|
|
BOOK
|
What follows
below are just a small sample of portions of two chapters in
the book. |
|
|
|
FOREWORD
“She’s
gone.” Those two words on April 12th, 2001,
changed my life forever. The few
weeks prior to those two words and several years after those
two words continue to impact me on every level. The
realization of what happened that day changed my thoughts,
my dreams, my aspirations, my parenting, my coaching, and my
message for the rest of my life.
**************************
This book is not an autobiography.
However, you’llfind
that the first several chapters deal with my life because I
feel that it is important for you to understand what is
behind the lessons in this book. My commitment to you, the
reader, is to share some of the things that I have learned
as a son, a husband, a father, a coach, and a friend so that
you can grow to apply these valuable things to your own
relationships.
|
|
As I stood at her bedside that brisk April
day, she didn’t look any different than she had the past two
weeks. For fourteen days her body had been trapped inside a
coma—only the machines looming behind her hospital bed kept
her weak body alive. My hope was that she’d wake up and
everything would be okay. The reality of the situation told
me that was not going to happen. On April 12th,
2001, at the age of seventy-two, my mother, Connie, died of
colon cancer that had spread throughout her body over a
five-year period. And that’s when I realized the journey
was finally over...or maybe just beginning...
...parts omitted...
Looking back on that month of
April, we
could never quite figure out what
my mom was holding onto during those last two
weeks in the hospital. My mother had made peace
with the people she needed to make peace with,
gave instructions to the people she yearned to
instruct, and had accepted the fact that this
disease had finally beaten her. We did not want
my grandmother Irene, my mother’s mother, to see
her in the state she was in. As a father, I
cannot possibly begin to imagine what it would
be like to bury your own child. But
the
night before my mother passed, we decided to let
my grandmother talk to her on the phone. Keep in
mind that my mother was in a coma at this time.
My brother and I were in the room and we held
the phone up to my mother’s ear as we heard my
grandmother saying, “It’s ok, Connie. You can
let go now.”
As my grandmother reassured her
own daughter for the very last time, a tear
spilled from my mom’s right eye. With her head
tilted slightly to the right, I watched that
tear drizzle down her cheek, finding its way to
her fragile jaw. My brother and I pretty much
lost it as we broke down. A wave of sadness yet
relief flooded me; that teardrop confirmed what
medical professionals
had been saying for
years. People can hear when they are in a
coma. It also validated for me, personally,
that there is a higher presence.
|
|
I don’t think that I ever really had a hero,
per se, but I did have people that I looked up to. For many
people, that is their mother or father. In my case, I
wouldn’t classify either of them as my hero. That does not
mean that I didn’t love them dearly. To me, a hero is a
term that I never fully understood. On the surface, I
thought a hero was someone who saved other people. Many
people, particularly children, list athletes as their hero.
I do not look at athletes as heroes. They are getting paid
millions of dollars to play a game. I have no problem with
kids looking up to athletes or having athletes as role
models, but heroes they are not. What I do have a problem
with is how many of these star players even behave like role
models? There are many, no doubt. But there are also many
who could not possibly be further from being a role model,
yet through the power of our media, they are a role model.
That is the kind of stuff that really scares me.
...parts omitted...
Quite often I will catch this special look in
one of my child’s eyes. If you’re a parent, you know the
look that I am talking about. It is this look of hope, this
look of love, this look of devotion. Maybe sometimes it is
a look of fear or sorrow or anguish. But it is this look
that delivers this heart-tugging-hug when there is no
physical contact. It’s this look that sometimes brings
tears to your eyes when you’re alone and you think about
it. It’s this look that screams that all of your child’s
hopes and dreams need to be encouraged and nurtured. It is
this look that says, “You’re my hero.”
|
|
 |
Please fill out our
Information Request Form
if you would like more information about the book or to be
notified when the book is published. |
|
|
