From time to time, I take a break from sharing the story about my first year of grief and, instead, write about my world today.
My 7-year old recently made a competitive soccer team. This is our first year of competitive soccer, my older son never played at that level. The funny thing about this is that we just sort of showed up for the try-outs. We did not play in the pre-cursory “Academy” that feeds the competitive level at this young age. An email came out a couple of months ago announcing try-outs.
“Hey Wyatt, there are try outs for Competitive soccer next weekend. Do you want to try out?”
“Sure” Wyatt said. That was it. No questions. No thinking. Just “sure”.
We arrived at try-outs and I watched the kids warm up.
Uh-oh. We are seriously out of our league, I thought.
These kids had technique, all sorts of fancy footwork and ball handling skills. Wyatt had never been trained. He was just a good, scrappy player.
Oh well, I thought. This will be a good experience.
I watched him play and while he did not have any fancy tricks, he was aggressive as hell, determined, and held his own. I could not help but smile. He was so Gordie.
Fast forward several weeks, and he was invited to join the Elite Silver Team. I called his Nanny to have her give him the news. She texted me that his face lit up when she told him. When I came home from work, he ran up to me “Mommy! I made it!” He was so happy.
That night before I crawled into my bed, I dropped to my knees and prayed.
Dear Lord. Please let us be able to handle this commitment. Please don’t let it interfere with Nathan’s life or make him feel second string. Please help me manage how to give both my sons the opportunities they deserve.
I lay in bed terrified. Wyatt is only seven years old. My Type-A personality would never allow for me to send him to a tournament with another family. What about Nathan’s baseball and soccer that he plays in the summer and fall? How could I be in two places at one time? How would Nathan not get shafted each and every time by having to go with another family to his games simply because he is the oldest?
I continued to pray over the weeks leading up to the first team meeting.
When I arrived at the meeting, I immediately grabbed the schedule. My stomach sank. Tournaments in different cities every month. A one-day tournament on Nathan’s birthday in May, a day where we had already booked something special to celebrate. Tournaments through the summer. Tournaments in the fall when Nathan likes to play travel baseball.
I sat through the meeting nearly paralyzed with fear.
How was I going to make this work?
My parents live in my same town but it’s a lot to ask them to go to tournaments where there is so much waiting around. I am now in a relationship with someone but he has two kids of his own.
I tried to focus on the content of the meeting but I was stressed.
On the way home, I could not stop tapping my left foot. I needed to run. I needed to get this out of my body and my head. I needed to sort all of this out in my brain while I pounded the streets. But it was 8pm when we arrived home and I needed to deal with remaining homework and bedtime. I was in a horrible mood.
I hate this life. I hate not having their Dad here so that we can divide and conquer. I hate constantly having to decide between which of my sons’ games I am going to attend I am tired of Nathan always getting the short end of the stick because he is older and better equipped to be without me. I am sick of missing moments in Nathan’s life. I am just so tired of being a solo parent. My sons don’t deserve this and neither do I. I should be celebrating that my son achieved this and all I can do is stress about it.
It’s. Not. Fair.
I put Wyatt and Nathan to bed and went to bed myself to escape in my People magazine. I even took one of my little white pills, something I rarely do anymore, because I knew otherwise I would be up all night worrying.
The following day, as soon as I had a break in meetings, I grabbed my running stuff and headed to the treadmill. I was not sure about the weather, it looked like rain, and I did not feel like getting soaked so I decide to run inside. I turned the treadmill on and started cruising, my music blasting in my ears.
The same thoughts as the night before floated through my head: fear, resentment, anger, and sadness for this life that my children have been condemned to.
Gordie and I specifically had two kids so that we could always divide and conquer and no kid would be without a parent. I thought. Well, that plan really got shot to hell. Fuck life.
Sometimes running helps turn my mood around. It allows me to shed my anger on the road like a snake sheds its skin. After those runs I can let go of whatever is bothering me, my body relaxes, and I feel literally lighter. But not today. I was even angrier after I got off that treadmill. Sometimes running through grief just does not work. Those days are some of my toughest days.