It’s harder than I thought to watch baseball without
my father. I’m sadder than I thought I would be for longer than I thought I would
be. It’s surprising how choked up I feel right now as I write, yet also how
compelled I feel to write. I had meant to keep my blog up-to-date this season,
but I begin to write, and my fingers cramp, and my heart aches, and I wonder if
my dad is watching baseball now, somehow, or if he’s watching me and thinking
that he is also surprised about how much I miss him.
I have wanted to call him so many times already,
have even stupidly reached for my phone and then remembered that it doesn’t
work like that anymore. I see fathers with their sons, and it just hurts so
much that we will never watch a game together again. My eyes will randomly fill
as I watch the game, out of nowhere, because of nothing, except a deep, searing
emptiness.
So this baseballgirl is going to try to get back to
the writing, but it may take a while. In the meantime, just cherish the ones
you have, even those diehard White Sox fans like my dad who wanted to see
another Crosstown Series and who would have secretly rooted for the Cubs, just
for me.
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