Family joy warms the heart all summer

The Boston Herald

This was the summer of my content, months I will look back on always with gratitude. A time I will miss and wish for every day for the rest of my life, but that I will be thankful I had. This was the summer my family truly celebrated life, not every minute of every day, and not with balloons or parties or prayers, though there were these things, too. But with a keen and constant awareness of all the good moments an ordinary day brings, and of how lucky we were to be having them.

Last summer was hell. This summer was heaven. Last summer we lived in fear of a baby's death. This summer we lived in awe of her life. We couldn't take our eyes off her, laughing, crawling, clapping, stretching her arms out for her father, nestling against his shoulder, so little still, but so much bigger than she was last year in her father's arms. This was the summer Lucy thrived and her parents finally exhaled, as much as any parents can exhale. And the summer my youngest daughter moved home from New York with her husband and new baby to be closer to family.

We put a leaf in the kitchen table. And bought another crib. And borrowed a double carriage. And turned a family room into a playroom. And then we played in that room. Not every day. There was still work and chores and obligations. But every night, no matter what. And almost every weekend. Last summer we gathered in fear. This summer we gathered in thanksgiving. Giving thanks was part of our days. We never went to the beach or to a museum. We never even rode the Swan Boats, though we said in June and July and August that we absolutely had to. ``Want to go to Boston this weekend?'' one of us would ask when the weather looked good and the shadows were long and the day was cool. ``Sure, Why not?'' we'd say. ``We'll take the train. We'll make a day of it.'' We looked up the train schedule. We made plans. But we never went. We sat on the deck with the babies in our arms instead and watched the woodchucks commandeer the back yard and a bunny eat all the daisies. Or we sprawled on the family-room floor and played ``this little piggy'' and ``peek-a-boo,'' roaring every time Lucy snatched Adam's binky out of his mouth and feeling a little tug at our hearts every time Adam would catch her eye and smile.

Who had to go to Boston and ride the Swan Boats when everything we wanted we already had?

The summer passed this way. In awareness of and appreciation for how much we have. The summer passed in this way, too: In nightly family dinners, barbecues and salads and takeout and anything we could throw together. In clam dip and Cape Cod potato chips and wine spritzers and the Red Sox on TV. In Flurries from the Dairy Barn and in long walks with the babies all over town.

I took hundreds of pictures. And in every one, someone is smiling. The trick now is to keep those smiles, to move into fall and seriousness of purpose and traffic and overscheduling and tight shoes and heavy sweaters with the same sense of gratitude. It's hard. Already the calendar has us running in different directions. Already there's a sense that summer is long past. Weekdays are busy. Weekends are busier. Everyone has scattered. The party is over. But the awareness that this summer brought lingers. What we had for three months was the real thing. We were together. We celebrated life. We were healthy. We didn't look ahead. We stayed in the moment. And we were happy.