I looked out over the field, early that morning.
It was a beautiful April weekend. Still a little crisp in the air, but the bright, direct sun warmed your skin enough.
I thought to myself, it is a perfect lacrosse morning. Right now, we are in the heart of lacrosse season, the sport both of my daughters and many of their dearest friends love. I looked out over the field where both of my daughters played their first seasons of the sport. It should have been bustling with warmups and whistles. Instead, it stood completely empty, the “closed” signs warning everyone away. Corona was in town.
When my older daughter was in high school, she told me that lacrosse was the only reason she went to school some days. In those high school seasons, she fought through injuries of all kinds. From ankle twists and endless bruises to plaguing knee injuries and surgery. Most notably, as a dynamic and skilled attack player, she also suffered at least three significant concussions. Because of these brain injuries, she watched many games from the sidelines, cheering her teammates on with all her energy and might while she waited for her head to heal.
After making her way through the recruiting process, she earned a spot playing in college. There were many ups and downs, but she made it to the college playing field. I was so proud to see her play at that level. But just a few games in to her freshman season, she took a hit to the head that knocked her out for several minutes. She lost some of her memories. She couldn’t stand bright lights our music louder than a whisper. She was just not her usual sharp self for a while.
Days off the field turned into weeks and months. Her college freshman season ended and even though there were a few glimmers of hope, she finally got to the point where she realized her playing days were over. Yes, she could continue coaching and being a referee, but she would never pick up her lacrosse stick competitively again.
God, I loved watching her play. She was such a competitor on the field. It was amazing to witness and cheer for her. Seeing that end too soon was devastating for us both.
My younger daughter has taken her own path through lacrosse. She has great talent and has loved the sport for many years. She was just finding her footing in her first full varsity year when corona came to town. When I ask her these days what she misses most about school, she says lacrosse.
Each of them, in their own ways, now have “lost seasons.” Seasons that should have been played. Goals that should have been scored. Laugh-filled bus rides that should have been ridden. Late night meals with teammates that should have been shared. Wins that should have been celebrated. Defeats that should have been endured. Lessons that should have been learned.
Coronavirus has served many of us lost seasons. Weddings, holidays, so many celebrations shifted, even canceled. I think especially of high school and college seniors in their final months of school, what should be a time of togetherness, of celebration for them and their supporters. I hurt for them, even though the changed celebration doesn’t change the effort they put in or the elation they should feel. If you know someone who has a lost season because of corona, I encourage you to reach out to acknowledge that loss. Most of us don’t quite know what to say, but just being there to listen and recognize what is lost may be a help.
An unexpected concussion ended my daughter’s lacrosse career too early. From that time I knew, every game is a gift. Every time you get to step on the field or out on the stage or wherever you do what you love…every time you get to do that, it is a gift to be cherished and a challenge to be embraced. When we emerge from this, I hope we are changed in a way where we remember that.