Blog number two, and I am already choosing to speak "sentiment and philosophy" over "wit and drunken statistics." This will not be a trend, but I feel it is appropriate to write on this point at this time of year...
Sundays, When We Watch Football and are Reminded to Beat Cancer:
As I sit back on my couch to watch some football this Sunday, the NFL does a great job reminding myself, as well as millions of others, that there are those out there fighting battles far more difficult than those on the gridiron.
The NFL’s effort in raising awareness is seen throughout the day as, “#BeatCancer” rises in trending topics on Twitter. As each down passes I cannot help but be reminded of life’s fragility, and remember those who were with me, talking about division rivalries every Sunday, only a short time ago.
This week will mark one year since I first lost someone near and dear to me to cancer. Unfortunately, I cannot say that this was the last person in my life that I have lost over the time since, as other relatives, friend’s parents, and even more tragic, friends grown up with, have all been taken far too soon.
In my mind, I am too young to deal with the loss of a parent or relative, I am far too young to see a friend my age taken away from this life. But as I have learned, and as I think about every time I see the referee blow a pink whistle this month, there are no guarantees, and cancer does not care if you are ready to deal with it.
As I write this today, my thoughts lay with the woman more a mother to me at times than my own, and of her current battle against cancer. When I was home this weekend I asked my mother how she was doing, my mom sat me down and with a tear in her eye, could she only look to me for answers as to why the good people in life need to go through this.
With a stomach full of turkey, and a head spun on wine, I decided to get philosophical in my attempts to explain the greatest open question of all when it comes to mortality, “why?”
It began like this...
What would you rather have, eighty years with someone else, or the time you had with them?
This question has a loaded answer, so it makes the point come across much easier. My mother and I agreed that, given a choice, we would not trade the time we had with these people, for a lifetime with others.
There are people out there who have eighty-plus years and they let it pass them by. Then, there are those who in a short time make such an impact on us, that all we can do is be thankful for those memories, and that we got to be a part of something so amazing.
I do not blame a “higher power” for taking them, I can only be thankful that I got them as a part of my life, in whatever capacity that ended up as.
In our own lives going forward, we must take our stand in the fight against cancer. So that we may hopefully better not just our own lives, but better impact the lives of those around us, by forcing an end to this disease.
On Life as Baseball:
To avoid religious preaching, I will speak my final thoughts on life as a euphemism to baseball:
It is as simple as this:
In the ball game of life, we are all on pitch counts. What we do with it is up to us.
When the manager comes to get us, we are applauded for the effort we gave, and we accept that not all great efforts are complete games.
When the manager came for those we have lost, know that there was a stadium full of spectators giving praise for their performance on the mound, and the impact they made. Know that the crowd was left hoping to emulate their own life’s performance after what they had just witnessed. Know that the manager does know best, and that those taken from this game, were done so because they were needed for another game, at another time. Most importantly, know that we will see them play again, but for now, we must take what they have shown, and apply it to ourselves.
We can all build off of the strength of those fighting cancer, we can all better ourselves from the memory of those whose time in this game has passed.
We accept that at some point, our own pitch count will be up and that the manager will come to take us out of this life’s ball game. All we can do is make sure that when they do, we gave the crowd our best performance, that when the book is closed on our pitching line, it was truly one to be remembered.
Let’s strikeout cancer.
No comments:
Post a Comment