Saying Goodbye To Soccer

 

I have watched my son play soccer for 14 years. There have been way too many hours, weekends, drives, flights, hotel stays, and, yes, dollars spent to begin to count. In all those years, I think he was only part of one tournament championship (Cincy TFA Fall Ball Classic). That’s it. He had ankle surgery the one time his club team won states. He was always the underdog and often taken for granted. And yet, he persisted.

I kept telling him (and myself) that this would be their year. He and his teammates worked so hard. He had become a good leader and captain. They were undefeated in the regular season. They were ranked in the top 5 in the state all year and nationally ranked as high as #9. This was the year to bring home the state championship.

 

And then it all came to an unexpected and abrupt end last night. There were many chances to win, but they just couldn’t close it out. Parker fought through being sick for a week, spraining his ankle in the game, and calf cramps on his other leg. He gave it his all; I know his teammates did, too.

 

This morning, as he tried to make sense of what happened, I wanted to take the pain away from him. I hurt for him. This isn’t how his soccer career was supposed to end. It’s certainly not how it happens in the movies. But I know that the pain he feels is because he loves the sport so much. He became the young man he is today because of those experiences, his coaches (Zemanski, Conner, Manfull, Hart, Knapp, and Barnes—to name a few), and his teammates. He loved it all so much, and the game gave him so much in return, so he will need to grieve just as hard.

 

I can pour my love of the sport into my daughter for two more years, but Parker doesn’t have that luxury. He will move forward, and I know he has learned so many valuable life lessons from his career, but that doesn’t help right now. My one hope is that the tightness and “family” the team created will help them all heal together.

 

I know others feel similarly, so perhaps my words will help somehow. As weird as it sounds, we parents are grieving this loss, too. Abrupt endings you don’t see coming are hard to process.