While the temperature doesn’t agree, the calendar says summer is rapidly coming to an end. After almost ignoring that we owned a boat for June and July, we have decided to play catch up and pack as much lake time into what is left of a fast fading summer. Last night, we were out boating on the lake until dusk. We watched the sun set and the moon rise. It was a glorious evening - an evening that makes summer fit like a glove. After too much travel and too much kid activity earlier in the summer, we are rushing to fit in boating time as each day gets shorter and we inch toward fall.As we drove up to the lake, the water was almost pure glass. I still get excited when I see a glassy lake and think about the smile that will be on my face as I pursue a game of tug ‘o war against a boat. It’s almost impossible to ski too much in my view.

Twenty-four hours have passed and the feeling of last night still fuels me. As I sit quietly writing this with a sweet baby girl within reach, I am reminded of the nights I skied with my best friend at dusk. I started writing letters to my son when my wife and I found out we were pregnant with our first child. I didn’t want to have to play catch up some day when I was in the twilight of life to tell him everything I wanted to tell him (and since a bunch of girls). Below is a letter, I wrote to my son nine years ago this month:

August 6, 1998

It’s the time of day, here at the lake, when my best friend and I most like to ski. In past years, we’d be rushing to fit in one more slalom run each. We’d each have a ski, life vest, and gloves and try to milk the glassy water one more time. The silhouette of him slicing the water and throwing up a fifteen-foot high spray is a picture that will be forever etched in my mind. We always seemed to ski better when the sky was crimson and the moon was rising. We knew we had to hurry if we were going to enjoy that last little bit of day. It definitely was my favorite run of the day. It may have been because I was never sure if that would be my last one for awhile. Tonight, I am here alone, you are home with mommy, and Mr. Walter is soaking in a bath. It makes him feel better. He may have already had his last slalom run at dusk. He has cancer. He may only ski again in his mind. Only God knows for sure. How I wish for one more night together with him whole. I would give anything to watch him glide effortlessly across the water right now. Tomorrow he’ll be here again and the two of us will be together. I’m sure we’ll watch the sunset and reminiscence about ski days and ski nights. We might even tell his dad about the night ski adventure when we nearly beached the boat. Everything will be almost the same, except he won’t be whole. He has taught me so much in our friendship. He and his dad taught me how to ski and helped me fine-tune my skiing on everything imaginable, including my own bare feet. Often, he would learn a trick and then teach it to me. Sometimes, I would learn a trick first and teach him. He always seemed to learn things faster, though. Now his teaching has stretched way beyond skiing. The last three years and a half years, as he has fought a horrible disease, he has taught me about life, about priorities, and about laughter. As always, he has learned something much faster than me, but this time not by his choice. While he lived a full life, he seems to be saving the most important things for the end. In what is likely the sunset of his life, he is rushing once again to try to get it all in. He is writing letters to his children and making them videotapes. He is trying to squeeze in a lifetime of advice onto a splice of tape. There are many things he wants them to know that he might not be able to tell them. He is seeing friends and family and he is making peace with God. While the lessons he has taught me have been hard lessons, they have helped me clarify my own priorities and focus. My son, I hope I am able to teach you these things without you having to experience the pain I and so many others have, watching Mr. Walter suffer. I am not sure why it’s so, but it seems like the most sacred and memorable times are as time is running out i.e the last ski run, the last minutes in a game, the moments before a big speech, the night before final exams, the day before a wedding, or the last moments of life. While we’ll continue our quest to milk summer for all it’s worth, we’ll try not to wait until sunset to play catch up.

Tim Richardson is an inspirational speaker who speaks about how giving increases employee morale, lowers employee turnover, increases customer loyalty and creates higher profits for Fortune 500 companies, associations, and national conventions. He is the founder of the The Worlds Biggest Blog Party an event which will connect bloggers from all over the world to raise money for charity. He is also founder and president of the Bill Walter Melanoma Research Fund. For more information on Tim, go to www.TimRichardson.com