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The Beautiful Game

Daughter played in their first game of the regular season this weekend.

After endless pain, rehab, recovery, a second surgery to 'just clean up some scar tissue and stuff', more rehab, more recovery, etc.

My girl is back on the field, and I realized something as GG and I were digesting the post-game stats that the college so kindly provides.

I think I've been holding my breath since the day she injured her knee..holding it and praying and hoping and nurturing her and encouraging her and cheering her small victories and bursting with pride as she's worked through the ridiculous rehab that affects not just a young body, but impacts a young psyche as well.

GG and I high fived when we saw those stats yesterday.

The girl, well she played 84 minutes. And, she assisted in one of the two goals that was scored by her team. And, she said she felt good. Not yet at the great level, but really good.

I felt an exhale, then I breathed deeply in, and realized that until that moment, until I heard that my girl was back, really back? I hadn't taken a decent breath.

This is the stuff they don't tell you about when you sign on to be a parent, isn't it? It's that, 'if my baby isn't well, my life is out of balance and becomes all about getting that person back where they need to be' thing.

Wherever that may be.

Regardless.



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