GRIDIRON TALES: Most nights when I took the field for Mogadore High School, the goal was the same: win the game in our quest for a league and, ultimately, state championship. Most nights, that is. But on the night of Nov. 1, 1985, I was playing for something different, something higher, something far more meaningful than bulbs on a scoreboard. I was playing for someone who was tougher and had more courage than anyone on the field that night: my grandmother, who passed away that morning after a brutal yearlong battle with cancer. I had gone to bed the night before anxiously anticipating our upcoming game at Crestwood the next night. It was the final game of the regular season, and a win would give us an undefeated regular season and cement our Associated Press poll state championship as we geared up for the Division V state playoffs. I got up that Friday morning excited for that nights encounter with the Red Devils in Mantua and was getting ready for school when the phone rang. It was my aunt, who solemnly asked to speak with my mom. This was highly unusual, and as I yelled for mom to pick up the phone in her bedroom as she got ready for work, I knew. Grandma was gone. She had died in her sleep at Robinson Memorial Hospital in Ravenna. In an instant I completely lost any desire to play a football game. I briefly went to school that morning to tell our head coach, Norm Lingle, what had happened and that I wouldnt be at school that day. Coach Lingle said I could still play that night if I wanted to even if I didnt attend school that day because it was due to a death in the family, but he understood if I didnt want to play. I thanked him and told him I would let him know, and within the hour my family was at my grandpas house in Brimfield as we prepared to go to the hospital and say our goodbyes to grandma. I told Gramps that I had decided not to play that night. He said, Youd better play, Tommy. She wouldnt like it if she knew you didnt play because of her. I knew Gramps was right. Grandma would not like it at all if I missed the game because of her. So with that, I decided to play. The family then departed for Robinson, where we bid goodbye to one of the finest human beings I have ever met. She was still lying in her hospital bed, and each member of the family went up to her bedside to say farewell. When it came my turn, I tearfully walked up to her side, bent down, gently kissed her on the cheek and told her I loved her. It was one of the hardest things Ive ever done in my life, and also one of the most beautiful. A few hours later I sat silently on our team bus as we made our way to Jack Lambert Stadium in Mantua, and on the drive there our bus drove right past Robinson, where I had kissed grandma goodbye just a few hours earlier. I had forgotten that we would be driving past the hospital, and the sight of the building and the image of grandma lying in her bed had me second-guessing my decision to play that night. We arrived at the stadium and walked into the visitors locker room in the fieldhouse, my desire to play a football game waning. I slowly put my gear on, feeling almost no emotion at all as I slipped my green pants on and pulled my road white jersey over my shoulder pads. I slid my helmet on, buckled the chinstrap and walked out of the locker room for pregame warmups, grandma first and foremost in my mind. The chilly November air felt good as it struck my face upon exiting the Crestwood fieldhouse, and when I stepped onto the field I knew I had made the right decision. I was about to play the sport I loved, with the teammates I loved, for the school I loved. There was nowhere else I would rather be. And I knew that my family -- including Gramps, who hours earlier had lost his wife of over 40 years -- would soon be in the visiting stands to support me. At one point while on the field I looked up into the night sky, stared for a few moments into the blackness and said to myself, I know youre watching, grandma. I love you. Ill see you again someday. And with that, I played a football game -- just as she would have wanted me to. Grandma would have been pleased, too: we won 54-12 and I had a fumble recovery in the game. It took all the courage I could muster to play that night -- courage I learned from Grace Willoughby, the bravest person I ever knew. RIP grandma.
Posted on: Wed, 25 Jun 2014 08:37:36 +0000
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