I missed my son's once in a lifetime signing of his letter of intent to play baseball in college. True. I didn't want my older daughters' to miss it, so I volunteered to pick them up downtown, then turn around and get them to the high school by 7am. Up at 4:30. Downtown at 6. I gave myself plenty of time. Stuck on the expressway until we received that message from my son. "It's over." Damn.
Night before I went with him to select the perfect shirt to go with his new baseball cap. We stopped for dinner to enjoy the moment. His only request was, "Can we go to breakfast after the signing?"
Dad took him to school. Kills me to think that cameras were there and I wasn't. But the boys on his high school baseball team were there and they all took a picture with him. The smile on his face lit my heart. He was so proud.
I pulled up to the school expecting lots of drama, but my son just wanted me to see the pictures. He looked at his sisters and said, "Let's go out to breakfast."
I couldn't let the disappointment take away from the fact that we were together celebrating this moment. We took our picture together with the letter.
It's been a long summer going from baseball camp to baseball game to colleges. This day was the end of that journey. I'm the one who took him to the showcase where he met the coach who knew he had found his first baseman.
Last night I thought about the sick, heavy feeling in my gut when the hour rolled around when pictures were being taken. Thought about the pain in my face when he sent that message. "It's over." Pictures that I was missing. The event that we all looked forward to since t-ball days. I'm grateful for being able to hug him afterwards. For sharing the day. But to miss these once in a lifetime moments is too painful to think about. How many has Blagojevich missed over these years and how many more will he have to endure?
