by | March 5, 2014, 6:16am 0

Throughout the last week, my heart has been very much with the families, friends and teammates. And also with all the people who suffer through more private but no less painful tragedies.

Words have flown and with them joy.
They gathered wings and were gone.

Who knew so much grief could travel through this little thing I hold in my hand?
Words and words and words. So many people I know speak so beautifully. I am anger and incoherence. I grope in the dark and find nothing.

All day on the field I think “This is where they should be.” In the huddles, I have no words, so the team holds hands. At the end of the day, the rain lifts and it is beautiful. Clouds soar above the Coast Range; the smog is all washed away and everything is clean. I try to really see it. I wish they were here to see it.

I come home. I still can’t speak. I go into the darkened room and gently push sweaty locks of hair back from small, sleeping faces. I think of their mothers doing the same thing. In the morning, I stay too long at home. I will be late for work.

I know words will come back eventually. I know joy will come back eventually.
They will return when we aren’t looking at the sky.
I will wake up and hear them calling in the trees.
One day, friends will wake up and hear them calling in the trees.
One day, mothers and fathers will wake up and hear them calling in the trees.
The sound will be different, darker and purple, but they will call.

Comments Policy: At Skyd, we value all legitimate contributions to the discussion of ultimate. However, please ensure your input is respectful. Hateful, slanderous, or disrespectful comments will be deleted. For grammatical, factual, and typographic errors, instead of leaving a comment, please e-mail our editors directly at editors [at] skydmagazine.com.

Comments are closed.