First Game, World Series, 2014
Before we met, long before he was my husband, when he was just a kid, Matt was a bat boy for the Cubbies. My heart often wanders to him during baseball season. He was the super baseball fan – stats, hits, runs, errors, he knew them all. Until the last inning when he shocked his fans. When he decided he wasn’t going to take another hit. He grabbed a foul ball and walked off, leaving the infield torn and wondering, even now, after years of tears.
Strike 1. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the USA.
If his heart was still pumping, Matt’d have a hard time choosing where to watch the game tonight. I can still see the picture of our oldest son, 6 weeks old, on the front page of The New York Post, October ’81 in his baby Yankees warm-up suit. ‘Still hate the Dodgers. Now the kids are San Francisco Giants Fans – Always October. Would he partner up with the guys? The youngest one, he definately inherited Matt’s sports fan genes. Glove in hand, they’d catch every minute – breathless for the win.
With our daughter? In her black and orange, cheering sparkling wet eyes on the game, sorrow in her heart, rubbing her abdomen, ever so gently, grieving for the baby we all thought would show up just in time for spring training. Struck out with no chance to suit up.
One out of 5 pregnancies ends in miscarriage.
Full Count – Homerun!
Giants take the lead! Everyone on their feet!! Cheers and beers!
Grab your hat. Grab your glove. Wait for the next pitch. And hold onto your heart.