Gifts I Didn’t Want

After C was sick, people gave us gifts. Wonderful, generous gifts.

They really didn’t need to – I had the gift that mattered most, C’s life – but I also understood that people had a need to do something.

Don’t get me wrong: I am not ungrateful. Some of the gifts came rather in handy to occupy (read: bribe) M or C at various times. There were gifts for my husband and myself, too, including a gift certificate for a restaurant when we were ready to go out on our own (it took a long while, but we enjoyed it when it was time). People, from all parts of our life, were very kind.

Among the gifts were two sets of baseball tickets. The first set meant the most to me, because it was from my mom friends, near and far. They put a lot of effort into getting those for us, for C. I felt hugged the whole time we were at the park. A beautiful, normal, anonymous afternoon at the park.

The second set was from a hospital connection of my husbands. They were better tickets, though easier for the giver to acquire, and were the opening for a day of events at the ballpark that I won’t soon forget.

After being offered tickets, we were told to pick a date, any date. We offered up three possibilities, and soon had four tickets to our first choice. It seems the giver is a close friend of the general manager’s family.

Two days before the game, the giver called and asked if we’d like a tour of the park beforehand. We said sure, and were told to be at the park at a certain time (early) and ask for a specific young woman.

After meeting this nice young woman, we were taken down to the dugout, where we watched batting practice among the players. We chewed Bazooka bubblegum from the players’ supply, talked to a few players (a very nice designated hitter and an equally nice captain catcher), and generally were in awe. We had a family picture taken on the field while the team practiced. We walked all over the park, and finally were taken to our seat, six rows behind home plate, and given some treats to eat and drink.

The seats, it turns out, belonged to the mother of the young general manager, and the general manager himself came by to talk to us. He gave C a bag of goodies, then later sent over one of his staff with a bag for M (he hadn’t realized there were two young fans in the group).

The other season ticket holders sitting near us were very kind. The game was a good one. Among other plays, our (then) star shortstop hit a three-run homer to center – and I caught the swing with my camera.

It was, in so many ways, an amazing day. We had fun. We saw a great game. We were lucky enough to meet some baseball heroes.

But there was an overriding thought in my head that day. As lucky as were to be able to do that, as grateful for the opportunity as we were, and as much fun as we had, I could have gone through my whole life and not experienced that, and it would have been okay.

To have that experience, we had to go through C being sick. C had to go through all that trauma to his little body and his psyche, and our family and friends had to go through so much fear.

And I would give anything have him not to have gone through that.