End of Summer

A warm breeze flows past, tickling my skin and bringing the scent of the meadow with it. I sat in the middle of the field filled with marigolds, eyes closed as the warm sun beams shine on my face. A comfortable, happy, and warm feeling erupted in my chest as I felt his presence wrap around me. His arms bringing even more comfort as he gently held me with so much love emanating from him as he buried his face in my neck. We stayed there for what seemed like hours until he stood up and walked in front of me. He stared out at the field for a few minutes before turning to me and offering his hand. “Let’s go watch the sunset over there, my love,” he said tenderly. I took his hand as he pulled me up to my feet. We ran barefoot over to a small clearing on a hill and sat together hand-in-hand underneath a large oak tree. Its leaves a brilliant green, changing to orange as the setting sun shone on them. The fiery sunset gently cascaded down the sky as it slowly disappeared on the horizon of a lake. Before all of the light had said good night, we ran down the hill to the crystal blue lake at the foot of the hill. We ran into the shallow of the lake and threw water at each other playfully, with him tackling and kissing me as the night grew darker. We laid under the night sky on the soft, dewy grass as we watched the stars twinkle in the dark. The moon shone with a fullness that can only compete with the setting sun we saw earlier. As we laid there, side by side, he held my hand with such love and affection for me. “I wish this night would last forever…” I proclaimed, turning my head to look at him. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it, “It will, Darla. I promise that every night will be just like this one.”

It was, every single night was more magical than the last. I wish that every night would last forever that summer. I wish that summer had lasted forever. But, he had to go back to America. He couldn’t stay here in Germany, he had to go back home when the summer had ended. We were so young and naive back then. I had received a scholarship to a school in America when I was eighteen, the same one he told me he was going to. We could finally be together…

I always thought of those magical days where we risked everything to be together. We struggled with marriage, work and finances, the whole lot. But we thought we were invincible to it all because we were young and in love. We took those struggles and challenges with a proud heart on our sleeve. Those days in the summer were a magical gateway to the hell we had to endure to be together. And we did, we endured through the poverty, through the stress, through everything in our way. We were finally able to be happy together.

Those were the days. I think of them all the time now that he’s gone… staring at a blank white wall, waiting for my time to come. A very kind young man takes care of me as I fade. So gentle and assuring, so comforting. I tell him the stories of my life, how I was rescued from a prison camp during World War II by the love of my life, how I was thought worthy of rescuing. How he came to visit me still even after he had been let go from the military of his country. The young man seemed fascinated by my stories, and very sympathetic for all of my hardships. It’s all in days past for me, it’s helped me become the strong woman I am now in my old age. My grandchildren are grown now, living their own beautiful lives. My children, nor my grandchildren ever visit me anymore. I’m starting to wonder if they’ve forgotten me. I’ve wanted to write them letters, but I can no longer write. I’ve grown old and frail.

As I lay alone, I remember a song my mother sang to me when I was just a girl. I hum softly, though it’s more like a croak at this point. “The marigolds were always the prettiest at the end of summer…” was my last thought as the monitor flatlines in a long monotonous ring as I drift into a void of darkness. No one comes except for the young man who looked after me, who tries so hard to bring me back to no avail. He cries and prays. When I come to, I’m in a field of marigolds once again. I’m wearing the blue sundress I did on that day instead of the hospital gown I was wearing before. My hands were no longer old, wrinkly and spotted, but young and delicate again. “Let’s go watch the sunset, my love,” I hear from in front of me. A young man extends his hand to me, “George?” I exclaim. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yes, Darla. It’s finally time to go, to be together again,” he says tenderly. “It’s been so long… I’ve missed you, my love.”

I take his hand just like I did all those years ago. My time had finally come, and I could finally be with my George again. The marigolds were always pretty in the summer, when you were with the love of your life. But they were the prettiest at the end of summer, when they were the most brilliant gold and you wished the summer would never end. The marigolds were always the prettiest at the end of summer…