I pull on my favorite JMU sweatshirt, elbowing the tiny faucets at the corners of my eyes. Tears trickle down my face. Eager to pitch, Rachel pounds her fist in her mitt. Wearing a determined game face, she appears older than ten and a half.
Rachel tosses a glove in my direction. This is my glove, the one I’ve owned since I was a teen. I stare at soft leather glove as if it is a foreign object. Slipping it onto my left hand I examine the look. Rachel counts out thirty paces and asks, “Are you sure you can do this Mom?”
“Let’s give it a try.” I respond.
I stand amazed at what is about to take place. I lift my eyes to the sky and say a prayer of thanks. I’m about to play catch with my daughter, a feat I’ve lacked strength for over four months. The faucets creek more and I turn so she doesn’t see the tears.
Every pitcher needs a catcher so I squat down, just a little. Rachel winds up and releases the ball.
A slow grin spreads across her face and mine too. She throws a few more over our chalk drawn plate. The faucets are creek more and I am weeping in my middle of our street. I weep for lost moments with my children. I weep because I didn’t think I’d be able to do this again.
I weep because this feels like an old self activity and I thought that old self had vanished.
Rachel understands my concern. “Mom, are you okay?”
I nod, “I’m fine, I’m fine” running the arm of my sweatshirt across my face.
I release a full body belly laugh. This too feels like an old self activity.
Rachel continues to throw strikes and balls across our imaginary plate. With the strength given by God and new medication, I am able to pick the ball up and throw it back.
Even in these times of uncertainty. I take joy in finding God’s goodness in the land of the living. I will soak up every good day I have because “It is well with my soul.”
~April Dawn White
Photos courtesy of Author