Before New Year’s Day 2013, I had no idea how unimportant
certain things would become in my world. Stuff that used to keep me up nights
isn’t even a blip on my radar anymore. I had no idea how life would suddenly
and tragically change and any and all plans you had for your life were erased,
never to be written again. I mean,
haven’t we all read those inspirational posters on Facebook how “God is in control”
or “There is a plan and you just have to believe in that plan”? We toss these phrases around as we fill out
sympathy cards or messages we share with online sympathy registers. I know I wrote something of this nature
numerous times over the years. It
sounded good. I believe
it. And using God’s plan provided me a
solid backup in expressing my condolences to crushed families as they prepared
to say goodbye to their loved ones. In my beliefs, which I can assure you have
been tested like nothing I can describe these past few years, I do believe God
is in control. But to truly live this is an entirely different beast.
And my faith has been tested….a lot.
They say that when you lose a child, among the countless
things you mourn are the things that “didn’t happen”—the holidays they are missing,
the weddings, births and every day events that will never take
place…everything. I can assure you this
is true. And this will forever be a part of which we are.
I miss my old life….a lot.
And please don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes my
heart hurts when I see Tate’s college friends trickling home for the holidays. The
engagement announcements, new babies, new jobs, and opportunities-all the
amazing things his friends are experiencing right now bring a bittersweet
feeling. As much as I love to see them,
they are very important to us and we love each of them for so many different reasons, but their physical presence is
a visual reminder that he should be here too.
He should be home from college.
He should be on a Spring Break trip, or watching the Final Four in the
family room, or groaning about something I did that drove him crazy (I was REALLY good at driving him crazy—it
took very little effort on my part, and I admit I sometimes looked for the
opportunity to bother him). He should be crawling in late after a night at the
local establishments with his high school friends. He
should be here giving Scott advice (or grief) about his life choices and
performances. His absence was so very
apparent in Huron a few weeks ago. Tate
loved to watch his dad’s teams and loved to talk defense with Mark. He should have been right there on the court
at the end, beaming with pride, and cheering for the Chargers. He should be
here enjoying life. And our sad reality,
crushing reality actually, is he is not.
And I hate that…..a lot.
What I am mourning,
as of late, is the fact that Tate should be student teaching right now. Right
now, he should be in the midst of a social studies room filled with kids
counting the days down until summer. He
should have helped with some winter coaching, possibly even some track, and
taken tickets and filled out pages of lesson plans, and scrambled each morning
to make it to school on time. He should be
filling out resumes, attending job fairs, and conferring with his cooperating
teacher about how he could be improving, getting better, and observing how to
do things. We would have shared stories
over Easter, offered advice, and more than likely, had to offer up some cash to
get him through the semester. I looked forward to seeing what he thought of
a school setting. I looked forward to
seeing how he liked coaching—not just the X’s and O’s, but the athlete and
parent dynamics. I looked forward to
seeing where he would choose to apply for a job. A small school? A big one?
Out of state? Would he have wanted to be a graduate assistant? He had a honorable, amazing group of coaches
at NSU—it would have been easy to see him wanting to follow their leads. There were few people he spoke as highly of
as Coach Dosch. I can easily have seen
him wanting to follow his path. Late at
night, my mind buzzes with scenarios and situations of things that will never
be. And that is what is most difficult
for me right now.
And often late at
night I cry…..a lot.
I have tried to
express how wonderful the people around us were after Tate’s death. There are truly no words to adequately
express or describe the kindness, care, generosity, and love we were surrounded
by in the days following our tragedy.
The cards and messages were heartfelt and sincere and provided us with
hope and amazing memories. I read every
word in these cards. Every.Single.Word.
From officials, and coaches, and family and friends. From people we barely knew and from the dear
friends who have stood by us on our grief journey. South Dakota is a really small state no
matter what the mileage reads from Buffalo to Vermilion. The fraternity of educators and coaches who
reached out to us was astounding. One of
the cards that brought me, in particular, great comfort was from a family we
knew through athletics. They spoke about
how they had watched Tate compete with their son through the years and how they
had just seen him at the State-U football game that November. Tate had stopped
to visit with the couple. (He had a little of his mama in him!) This kind man, a school administrator, wrote
how after speaking with Tate he had told his wife he hoped to get the chance to
hire him as teacher some day. That was
such a comfort at the time. I have been scanning the educational job
listings of late, and wondering where my second generation teacher-coach would
be looking for a job?
And my mind wanders back to that beautiful card…a lot.
On Friday, Tate will
be celebrating his heavenly birthday. If
he were here, student teaching, I would have pulled a “Grandma Alice” and
ordered a cake or goodies and had it sent to his school. Maybe for the kids…maybe for the teacher’s
lounge (where anything is appreciated and deemed edible, no matter how it
tastes). I would have had a balloon
delivered or something equally as annoying.
He would have been so embarrassed…..(Yet secretly pleased,
as he loved celebrating his birthday.)
And I would have
loved that…….a lot.
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