If you have comments, please share them. If you have works from real life you'd like to post in this thread, please do! Our tribute to real life...
Playing With the Angels
I coached the A's a while ago to bat and catch and pitch.
Just four years old, the players came to feed a baseball itch.
For some, for sure, the itch not theirs, but Daddy's needed scratching.
Yet each came out to play the game, to get some baseball action.
Two weeks into the season and the phone rang at my desk.
Commissioner Ken apologized, then tendered a request.
Young Austin on my team, it seemed, had a friend who yearned to play.
He'd learned too late about our league and missed registration day.
Ken noted, with our roster full, he'd make this one exception,
For the boy who came too late to play had a terminal brain infection.
"Of course," I said, "Let's sign him up! The A's can use an assist."
As I hung up I wondered how I'd handle this new twist.
Next practice came and I explained the message to our team
About the boy who'd join us to fulfill a baseball dream.
The parents listened in silence, each imagining, I'm sure,
How they'd cope if it was their child who had no hope of cure.
And then, we saw across the field, a family walking in.
A Mom, a Dad, a little girl and a boy that must be him.
As they approached a silence fell, but passed just as it came,
When we saw the joy on Willy's face we knew he loved the game.
My feelings of discomfort passed without a second thought
As I saw the grace the family used to deal with what life brought.
I cannot know what they must feel, I pray I never will,
Yet seeing how they bore the weight is blessing to me still.
When Willy came his Mom and Dad both thanked me for my part
In making Willy's dream come true for baseball filled his heart.
Inadequate, inept I felt, I stumbled to reply
I had to strain to hold a tear, make effort not to cry.
And as the season came to pass, we practiced and we played.
And every night before we slept, for Willy boy we prayed.
My youngest children, 4 and 5, learned the meaning of prayer.
And wondered at what God could know to make this whole thing fair.
And yet, for all his treatments, Willy never missed a game,
Until the time when "Make A Wish" put Willy on a plane.
His folks did not disclose to Will the fact he'd miss a game
For fear he wouldn't want to go, he'd rather play the game.
The sad thing was, the game he missed was last one of the year.
I called another coach that week and asked if he'd see clear
To schedule one more game with us, when Willy got back home.
Without a pause he answered yes, our tournament was on!
With Willy back we played the game, we didn't care who won.
For Willy and the team that day we played the game for fun.
Game done, we went for pizza, our end of season blast,
And while the kids had party fun I reviewed the season past.
I'd learned a lot about life that year from a kid on 2nd base.
I'd never be the same somehow, having looked into his face.
I'm reminded of Willy every night when I hear my children pray,
But we never saw the boy again after closing day.
This week saw Opening Day again down at the baseball park.
But the game is not the same somehow, it's lost a little spark.
We're one kid short at 2nd base and the flag is at half mast.
He's playing with the Angels now, our Willy made the draft!
Epilogue...
Tonight I got a call from Willy's Dad, Jack. I haven't talked to Jack for over a year, since that day of the last baseball game. When I wrote the poem, I wondered how the Smiths would react if they ever saw it. Of course, I hoped it would be a blessing for them, but just as easily, I worried that it could offend them. After Willy's funeral, they went home to New York for several weeks. It was during that time that I wrote the poem. I gave Austin's Mom a copy the week after Opening Day, and she asked me to print another that she could pass on to Willy's family.
Jack said that they had gotten a copy of the poem last Sunday, and had been driving to visit friends when his wife Linda first read it. Jack, who was driving, asked her to read it aloud so he could hear it, but she told him she couldn't. His daughter, riding in back, asked if it was bad or something. Her Mom assured them that it was not bad, but that she just couildn't read it aloud. As she finished, Jack pulled up to a stop light, known to be a long one, and began reading the poem himself. He told me that he had to pull over for a little break because he was so touched by it.
Jack said that he remembers everything in the poem happening as stated, and he said it also opened his eyes to a couple of things he didn't know. For one, he had always thought that the end of season game was a regular make-up game, not a special arrangement for Willy. He also told me how he enjoyed getting a glimpse of what life was like for others who came into contact with Willy, since his perspective had been so tightly focused.
He told me that the poem has really touched them and thanked me several times for writing it and getting them a copy. In fact, he said that as an assignment for their bereavement group, they were to bring one thing of their child's to present to the group. He said they took the poem and shared it with the group.
We talked about Willy, and the wonderful effect he had had on so many lives. Jack said that, even with the tragedy, the whole thing has been a blessing, and I told him that the blessing was shared with lots of people, remembering the strangers that I didn't know who would show up at our ball games. He told me that they have wonderful feelings that Willy truly is playing with the Angels, and that he's still around, very close with them.
Finally, he said that during the past year, everytime they would do something, they would wonder if it would be Willy's last time. Now, as their family begins the next chapter in their lives, they often find themselves excited to think, "This is the first time we've been able to do this in a long time!". God Bless Willy and the Smiths, and God Bless all our children.
Final note...
Today, Jack called and asked if he could use the poem to make a Christmas gift for his family members. They've enlarged a picture of Willy, and they'll overlay it in a frame with the poem. He said he'd give me one. His wife said that she has probably read the poem 150 times, and that she's read it to all of their friends, family and support groups. She tells me that people always love it.