Summer of Lasts

We went to the beach because it was going to be the last summer to go to that particular stretch of beach. Nature had been washing out the parking lot, and the town finally decided to give up trying to save that patch of land and instead spent the last two years moving the beach a mile or two down the road.

It has been a long goodbye. We thought last summer was the last summer, but they pushed the move back one summer. We went to the beach last winter to watch them demolish the nature center. It has only been a few months, but the grass currently covers the old ground as if the building never existed.

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We went to the beach because it was going to be the last time we could go on the Haunted Mansion ride. We go every year for my birthday, and they announced this winter that they were closing the ride at the end of this summer and building a new Haunted Mansion ride using the original designer to open in 2028. I didn’t want a new ride. I wanted my janky old Haunted Mansion.

We got to the park over a half hour before the ride opened, but the line was already past the end-of-line marker. We got in the queue, and the woman in front of us commented that the entire state had shown up this summer to have one last ride. I love that thought; that we all made this pilgrimage across the marsh grasses and yellow sand to reach this ride, one last time.

Before we went, I thought we might go on a few times. But we got our one turn and left after I whispered goodbye to Frankenstein’s monster.

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We went to the beach because it was going to be the last summer I knew we would all be together. We weren’t even really together. We were mostly apart. But I really don’t know where they’ll be after they graduate. It’s like their senior year of high school x 1000. At least then I knew they would have breaks back at home.

I know we’ll still travel together, but we’ll have to make hard choices. If they have limited vacation time, we’ll have to choose whether they want to do A or B. We don’t know if we’ll all be able to take off at the same time. I hate not knowing how things will turn out.

Every summer since they’ve been two, we’ve taken the same photo in front of the same statue in the town center. We missed a year during the pandemic, but we mostly have a visual timeline from toddlerhood to grownupland. I made them stand in front of the statue when we went into town to pick up dinner. I didn’t care that we were all sandy from the beach, our hair frizzy and clothes sunscreen-stained. They stood side by side and smiled, and I snapped, wondering if we’d get to do it again next year.