14. Practice, Pain, and Perspective
PRACTICE, PAIN, AND PERSPECTIVE
OWEN
I ’ve only got half of my crew working today because of the hold-up in getting the insulation we need, which has put a stop to so many tasks. My guys don’t like to be off when they should be working, and no building supplier is showing any in stock on their websites.
In a last-ditch effort to get my crew back on the job, I started calling suppliers, and I found one that has as much as we need, about a forty-minute drive from here.
I paid for it over the phone right then, told the rest of my crew I would be gone for the afternoon, and jumped into my truck to go and pick it up.
I like the feeling of having everything I need lined up.
To see all the building supplies we’ll need over the next couple of weeks, just waiting for us.
But the feeling is even sweeter as we load all the insulation into my truck and trailer and get it tied down, just knowing that it means my guys can be back to work tomorrow.
I’m in a city near Baltimore that I’ve never been to before. As I’m making my way back through a residential part of town with my window down, the unmistakable sounds of football practice happening nearby carries on the wind. I slow down to figure out where it’s coming from.
I turn down a street leading to a high school and pull off to the side in the parking lot right next to the football field.
I was just going to watch for a moment from my truck, but I decide to get out and walk around to the bleachers.
Since it’s just a practice, there are only a handful of people watching, scattered throughout the space. I take a seat near the side.
I have missed this! The sharp blast of the whistle, the thud of cleats pounding against turf, shoulder pads clacking as they hit, the dull impact as the offensive linemen hit into the padded blocking sleds, plays being called out, coaches barking instructions, all of it.
The team is split into groups, and I take them all in.
The running backs are doing the gauntlet drill, trying to keep their ball from being knocked away.
Quarterbacks are on the far end, dropping back and passing to receivers who are also practicing their routes, defensive backs are running break-and-react drills, and a couple of punters are practicing kicking point after attempts.
It’s when a quarterback throws a tight spiral that arcs perfectly through the air, landing in the hands of a wide receiver who lets out a triumphant whoop that the nostalgia really hits deep.
Man, I loved being the quarterback. The scent of the grass and sweat, the adrenaline rush as we went out onto the field, the camaraderie.
The way Friday night lights used to make everything feel possible.
I find myself mindlessly rubbing my knee.
It’s funny how just watching football makes it hurt, even when it wasn’t a football injury that gave me the lasting pain.
But the knee injury was what changed everything with football, so they’re still closely tied in my mind.
Especially because it was a fellow teammate who caused the accident.
The familiar sting of anger toward the guy who did it surfaces, and I work to push it out of my mind.
I keep watching as the coach calls everyone in to run a scrimmage, but watching them has gone from giving me happy nostalgia and a longing for those days to a sharp reminder that everything is fleeting.
Those things in life that you love are only there long enough to make you think they could be a part of your life before going away.
It doesn’t seem to matter how much you wanted it to stay or how tightly you were holding on.
In fact, those things just make it hurt worse when it does go away.
I stand, my knee protesting extra for a bit as I walk down the stairs at the side of the bleachers and head back toward my truck.
I can’t help but wonder if things might be the same with Charlie. If I’m just going to want her in my life more and more until the day when she’s not. And will it hurt as badly as having football taken away did?
I get into my truck and see the sticky note that Charlie left on my side of the wall this morning.
Thanks for rescuing me from the dark last night.
10/10 would let you break through the painter’s tape again .
I brought it out to my truck when I left home this morning because it makes me smile, and I wanted the feeling of her being with me today.
Experience has taught me that I shouldn’t get more invested in a relationship with Charlie. But I’m just so drawn to her. I really like her—it’s hard not to. And I love spending time with her.
I am hopeless.
I just sit in my truck, not ready to turn it on and drive away yet.
There’s an unseasonably cool breeze coming through my window that feels good.
So I just sit while my mind wanders to thoughts of my grandpa, especially after telling the story to Charlie last night.
I know my grandpa hadn’t chosen to die, yet I still felt betrayed by his passing, and I’m suddenly wondering how my grandma felt about it.
It’s been fourteen years, and to my knowledge, she’s never even dated anyone else.
We are probably pretty similar—we both got burned and learned.
But she’s managed to keep from putting herself into that position again, and I am failing at doing the same thing.
Right now, I need to talk to someone who understands exactly how I feel, and who can tell me how to just step away from Charlie.
So I pull out my phone and call her. When she answers, I say, “Hi, Gram. Are you busy?”
