People always ask me how I handle the stress of game day when I’m not physically there.
Does holding my breath, yelling at the TV, and pacing count as healthy coping mechanisms?
I wish I had a good answer. The truth is I don’t “handle” the anxiety and nervousness well on my own. I pray every morning for my kids and do my best to surrender my fears and give them to God. That being said, I still feel like I’m watching my kid go into battle.
Watching your son play college football on ESPN in another state and dealing with all those protective mama emotions is just plain hard
First, I want my kid to play well (AKA I want #52 to kick some ass!) Second, I want his team to connect, the offense to jive, the defense to get into a nice rhythm with a W at the end of the day. Last, and most importantly, I hope my kid doesn’t get injured (or anyone playing in the game for that matter).
Happy Mom=No Blood, No Breaks, No Muscle’s or Ligaments Jacked Up and No Head Trauma
Is that too much to ask?
My greatest fear in this college football journey has always been that my kid would go down on the field in another state and I would be rendered completely helpless. It’s not like you can just click the TV remote and magically appear at a hospital in let’s say…Tennessee, to oversee an ACL surgery or worse.
Yes, I’ve let go of my kid. I am no longer a semi helicopter mom. I’m not even a drone mom (one of those mom’s who uses technology to stalk their college age kids), but I am still a mom who would jump in front of a truck to save her kid. My heart aches at the thought of him suffering physical pain.
Then last week happened…my worst fear played out.
Kyle’s team played Air Force in Colorado. It was a gorgeous day in Colorado Springs. The mountains sparkled like a copper penny against the cerulean blue sky. The weather cooperated. It was a perfect fall game day.
I was parked in front of the TV watching the game at home with my youngest daughter. My husband was performing a wedding (therefore unavailable), and my older daughter was at work.
The game started and Nevada scored decisively and quick. The defense and my son Kyle were playing well. Nevada was ahead. It wasn’t the easiest game to watch because the ESPN feed went down in the 3rd quarter for about 10 grueling minutes. During the lapse, the TV switched over to the LSU game and I waited on pins and needles for the technical difficulties to get fixed. Finally, the game resumed at the beginning of the 4th quarter.
Then Kyle made a big tackle. He grabbed the quarterback by the ankle and tripped him up. (At least I think it was the quarterback…It could have been the running back but I haven’t gone back and reviewed the film yet). I jumped up off the sofa and clapped, stuffed some more chips in my mouth and headed to grab another bite when I heard the announcer say, “It looks like Kyle Adams, the linebacker from Ladera Ranch is down on the field.”
I spun around and stared at the screen. There was my son on the ground, his leg shaking and trembling and coaches running out.
This was “that moment.” The one I’ve dreaded for 13 years. Yes, he’s gone down before, but he always popped back up pretty quick. Or, if I was on the field I could see what was going on. This time, they cut to commercial.
Wait…What????
I had to just sit there and wait.
I’d like to say I had positive thoughts at first. But I didn’t.
A few weeks ago one of his teammates had a seizure on the field from a bad fall. Don’t think that wasn’t running through my mind.
The commercial break probably lasted two minutes at the most, but it felt like time just slowed waaaaaay down. Tick, tick, tick…every second stretched out. I picked up my phone. I called my husband. No answer. I called my ex-husband. No answer.
Then I just sat. And waited. And prayed.
Because really in those moments that’s all we can do.
A few months ago my darling step-dad had a traumatic incident when the area around his heart filling up with fluid from a rare strain of pneumonia. It was pretty touch and go there for a few hours. When you get the “Code Blue” phone call it’s a long drive to the hospital. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. All I could do was whisper “Jesus” over and over and clutch the wheel.
Once again, all I could do was twitch and choke out, “Jesus help.”
Finally, the TV coverage resumed. The camera panned over to my son. “It looks like Adams might be OK.”
There was Kyle with a coach holding his arm as he tried to stretch and flex his foot. It was the first time it dawned on me that maybe it was a leg cramp?
I grabbed my phone and texted him. “Is it your knee or a cramp?”
A few minutes later he went back in the game. I watched him closely. He still appeared to be limping a little but he was obviously alive and kicking.
Nevada won the game, although it was very close with some tense moments at the end.
I packed Kolby and I up and drove to the Saturday night service at church. It was there, standing with my arms up worshiping that all the emotion caught up with me. I swiped at the tears threatening to overcome me.
It just felt like too much at that moment. For a hot second, I wished my kid played tennis.
Then I thought of Jesus. I imagined myself in my favorite meadow handing over all the tension and anxiety like a heavy backpack filled with rocks. I felt lighter just giving it to him.
Jesus just looked at me kindly, wiped away my tears and reminded me that he had never left my side. For the first time it dawned on me that EVEN though I am not there, God is. He is present in Kyle’s coaches and teammates. He is in the team doctors and the trainers. And EVEN if Kyle falls, God will catch him.
More tears. Deep breaths. Peace washing over me.
Then my pocket buzzed. I glanced down and pulled out my phone. Kyle had texted.
“Hey Mom. I’m OK. It was really bad calf cramps. When I jumped for the tackle, both my calves locked mid-air It was a combination of the altitude and dehydration. But I didn’t let go of the guy Mom!!!!
Of coarse you didn’t!
And somehow I’m learning how not to drop the ball in those crazy moments too!
Hopefully this wasn’t a test run, but in many ways I’m grateful God walked me through the fear. While I recognize I have NO Control over circumstances in life, I do have the choice to TRUST that God sees and cares and comforts.
My son plays a high risk sport. There is always the potential for injury.
Part of the glory of football comes with the risk. And for me, as a mother…finding the peace and stillness in the midst of the game, in the midst of the storm, is my risk and my interaction with God’s glory.
There is no faith without overcoming uncertainty.
Who knew football could teach me so much about letting go?
By the way, my step-dad is just about fully recovered (Praise God!) and did I tell you my son made the tackle?
–Samantha
