Tonight I watched him step up to the plate for the last time. Play-offs. Single elimination. Down by one. Last inning. Two outs. And the batting lineup just happened to fall to him.
Nothing prepares you for that.
He took a breath. The weight of an entire lifetime spent in red dirt hinging on this moment. He set his face like flint to that pitcher. The ball left the glove, and he swung.
Strike one.
He stepped away. Reset. Tapped the base. Then set himself once more. He swung, hit a line drive, and sprinted headlong towards the base, setting his foot atop it just a fraction of a second after the first baseman caught the ball.
Nearly 15 years of our lives ended beneath stormy skies on that Dallas baseball field tonight. We’ve spent every spring since he was old enough to hit a ball sitting along a baseline. And it all came to a final conclusion in one out.
I asked him later what it was like with that pressure. The weight of it all on his shoulders. He told me he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. “I wouldn’t have wanted one of the younger players to have had to step into that,” he said.
Several years ago, a finale like that would have crushed him. Tonight, he saw the challenge, rose to it, and left with his head held high despite defeat.
I wish we had another game, another season, another victory. All these last senior milestones have a way of ripping your heart right out. But in the end, who I’ve watched my son become through a decade and a half on the baseball diamond is even better than winning.
Originally published on the author’s Facebook page
by Brooke Teel 
by Emily Becker 
