living memories

BY VISTANCIA® MEMBER TP LANGE

I grew up in a family where sports were ever present. Through those first 17 years of my life there was one constant embedded in my love for sports: my father. My father’s role was decidedly quiet, yet encouraging, and his gentle, assuring manner was a gift to me. But, I never got the chance to thank him personally for that gift.

My father passed away in the fall of my senior year of high school from multiple myeloma. The emotional pain and mental anguish within me lasted for a long period. In attempting to grieve and make sense of it all, I would sometimes act out in harmful ways. But there was a quieter, more reflective side of me I would one day learn was much more powerful. My father was a man of strong faith, and this was another gift he had left for me, one which I knew I could not allow to go to waste. I was searching for a way to somehow honor him. It was when my love of sports and my deep faith became united in unimaginable ways – not just once, but on three separate occasions – I experienced a spiritual joy beyond comparison.

The first of these miraculous moments came in my second year of college, just two years after my dad’s passing. Playing wide receiver on the football team for a small upstate New York college, I was enjoying an unforgettable and record-breaking season. I was also becoming highly self-absorbed, neglecting the lessons of humility my dad had taught me. Late in the season I awoke one game day and began preparing myself in the usual manner, when a moment of deep self-reflection caused me to stop, sit, and pray. I saw in myself an ego growing sadly too large, and a misplaced sense of importance. I saw my father’s face and I heard his soft voice. I was simultaneously ashamed for my pride and thankful I was able to recognize it. At that moment, I vowed to dedicate that game to my dad.

The game that afternoon wasn’t shaping up the way I had hoped after a serious knee injury relegated me to the sidelines. I was crushed, inconsolable, and in disbelief. Was my attempt at humbling myself and honoring my father actually a painful lesson in irony? After incessantly hounding the athletic trainer, I was allowed to re-enter the game. I assured our quarterback, who was stunned to see me enter the huddle, all was well. His response was to dial up a pass play in my direction. In a flash, I was past the defender. I looked up to see a perfect spiral floating toward me. The ball fell softly into my hands, and I outran the defender some 50 yards to the end zone. I pointed to the sky and quietly said, “this one’s for you.” In, what in my mind, can only be described as divine intervention placing a punctuation mark on the day, I was able to score another two touchdowns that afternoon.

The second of these “miraculous moments” came a few years later. Playing in a summer baseball league designed for college athletes, I had decided this would be my last season. In what I knew was to be the final baseball game I would ever play, I found myself stepping into the batter’s box with our team trailing by a run and with a runner on base. Realizing the outcome of my at-bat would determine the outcome of the game, I paused and softly whispered “dad.” I took a deep breath, stepped in the batter’s box, and promptly delivered a towering home run over the left field fence. A game-winning homer, in my last at-bat ever: for dad.

The final miraculous moment came in my mid-thirties. I was coaching high school basketball, and this year the team was particularly special. Gritty, determined, and unflappable, they were the definition of a coach’s dream. We worked our way to the sectional championship game, and again, I turned to my father for guidance and strength. As I got dressed that evening, I took his college class ring from my nightstand and placed it in my pocket. I grinned and said to him, “Dad, I’d really love for us to win tonight, but I just don’t want the kids to get embarrassed. If there’s anything you can do…?” The hard-fought game with our bitter rival came down to the final shot. When the buzzer sounded, we had earned the championship. I reached into my pocket and tightly gripped his ring. I knew he was there with me.

If anything, I hope my story in honoring my dad inspires everyone to do the same when it comes to lost loved ones. Even though someone may not be here physically, memories of those special people live on in our hearts. It’s possible for someone to keep impacting our lives long after they’re gone. As is the case with my dad, he was my rock and still is. When my time is up, the first thing I can’t wait to say when I see him is, “Thank you, Dad. Thank you for always being there with me.” n