He was my best friend.
My first softball coach.
My biggest volleyball fan.
He was always bragging about me and my sister to anyone who’d listen.
We felt so loved by him.
We spent so much time traveling for sports together, and yet my dad and I rarely got on each other’s nerves.
No matter what team I was on, he was on my team.
The loudest guy at my volleyball matches, even though he didn’t always know what he was saying.
But he tried. For me.
Last fall, my freshman year at Oakland, he got really sick.
He tried to hide it.
He acted like he felt better than he did to protect me.
Losing him was — still is — as awful as you’d imagine.
There are a few people who should always be there.
Teammates and friends appear for seasons of life, but parents are meant to guide you throughout.
When he passed, I just wanted to stop.
I wanted to be done with volleyball, leave college, move home, and be closer to my family.
People ask me why I didn’t. Who got me through it?
He did.
Even when he wasn’t with us.
The most influential person in my life can’t be at my matches this fall.
So, I’m playing for him.
I’m working through it for him.
This story’s for you, Dad.
Several years ago, my dad had a transplant, and it seemed successful.
He recovered for a while.
He was there for me throughout high school, cheering me on.
But when I started college, his health started to decline again.
At first, he tried to suffer quietly.
I heard murmurings from my mom when I’d call home, but he didn’t want to admit he was struggling.
He’d go into the hospital and say he felt better, that the medicine was working.
Meanwhile, I was five and a half hours away from home, trying to settle into my classes, traveling for matches, and struggling to focus on any of it.
I wanted to be there for my team and be at home with my family.
“You can only do your best,” my dad told me when I called him.
In late September, we played against Northern Kentucky.
I saw my dad at breakfast before the match and could tell he wasn’t feeling well.
He looked weakened by fatigue.
He admitted he hadn’t slept all night.
Later, he couldn’t make it to my match because he was too exhausted. He drove home and had to stop multiple times just to make the trip.
I think that’s when I realized he was really struggling.
After that, I wanted to stay home between matches.
My teammates, whose compassion kept me afloat, encouraged me to be with my family.
But my dad begged me to keep playing.
He said there was no reason for me to sit with him when I could be with my team, keeping myself busy.
Even then, he was protecting me.
My most loyal fan knew I needed my team more than he needed me there.
I remember my boyfriend, Mason, drove me up to a match after spending time at home, and my team and coaches gave me this gift basket with all my favorite things.
They were just so thoughtful; they’ve never let the fear of doing the wrong thing stop them from caring for me.
While I played, I just tried to forget everything at home for a while.
Looking back, the crazy thing is, I think I played pretty well that night.
A game my dad could brag about.
I could’ve moved back home after he passed. It was tempting, but continuing to play gave my family and I something else to focus on.
I kept calling to update them about my match or practice that day.
It took our minds off it all.
Staying at OU kept us from spiraling down hill.
Thinking about moving forward this season is still a strange concept.
He should be here.
But I’m glad I’m here.
I’ve got my teammates, my mom and my sister. My boyfriend, friends and coaches.
I’m grateful to continue to play the game my dad and I loved. “You can only do your best.”
I’m trying, Dad.
