This is my post.
Has been for years.
Iāve held this spot sacred, watching you play for so long.
Yet as you grow older, I find myself mourning the day Iāll finally have to give it up.
Iāve worn a path here, pacing back and forth with worry.
Iāve packed the earth here, jumping up and down with excitement.
Iāve found friends here, locking arms so tight that theyāve become bonded like family.
Iāve made room in my heart for teammates here, cheering as if they were my own children.
Iāve learned to respect, to love, and to offer grace here, for everyone on the other side of the fence.
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And the thought of leaving here . . . itās sending a strike straight through my heart.
But here in this spot, Iāve also learned itās not about me.
From the moment I signed you up, Iāve had to start learning to let you go.
Because this game, it belongs to you.
Where years ago, my voice may have been the loudest here on the sidelines, now yours is the one that can be heard ringing across the field.
Where I once was the one offering encouragement, youāre now the one patting backs and raising spirits.
Where I believed I knew your greatest strengths, youāre now flexing your talents where you know theyāll shine.
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Where you once only looked to me for direction, youāre now focused solely on coaches, teammates, and officials.
And as much as I sit here wallowing in the self-pity of who Iāll be without this game . . . I know itās more about who you have become because of it.
Being the mother of an athlete means holding this post empathically and letting go humbly.
Itās about learning to be a good sport.
And itās about understanding and respecting your place. Your position. Your role. And mine.
Itās about loving the game, regardless of if you advance to the next round.
Not always easy. But itās finally starting to sink in.
I may not be ready to leave this post where Iāve watched over you for so long.
I may not be ready for this next season of life.
But because of this game.
I know you are.
Originally published on the author’s Facebook page