I've been thinking a lot about happy endings--mostly about how there aren't really happy endings, just the moment of happiness where you believe everything will be alright. But that before, as they say at the very end of The Princess Bride, the wounds re-open, the thing you thought was cured comes back, and love has a falling out.
Yep, cheery thoughts about happy endings, right?
It's quite telling about where I was mentally. I thought I was being a realist--you know, acclimating myself to the realities of the world. Toughening myself up. Facing the hard truth.
Guess what?
Reality stinks.
Seriously.
If all these hard truths and realities are all that make up life--REAL LIFE--then call me a dreamer and a optimist. Call me any sort of "poor her, she doesn't know what's really out there" type of names and I'll happily take them. I love my world of dreams and hope and faith. It's warm. It's cozy. It's filled with endless possibilities of miracles and wonder. At times, it's also filled with pain, loss, sorrow, confusion, hurt, and fear. But I have that cocoon of hope to crawl back into and heal myself in--it's there waiting to enfold me.
Last night, I wept. Great big heaving sobs with my heart feeling like it was going to break.
Henry has officially declared that he is done with soccer.
I wept because I felt the loss of never seeing him play again. He's magic on that field. He's phenomenal and brilliant. These past two years have been one hard, horrible disappointment after another for him. Injuries, for one reason or another not getting chosen for the high school soccer team, and challenging coaches. We've tried hard to understand all this--wondering, maybe . . . perhaps we think too highly of his skills and he's really not that good. But then you go see him play and he's brilliant. He shines, he's big, he's fast, strong, and so smart. Why is all this talent going to waste? I have to wonder. Why did he have to get injured--horribly injured twice--right when he's playing his best? Why does he have to get the coach who doesn't talk to him? Why is he passed by when all his friends are chosen? Why? Why? WHY?
Why didn't all the hours of extra practice, physical therapy and training get him a reward? Why wasn't there a happy ending for Henry?
Ah, yes, in this case, there isn't a happy ending. I don't know why. It doesn't really matter why. It was and is what it is. It's life. It's the harsh truth. But it's not the end. His life isn't over. Maybe (ah, here's the dreamer in me) it's just a new beginning. Maybe, it isn't the end yet . . . maybe there is happiness, more than I know of, in figuring all this disappointment and challenging hurt now, in his future.
Yes, I wept last night. I tear-stained my journal writing about my great heart break, but as I wrote, I felt that cocoon of comfort form around me and I thought, Oh, oh, how lucky I've been to see that power and magic happen on the field for so many years. I wept in thanks that he had stuck it out this long. I wept for him, for the hardness of this decision and the determination and calmness he showed with us in sticking with it. I wept because he's growing up and despite the fact that he is naked 99% of the time, he's growing up into someone I admire.
There are so many hard truths out there, you don't always--probably most of the time--get the happy ending you think you should get. Divorce, cancer, sickness, accidents, and every sort of awfulness happens but I have found that there is ALWAYS beauty mixed in there. There is always a form of heroism and magic and miracles.
We just have to look and see it.
Sometimes, really really hard . . .
Oh, by the way, Finnegan knows how to ride a bike. Finally. Walking? Check. Potty trained? Check. Reading? Check. Knows how to ride a two wheeler bike? Check. Check. Check!!! Whahoo. My baby is all grown up.
Yep, cheery thoughts about happy endings, right?
It's quite telling about where I was mentally. I thought I was being a realist--you know, acclimating myself to the realities of the world. Toughening myself up. Facing the hard truth.
Guess what?
Reality stinks.
Seriously.
If all these hard truths and realities are all that make up life--REAL LIFE--then call me a dreamer and a optimist. Call me any sort of "poor her, she doesn't know what's really out there" type of names and I'll happily take them. I love my world of dreams and hope and faith. It's warm. It's cozy. It's filled with endless possibilities of miracles and wonder. At times, it's also filled with pain, loss, sorrow, confusion, hurt, and fear. But I have that cocoon of hope to crawl back into and heal myself in--it's there waiting to enfold me.
Last night, I wept. Great big heaving sobs with my heart feeling like it was going to break.
Henry has officially declared that he is done with soccer.
I wept because I felt the loss of never seeing him play again. He's magic on that field. He's phenomenal and brilliant. These past two years have been one hard, horrible disappointment after another for him. Injuries, for one reason or another not getting chosen for the high school soccer team, and challenging coaches. We've tried hard to understand all this--wondering, maybe . . . perhaps we think too highly of his skills and he's really not that good. But then you go see him play and he's brilliant. He shines, he's big, he's fast, strong, and so smart. Why is all this talent going to waste? I have to wonder. Why did he have to get injured--horribly injured twice--right when he's playing his best? Why does he have to get the coach who doesn't talk to him? Why is he passed by when all his friends are chosen? Why? Why? WHY?
Why didn't all the hours of extra practice, physical therapy and training get him a reward? Why wasn't there a happy ending for Henry?
Ah, yes, in this case, there isn't a happy ending. I don't know why. It doesn't really matter why. It was and is what it is. It's life. It's the harsh truth. But it's not the end. His life isn't over. Maybe (ah, here's the dreamer in me) it's just a new beginning. Maybe, it isn't the end yet . . . maybe there is happiness, more than I know of, in figuring all this disappointment and challenging hurt now, in his future.
Yes, I wept last night. I tear-stained my journal writing about my great heart break, but as I wrote, I felt that cocoon of comfort form around me and I thought, Oh, oh, how lucky I've been to see that power and magic happen on the field for so many years. I wept in thanks that he had stuck it out this long. I wept for him, for the hardness of this decision and the determination and calmness he showed with us in sticking with it. I wept because he's growing up and despite the fact that he is naked 99% of the time, he's growing up into someone I admire.
There are so many hard truths out there, you don't always--probably most of the time--get the happy ending you think you should get. Divorce, cancer, sickness, accidents, and every sort of awfulness happens but I have found that there is ALWAYS beauty mixed in there. There is always a form of heroism and magic and miracles.
We just have to look and see it.
Sometimes, really really hard . . .
Oh, by the way, Finnegan knows how to ride a bike. Finally. Walking? Check. Potty trained? Check. Reading? Check. Knows how to ride a two wheeler bike? Check. Check. Check!!! Whahoo. My baby is all grown up.
thank you for this post, mary. i can empathize and sympathize with henry. i'm not sure why HF allows some of us to not continue in our athletic endeavors, despite our efforts. perhaps it is to learn hard work without the fanfare of "results". life is hard. thank you for your analogy of the cocoon of hope. i shall try to spend more time there as i pass thru the difficulties of life.
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