Saturday morning, Megan and I dug out our winter garb and headed out the door early to go see my niece play field hockey. We stood on the sidelines, our masks, not only protecting, but warming. We watched Molly, layered up, dribble and run, run and dribble. We watched her attack the ball. We watched her play her position and wait for the ball. We watched.
Growing up, I had my hand in few different sports – softball, indoor and outdoor track, and field hockey. When I think back to those games, I don’t remember winning or loosing. I remember my teammates. I remember that feeling of belonging and I remember my Mom and Dad, always on the sidelines…watching.
One year ago today, was the last road trip my family made from CT to MA to see my Mom and Dad. It was one year ago that we each had our last hugs from my Dad before he passed four days later. That day, a weak and feeble man with a strong spirit, mustered up the strength to stand and walk us to the door. He stood there, on the sideline, one final time, and watched us pull away for the very last time.
I was watched. I was watched and supported. It made me know and feel that what I was doing mattered. It made me know I mattered. There is power in knowing someone took the time to watch. Watching, being present, can instill confidence. It can instill the sense that you matter. To this day, I know my Dad is still watching, from heaven’s sidelines and I am better because he’s up there, always watching.