Our daughter Maddison brought up softball in January. Softball was far away, as it is a summer league here. Payton then started talking about baseball, and how he wanted to play again this year. I told him he could play. He knew he might struggle. He was saying things like “I want to play but I probably can’t”. I promised him he would be part of the team no matter what. I discussed this with the head of little league, and she agreed the coach would make sure he was included, some way, some how. From that moment, he began to get excited about ball. His excitement turned into almost an obsession. He would search Amazon for hours looking for the perfect bat, bag, mit, cleats, batting glove, sunglasses, and even socks. I agreed to allow him to order the sunglasses and socks he wanted, to try to satisfy him for the time being. He asked about the socks and sunglasses everyday until they arrived. A couple of weeks later, during a trip to Gaylord, prompted by his “need” to get baseball stuff, we allowed him to choose a baseball bag and batting glove to buy. When we got home, he was so excited to put his baseball stuff all in the new bag. He was pushing us to order cleats and had found the perfect ones he wanted online. We told him his feet would grow before baseball started, as it was still 5 months away, and that he needed to wait to get them. We knew his condition might change before ball started, and we assumed by that time he would be wheelchair bound. We envisioned taking him to every game and allowing him to bring snacks for the team and sit in the dugout with his friends. We envisioned him being happy to be there, proud of himself for bringing goodies for his friends, even if he couldn’t play. Our envisioned turned sour on March 26. Sadly, his feet never grew, only his memory will grow now, in our hearts and minds.
2 thoughts on “Cancer broke my promise to my baby”
I’ve read every single blog you’ve written. You, Payton, and your family are constantly on my mind, in some corner, waiting to overtake me with the thought of your pain. I’m so sorry, doesn’t cut it. It isn’t enough, I wish like hell I could ease your pain. I can’t. But I can tell you that my family is keeping Payton’s memory alive. We talk about him like we knew him well. My son is writing a book for him. He’s here, and we love him…
Thank you Amanda. Love you all❤❤