So that happened today. That very beautiful sign was hung on our local baseball field to honor our very missed father, husband and coach. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. Or a worse time.

This is no secret, but we are slightly obsessed with baseball in this family. Even Colt, my unsporty spice, has been bitten by the baseball bug. To a degree anyway. He still prefers playing in the dirt over fielding anything and he really only “wants to do the part where you swing the bat” but it’s a start! He’s excited about practices. And he’s trying really, really hard. Jack, for his part, is always amped up for some baseball. As am I! We go out every Sunday with my dad and get our batting practice in. Yes, I get my batting practice in, too, for what purpose no one knows other than it’s super fun, it makes me really happy and it motivates Jack to work a little bit harder because he does NOT want to be outdone by his mom! And he never is anymore. Dammit.

Games for both boys officially start next week. They both play Monday evening and I can’t wait! And it will be a very special night for our family. And it may also be a very difficult night for our family. Because that sign has been hung on that field right by our house where my boys have been playing baseball since they started playing baseball and that field will be dedicated to that man that we were lucky enough to call dad, husband, friend and coach. The man that made our lives what it was and what it is today. The man that we miss so much. Every. Single Day.

And while that is certainly incredibly touching and so, so beautiful, it also stings.

The last month or so, I feel like I’ve been floating in a pool of jellyfish. And every so often one of those rat bastards stings me. And it hurts. But it’s not an unbearable hurt. It’s a sting. The problem is, I’m still in that pool and those nasty little fuckers are still stinging me and it feels like all of those little stings are culminating into one giant sting and that’s a little less bearable.

Because this week I am feeling all the little stings at one time. I feel the loss of friends I thought I’d never lose. Sting. I feel the pain of loneliness. Sting. I feel the exhaustion of insomnia. Sting. I feel the trepidation, insecurity and vulnerability of attempting to put myself out there and try new things. Sting. I always feel the loss of my husband. Sting. I feel the boys’ pain as they cling to my brother, desperate for some fatherly attention. Sting. Sting. Sting.

I love that we are honoring Ash Jones. I love that every time we go to the field, we will feel his presence. I love our baseball family and how much they care for us. I love the community that we live in and I appreciate it how special it truly is. I just wish it didn’t sting so damn much.

So if anyone is willing to come take a giant piss on me, I could certainly use it.

To be honest though, we did take a trip to Dick’s Sporting Goods (I say trip because it’s a good hour and fifteen minutes away) last night because Jack’s head and/or brain has apparently hit a growth spurt and he can no longer get his helmet on his big ole melon anymore so we had to go buy one immediately. And it was also apparently necessary that my parents get him his own catcher’s gear. So we have that, too. But while we were in there, I did find one hat, fitted, Rawlings, charcoal gray with a 4 leaf clover on the front and a gold and glittery Rawlings patch on the back, with the words Live Lucky sewn into the side. It fit my head perfectly. And I just had to have it. So maybe hold your piss for a minute. I have a feeling this hat may change my life. 😉

And since it’s St. Patrick’s Day…

“May those that love us, love us. And if they don’t love us, may God turn their hearts. And if He doesn’t turn their hearts, may He turn their ankles so we can know them by their limping.”