I live in a neighborhood behind a high school. It’s the high school my kids graduated from almost a decade ago.
Periodically, in the fall, I can overhear a home game and have always stopped to listen when the marching band plays. My son played trombone in the marching band. I still have pictures in his room of him proudly wearing his uniform and holding his brass.
In years past, I would hear the band and it would make me nostalgic for those ‘band mom’ days of handing out water and fixing uniforms. Friday night, I heard the band again and broke down.
I listened to the music and remembered how it felt to watch those beautiful kids play their hearts out all those years ago – my own child included.
I cried for the loss of my son. For the loss of never hearing him play another note.
I cried for the kids on the field Friday night and how no one watching with proud eyes can see into the future or what awaits.
And I prayed. I prayed for the health and safety of every child on the field. I prayed no parent watching or listening has to ever feel what a mom standing on her back porch felt listening to a marching band play.