Tuesday, October 28, 2008

A poem for Molly (or for me) after her Senior soccer season abruptly ended

Molly's the third of our four children to play their last high school soccer game. For some reason, her final game last week hit me harder than previous "last games." I've had some grief-like feelings. Years of coaching, transporting, and cheering for our kids are nearing an end (Sam's a sophomore). This piece captures a bit of it. "Hopper" is my nickname of Molly.

Molly’s last season ended
and the crowd
and we parents
left the stands
and hugged our girls
by the waiting bus.

Lamenting unfulfilled hopes
of a strong run to state,
Seniors sobbed.
All we could do
was respond in kind—
console them
to comfort ourselves.

Grief sets in without much of
a warning, taking us
by rude surprise.
Years of joy turn
into yearning
when the whistle
blows a final time.

There’s gratitude in the grief,
however, and real pride
in Molly’s play.
and adaptive—
traits that serve life’s field.

I will miss watching Hopper
romp up and down the pitch.
But know, my child,
we eagerly
a victory
no season can end.

I welcome your comments and/or questions in the spirit of dialog. Share yours by clicking on "comments" just below. They're moderated only to reduce incivility. Shalom!

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