Less of Me, More of We Part 3

I wrote this in 2014, reflecting on Coach Gilmore's dramatic impact on my life. May his legacy live on in those of us he impacted greatly.

We found each other. That’s what teammates do. In a crowd of hundreds, maybe nearing a thousand, we found each other.

Our ball handling skills probably aren’t quite what they once were. Our defensive stances are more likely to end up in a pulled groin than a steal. We all carry the extra weight and expansive waistline that comes from being 12 years removed from the peak of our athletic prowess. We brought with us unique experiences, different journeys. A dentist. A financial planner. A professor. A teacher and coach.

But we found each other. Seemingly instantly and intuitively, we sought each other. Hugs. Pleasantries.

The occasion was troubling. We all would have traded the mini reunion for another minute with our beloved former assistant coach. To hear his deep voice encourage, teach, or even reprimand us, we would have given the world.

But that wasn’t for today. Our former head coach led the proceedings. He had bid goodbye to his friend of nearly 30 years, yet he displayed the leadership and composure that once let us to great heights. Heights of winning close games, a league championship, several playoff games. And like teenagers in a pre game talk, we leaned in. Eyes locked on our leader. Like a locker room, we swelled with emotion. But today was not for emotional anticipation, for adrenaline and determination, or the joy of athletic competition. Today was a day for farewells. For sweet memories, made sweeter by the bonds of teamwork, of once having shared a common objective, and have shared the journey of accomplishing that objective with laughter, with sweat, with conflict, with competition.

Our eyes swelled with tears recalling a life well lived. Endless stories of faith. Countless reminisced of his courage, his tender heart, his unending enthusiasm. His legacy. Tears and lumps in our throats swelled, mourning deeply a life of great impact. We laughed with great relief, the laughter temporarily relieving the overwhelming weight that comes with goodbyes like these.

But we found each other. 3 seniors. 1 junior. All of us thought when we won that league championship over ten years ago that we had made history, that our feat would change how people viewed our basketball program forever. What we didn’t realize is that the history had been made in our own lives, was not about recognition, or accomplishing something that we would be remembered for. Rather, our accomplishment was about what we would remember. Because, certainly, no one even now, other than those who partook in the journey, recall that WSL championship.

And we found each other. We shared stories. We laughed. We hugged. Former teammates. Friends, forever intrinsically linked by shared values, by chest passes and squats, by suicides and defensive slides, by sweat and laughter and having successfully navigated the horrors and joys of high school together. Forever joined by men who guided us, challenged us, prodded, us, pleaded with us, raised their voices with us, equipped us. Because teammates on championship teams, we had been told, by the very man we were there to remember and celebrate, think of others in times of need. Because when life hinders you, when the need is greatest, when it’s the most challenging, is when you need each other most. So we found each other. Depth of conversation wasn’t necessary. Stories were. Smiles and handshakes. Introductions to significant others. We found each other. Made sure of each other’s well being. Made sure we all knew that he who we were there to celebrate had affected us each in a deep, profound way.

We sat in the very gym that we thought had made us heroes. The gym once filled by that voice, in the darkness of 6 AM practices, and the bright lights of Friday night games. And, I can’t help but believe, this experience and celebration would have brought more joy to Coach Gilmore than any number of championships we won. Knowing teammates he guided would find each other, care for each other, in the sort of way that doesn’t have to be expressed in words. Knowing we would have all testified to the impact he had on us individually. Knowing he had mattered, in the hearts and minds of his players and students. Knowing we would leave that gym with a renewed commitment to the kind of life he both instructed and modeled on a daily basis.

So we found each other. And we departed. Each on our own path. Each carrying with us the shared experience that played a large role in the kinds of professionals, husbands, and fathers we are today. Each carrying with us a piece of him, and praying we could exude the enthusiasm, courage, tenacity, joy, service, discipline, and faith that he exhibited every day. Praying we can do our part to continue the profound effect he had on the world. Praying that when our turn inevitably came, that we would be remembered with similar fondness and gratitude. Praying that the oft repeated cliche, which we heard endlessly, would be paid tribute with our own lives.