“Well, I was halfway through organizing my spice drawer alphabetically, but for you, kiddo, I can pause the thrilling saga of ‘tumeric vs. turmeric.’ What’s on your mind?”
“I just… want to talk. About life.”
I hear a squeak that tells me that she’s stopped doing whatever she’s doing and is settling into her favorite chair. “I’m ready. Tell me everything.”
“There’s a woman who lives next to me. We haven’t started dating yet, but it’s heading that way. Her name is Charlie, and I like her. A lot. And I know I shouldn’t, because, well, you know how it is from losing Grandpa. Every time I get close to something I care about, it disappears.”
“Ah. The old ‘love-is-a-trapdoor’ fear. Runs in the family. Just like our stubborn knees and unreasonably high standards for cinnamon rolls.”
“I’m serious, Gram. I just watched a high school football team practice, and it hit me again how fast something can be gone.
Football. Grandpa. And so many other things along the way.
They all just left. And even though I’ve had a lot of experience with that, I still haven’t figured out how to avoid that kind of loss again. ”
“Sweetheart, you don’t avoid grief by avoiding joy. That’s like refusing hot cocoa because it might burn your tongue. Sure, it might. But it’s also warm and sweet and might have marshmallows.”
“The problem is, Charlie is the hot cocoa, and I’m really pulled to the hot cocoa. She’s kind. Funny. Bright. I feel like I come alive when I’m with her. But I’ve had my tongue burned pretty badly before. I’m not looking to do it again.”
“Owen, listen to me. If something lights you up, you don’t run from it. You follow it. You chase it down like the ice cream truck on a ninety-degree day.”
I exhale a breath through a laugh. “That’s the most you thing you’ve ever said.”
“I haven’t even warmed up yet.”
I look out over the field, watching kids running drills like they’re indestructible. “But what if I lose her?”
“Oh, honey, you’re going to lose a lot of things in life.
Socks. Your favorite pen, over and over.
Your ability to eat a plate full of tacos without consequences.
People you love, absolutely. But let me tell you something.
I spent forty-four years waking up next to the love of my life, and even though he’s not here now, he’s still in every part of this life I’ve built.
And I’d rather have forty-four years and this heartache than zero years and a nice, quiet, unbroken heart that never really beat. ”
I’m silent for a long moment, just taking all that in. And Gram doesn’t feel the need to break the silence before I’m ready. Eventually, I say in a quiet voice, “I miss him.”
“I know, sweetheart. So do I. And he was worth every tear. Still is.” She pauses, then adds, “Listen to me, Owen. If love didn’t come with risk, it wouldn’t be nearly as rare or beautiful.
You want a guarantee? Buy a blender. You want a life that matters?
Pick the people who make your soul light up and go all in. ”
“And what if things with Charlie don’t work out?”
“Then we throw a ‘well-that-was-a-learning-experience’ party, serve bad fondue, and move on. But you don’t quit before the first dance just because you’re scared the music might end.
” She pauses a moment, then says, “Let me ask you something—if you’d have known when you were a little boy how much it would hurt to lose your grandpa, would you have chosen not to love him and spend time with him? ”
“No. Never.”
“And that’s how you know. If you look at Charlie and think, ‘Even if I lose this someday, I’ll still be glad I had it,’ then don’t waste your time trying to walk away. Love her with everything you’ve got.”
I find myself smiling. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Say something slightly ridiculous and then hit me with the truth like a freight train.”
I can hear the grin in my grandma’s voice as she says, “That’s because ‘ridiculous’ is the sugar that makes the truth go down smooth. Now go after that woman, Owen, and do it fully committed. You don’t need a guarantee. You just need your heart, your courage, and freshly brushed teeth.”
I chuckle. “I love you, Gram.”
“I love you more, kiddo. Oh, and Owen? Thank you for understanding how important The Shadowridge was to me and your grandpa. He’d be so proud of you to know what you’re doing with the place. I know I am.”
I get a little choked up but still manage to say, “Thank you. The Shadowridge is important to me, too.”
“And I expect a full report about you and Charlie. Preferably over cocoa.”
“With extra marshmallows?”
“Always. ”
I end the call and look back over the field. That wasn’t the advice I was expecting to get from Gram today. But I absolutely should have expected exactly that.
I nod. Almost like an acceptance of her advice. I’m all in when it comes to Charlie. I’m going to pursue her with my heart, my courage, and, of course, freshly brushed teeth.