Not the post I wanted to write

I slept poorly last night; from about one in the morning, both my husband and I tossed and turned.  He had an aching shoulder, I had the post-Super Bowl blues.

He’s sleeping now, but I had to get up, couldn’t lie there any longer.  A major consolation is that an entire team feels far worse than I do, but this gutted blankness lingers.  I’m sad they didn’t keep their undefeated streak intact, I’m sorry they came within just yards of getting the go-ahead touchdown (Oh Frank Gore, my heart goes out to you!), I’m bewildered by the lights going out, but ultimately that saved my team’s collective keister from getting blown all across the Superdome.

And last, but certainly not least, I’m trying to grasp a new sensation; losing the last game of the season.

It’s heartbreaking and soul-crushing in a manner I will equate with characters in my next book.  Life is always novel fodder, otherwise why feel so distressed and confused, as if I’ve dived into an abyss.  Maybe that’s overstating it now, a few hours past the numbing astonishment after they clawed their way back from an absolutely HOLE.  If they hadn’t done that, just gotten their clocks cleaned, okay.  That happens (it did in Seattle less than two months ago).  But they didn’t.  They pulled their heads out, played with all they had, and still…

Still they’ll fly home today without joy.  Life goes on, no one died, only some dreams.  Many dreams, left in tatters under Ravens’ feet in New Orleans.

In the next book I’m hoping to write, a young man has to tell the love of his life a shattering truth.  Not that he’s dying, nor is he ill.  But he’s not who she thought he was, and he knows, he KNOWS odds are she won’t stay with him.  Evan is praying to God that Callie will figure out a way to comprehend this truth, but he’s known her since they were fifteen and what he has to tell her is so far outside the box…  I’ve not personally known that sort of brokenness; my eldest daughter was struck by a migraine with aura in 2009, but for a time we weren’t sure if she had suffered a stroke.  That was life-threatening, and until the MRI gave her the all-clear, dread was mixed with something so bleak, I couldn’t truly ponder what came next.  This with my team is not that at all.  But it is debilitating, it’s unpleasant  it’s, it’s, it… sucks.  It really does.  For my characters, what will happen when Evan tells Callie his deepest secret is on par with last night’s loss.  Neither will die, life will continue, but, but, but…

But their hearts will be twisted beyond what feels right.  They’ll be wondering what the hell happens now, which isn’t how I feel, but perhaps it’s how San Francisco’s players and coaches feel.  The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat; Jim McKay spoke those words every weekend on ABC’s Wide World of Sports.  I don’t recall the winner’s clip, but the loser still flashes in my head; a skier flies down a ramp, wiping out as he reaches the end.  He only suffered a mild concussion, but I can still picture tangled skis as he smashed into the ground.  It’s been years since I’ve seen that clip, but let me say, he really biffed it.

Until the Superdome’s lights went out, my team biffed it big-time, yet somehow almost won.  Does that make it worse?  No, well (long sigh), yes, in that if they had just gotten creamed, okay.  But they actually nearly won!  I haven’t, nor am I going to read anything about it, too painful.  But as this feeling fades, I will incorporate it into a novel, for everything happens for a reason.  I’d like to think that the 49ers will use this game to stoke next year’s run, but even that’s precarious.  There’s no guarantee they will get back to the Super Bowl next year; for some of those players, last night was it for a ring.  One never knows what will happen, but if nothing else, my heart plumbed an unwelcome but necessary emotion, is still reeling from the effects.  Like all writers, after due time I will fold up these memories, then slot them into this story, that narrative.  Having to write this particular post bites the big one, but life isn’t all chocolates and roses.

Well, in another ten days.  By then I should be feeling much better…

About these ads

About Anna Scott Graham

I'm an independent poet, novelist, and quilter in addition to sharing my life with a wonderful man, various kids and grandkids, and a plethora of plants inside and out. View all posts by Anna Scott Graham

8 responses to “Not the post I wanted to write

You must be logged in to post a comment.


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 348 other followers

%d bloggers like this: