New Year, More Tears

In 2007 we attended Notre Dame's opening home football game.  We are a football family and have had season tickets to Notre Dame football for years.  It was the first game I had attended without my 18 year old son who was beginning his college career at another fine institution, Indiana University.  The pre-game traditions began.  The Air Force fighter jets fly by was deafening.  The brilliant and moving performance by the oldest college marching band in the country, the prayers, the songs and then the introduction of The Fighting Irish as they explode onto the field in a wildly pulsating sea of blue and gold. 

I started to cry.  Not just a few drips and sniffles.  I was sobbing.   The game was going very badly and Notre Dame fans are very passionate about their team so those surrounding me did not worry a bit.  They assumed I was disappointed in my team's play and continued on cheering and jeering.

But I was broken hearted.  I missed my son.  I missed his laughing eyes and his gigantic boyish grin.  I missed his goofiness and his endearing and incessant teasing.   I missed his knowing the facts on every football player on the field.  Both sides.  I missed his perception of the game.  I missed his critique of the coaching.  I missed his constant and deafening cheering.  I missed the exuberance and enthusiasm  which surrounds him always.

I couldn't shake the tears.  My youngest daughter put her arm around my shoulders, "It's about Stevie isn't it?"  she said.  I shook my head as I  continued to sob.  She lay her head on my shoulder.  "I know Mom, I miss him too."

But that was not all I was feeling.  Who were these young people walking around this beautiful campus on this bright and shining autumn day?  Who were they to gain admission to this university when my son did not?  I was  angry and yes, I could feel bitterness rise up in my throat too.  I was stunned by the shear force of these emotions and  taken off guard.  If I would have tried to articulate these raw feelings to anyone at the time I would have felt ashamed.  I knew the river needed to follow it's course without disruption, so I sat and let the warm and salty tears carry these emotions through to their end.  By the time we left the game I was exhausted but peaceful.  I still missed Stevie, but I knew a bigger plan was in place.  I trusted in that plan. 

Last Saturday was the 2008 Notre Dame opening home game.  As usual we were there.  This year Stevie was there also.  This time as a student.  The first little trickle appeared when I visually found Stevie in the student stands and he blew me a giant kiss.   The trickle moved a little bit faster when the students all danced the Irish gig for the first time that day.  When the traditional  pre-game festivities commenced, the flood gates let go and the tears once again tumbled down my cheeks in mad abandon.  This year's tears were the sweet tears of joy.  My son had achieved his young heart's desire.  He was a student at Notre Dame, his dream since he was four years old.  I was there to witness his initiation.  I was over come with love and gratitude.

My youngest daughter again but her arm around me.  "These are happy tears, aren't they Mom?"  "Yes, honey".  "Okay then.  Can you turn around and watch the game and stop watching Stevie?"  "No, honey."

I did watch some of the game.  But I always kept one eye on Stevie.  I was happy just watching Stevie.  My heart was full.  My tears were gone.

Until the next time.    

Comments

[Jennifer White]

Seriously... how happy does he look! Tears of happiness are always okay. I think I need to get myself a Notre Dame shirt as well so I can be part of the club.

[Debbie W]

How wonderful it is to watch our children as they realize their own dreams! So good to hear that Stevie is so happy and is doing so well! Such a beautiful picture of your angels!

Hugs,
Debbie