I see you sitting there…waiting up.
Waiting on every play by play and what he could’ve called differently.
I see you rolling over as his alarm goes off the very next morning for early practice. Or to pick up a child. Meanwhile it’s still dark outside and your own kids are waiting. Asking. “Where’s Daddy?”
I see you smile and answer, “At practice.”
I see you sitting behind the bench. Watching his every move, watching each player’s body language. Holding your breath as the ball flies through the air.
I see you praying over them.
Guide them, Lord. Give them your strength, Lord.
I see you smile shyly as the same parents that hugged and cut up with you now won’t speak because this season just isn’t the same.
I see you hug those kind mamas who know your man has their kid’s best interest at heart.
I see you waiting outside the locker room wondering, praying about what you will say to him. Meanwhile praying he has the words to address the team.
I see you. I’m with you. I get it.
There will be another game.
There will be another day.
But today hurts.
I see it in your face and I get it.
You can do this. Your coach can do this.
Because your coach has you by his side.
You, the one holding it together while crying when the kids go to sleep wondering, am I doing enough?
Am I enough as his wife?
Am I enough as their mother?
And when he walks in the door….You’re ready.
You’re smiling and you know.
The play by plays are coming.
The questions are asked.
The players are texting.
The other coaches are calling.
And you’re waiting.
Because Friday, you’ll do it all again yet you wouldn’t change it for the world.