the painstaking work required to nurture peace, to cultivate thriving communities rich with opportunities for genuine connection. This extended family that helped raise our children and document their journey shouldn't be such a rarity. We all crave these moments of authentic togetherness to flourish and thrive, and I hope that our graduates will seek to create their own chosen families as they spread their wings and soar into whatever future awaits.