Of my forty-four years in nursing, twenty were as a school nurse—mostly with 6th, 7th, and 8th graders. I will always remember early June as a busy and exciting time. We staff, were just trying to finish up the school year and anticipating the summer break. I knew it would take weeks to recover from the hectic, demanding, rewarding work with students. Besides family vacations and day outings with long-time friends, my plans would include a solo journey. The idea for where to go usually started percolating after the winter break.

By this time in June, I would know my destination and would have some of the details ironed out. Over time, I thought of it as putting a puzzle together; the corner pieces were the places I would spend my nights, best reserved ahead; the boundary pieces would be the route I would take to connect those places, and over time would include all forms of transportation. The interior would have images I’d gathered ahead of my destination.

When I took off, the puzzle would shift–with some places canceled and others added as the journey proceeded. Those boundary–or edge pieces, would also shift as detours occurred on road trips or flights were rescheduled. As my trip progressed, some of the interior appeared as it had on the internet, but much it was totally surprising once you were there.

The most drastic example of a change was when I went to Michigan. The highlight of that trip was Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore where I would get a grand view of Lake Michigan. As an East Coast person, I didn’t believe the waters of one of the Great Lakes could be turquoise-colored, since it wasn’t the Caribbean or a sunny day at Emerald Isle Beach in North Carolina. We had sand dunes at Kitty Hawk on the Outer Banks of our state–so what would be so impressive about sand dunes around a lake?

The July day when I took the scenic drive to Sleeping Bear Dunes, an unusual weather front moved in and there was a “white out” of fog. I couldn’t see ten feet in front of me. I could only hear the distant sound of water lapping on a shore— and couldn’t tell how far away it was. Standing at the overlook, knowing Lake Michigan stretched before me, all that was there was a sea of white.

Totally disappointed, feeling foolish for not knowing ahead of time about the white out, I formed a new plan. My route was reconfigured to return the next day before I headed south on my way back to North Carolina. I had to see Lake Michigan as it had appeared online, as it had in pictures that swirled in my head since I started planning that journey.

The next day, stepping onto the overlook was a totally different experience in the same place. That lapping water I’d heard the day before gave way to the reality of the shoreline in the distance. Before me was a sea of turquoise—as if I had just stepped onto a Caribbean beach.

When I returned from that trip, I looked at my map and could see all those dots that had become real places for me. Those corner pieces, those connecting routes, and the experiences that gave life to the images had formed a completed puzzle.

That satisfying experience of sticking with the puzzle until it was completed, reminds me of all the times I’ve enjoyed doing puzzles with my grandson Baker. Since he was a little fellow, we’ve progressed from very simple puzzles to a large United States puzzle that we recently completed for the first time. He amazes me with how he can see the shapes, the exact spots to place the pieces, and completes puzzles beyond his age group by himself.

Over this past weekend, I attended his Pre-K graduation and his final Tee-ball game. How bittersweet to watch him grow up and accomplish those milestones.

He’ll attend some camps this summer, meet new kids, and learn new skills. Throughout the summer he’ll be growing and changing, preparing for his new chapter. Those puzzles he’s put together over the years, have been like the solo journey puzzles that have helped to equip me; each one completed has given more skill, more confidence to move on to one with more difficulty.

As we enter this summer season, my hope is that we’ll relax into the activities that refresh and renew us.

Best to you all,

Connie