Believe it or not, I once played second base on a little league baseball team. My daddy was the coach and it’s one of the fondest memories I have of someone whom I’ve only seen or heard from twice in the last 37 years.
That same man passed away August 16th. For nearly two months, I’ve been doing what one would call, “a lot of processing.” Initially, I was numb; I didn’t know what to feel emotionally. While it was sad that he’d left this physical world, he had left my life decades prior. And, for me, that was perhaps even sadder.
Since the final days of my sixth grade school year, he became more and more absent from my childhood. The disappearing act continued into my adult years as well. The shortcomings and disappointments mounted and, over the years, weighed on my heart and soul.
It was 20 years ago when I last saw my father and we had a heart-to-heart that was one for the record books. Between puffs of the cigarette he was smoking, he apologized for “not being there” for much of my life. He cried. I cried. After all was said, he walked me to my car and added, “I promise I’ll stay in touch.”
Those were the last words I ever heard him say to me. And, ultimately, it was a promise he couldn’t keep for whatever reasons.
And, there, resides the many unanswered questions that began to register after the tidal wave of emotions had receded after hearing of his passing. Eventually, I calmly accepted that answers may never come.
So, that’s why I treasure the happy nugget of the baseball story. I’ll never forget the night that Daddy attended a preliminary coaches’ meeting. When he returned home, he woke me up to tell me the good news about the baseball team on which I’d be playing; “Son, I got the team you wanted!”
My second grade self sprung from the bed, “Yippee! I’m gonna be playing for the Oreos!” At the time, I didn’t realize that the sports team was named after birds, Orioles, and not my favorite cookies!
Love and light,
Tony