A Summer Night With Friends, Family … And Fireflies

One gift of summer vacation is the time to relax:

And appreciate what is all around you.

Earlier in the week, my husband mentioned at dinner that he’d been surrounded by fireflies when he ventured into our front garden at twilight.

I admit the thought never crossed my mind: He can (and does) work for hours in the garden without a single mosquito bite.

Me? I’m bait from the time I leave the front door until I get in my car.

Still, I thought, “that sounds lovely. Let me try that tomorrow.“

Last night, I took a seat at our front patio and peered at the daylilies and coneflowers, stargazers and hostas.

And, one by one, lightning bugs rose and blinkered. I found myself enchanted, then amazed, as their number grew to a dozen or so.

Touched by this display that I’d failed to notice in my front yard, I promised to return tonight.

I had my weekly appointment today with my therapist and described how last night felt.

As I described it, I felt at peace and deeply, deeply grateful. My therapist remarked he could tell how much it meant to me.

My husband can and does find God, or at least a deeply spiritual presence, in the garden.

Though I appreciate its beauty, and the hard work my husband puts into it to fashion such a contemplative space, I think my appreciation was petal-deep.

Until tonight.

I went out about a half-hour earlier and knew the lightning bugs wouldn’t be out yet. I was thinking about my mom, whose 82^nd birthday we would be celebrating in two weeks, had she not passed on just after Christmas.

As I was thinking about her, I saw a firefly light up, and it made me smile. I didn’t think of it as my mom per se – more like a wink from her that said, “I’m still here.”

And for the next half hour, there I was.

With Mom and Dad.
And my grandparents.
And aunts and uncles.

And other relatives I called in my mind by name as the lightning bugs flickered.

Friends I’d loved and lost – and then tucked away in my mental attic, rarely opening their boxes because the memories felt too fraught.

Students and colleagues who were here one day, gone the next – their losses wounds that I treated in others without tending to my own.

Loss and grief and feeling overwhelmed by it all brought me back to therapy.

What I found in the garden was as vast – but without the pain.

As each bug flickered, names poured through my mind.

Chip. Jerry. Lynn. Jaden. Joyce. Bill.
And so, so many others.

I remembered newsrooms and classrooms, retreats and reunions, my mentor Dr. Gray and his feline namesake, whom we came to call Doc.

With each being who came to mind, the feeling was more sweet than bitter. What lingered was gratitude for our relationship and their presence in my life.

I could’ve stayed all night. But the lightning bugs had different plans, and by nightfall, their parade faded to a flicker or two.

I might go back tomorrow night.

Or… I might just savor tonight for a little while.

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