This past weekend, I had a bit of a meltdown and realization and took my emotions to my keyboard. Here are the words that came out...

Sunday's used to be one of my top 5 favorite days of the year.

The second Sunday in September is the opening day (at least Sunday opening day) for the NFL season as well as the US Open men’s tennis finals. These are my favorite sports days of the year. It also implies September is here, the start of fall, new beginnings, a fire in the fireplace and turtlenecks. It signifies the beginning of a family tradition that started almost 30 years ago when I first met Gary.

Until that time, I was a bigger baseball fan(Go Mets!) than football, but quickly learned to love and enjoy the excitement of the game of football. Every Sunday, we would wear our Jets shirts (I would later add earrings and socks to the ensemble) and go gather all we needed at the supermarket for our Sunday game day celebration. Sundays during football season always had a special feel. It was the one day where we put all responsibilities and problems aside to spend together as a family rooting for our team.

Once we had our boys, they joined in the fun. They each wore their first Jets shirt when they were around 4 or 5 days old. Of course, early on they had no idea what was happening but quickly learned they had no choice but to be Jets fans. As preschoolers and elementary school kids, they wanted to root for winning teams, which the Jets typically are not, but we explained the concept of loyalty to them. They were smart and knew they had to appear to be Jets fans while rooting for winning teams when we weren’t around.

Gary would prepare us the most amazing BLTs with American cheese and make the boys their own special treats. He was always meticulous in his preparation of food. I used to pick on him for his intensity and the numerous time-consuming steps involved, but I couldn’t deny that they were the best BLT’s I ever ate. Everything and anything he cooked was delicious. (he definitely missed his calling as a chef). We would consume our sandwiches and the other common game day snacks as we cheered J-E-T-S! Jets! Jets! Jets!

The predictability of our football Sunday’s made it a family favorite. Everyone who knew us knew that the Jets were our team and Sundays were our day.

That is, until it wasn’t…..

Gary’s health began to slowly deteriorate when the boys were just young teens. Year after year, small pieces of our tradition faded. Gary began to no longer cook and I didn’t know how to cook so the food just became bagged snacks. Gary would often doze during the games so the boys would lock themselves in their room since their presence was no longer required. I would sit and watch while he dozed and try to rouse him when something exciting happened.

As the years sped by, I was the only one who still wore my Jets jersey each Sunday. Gary began not even watching some games and I would always be trying to cajole him, which rarely worked. Most recently, if Gary watched a game or two a year it’s a lot. The tradition was definitely coming to an end.

But there’s something different today. The sadness I feel today I feel intensely throughout my entire body. My stomach is doing flips as I sit here typing in my empty kitchen while the game is on in the family room because I just couldn’t bear the idea of not watching. Somehow, watching might bring those good precious days.

Gary is dying.

I’ve never typed or said those words because even though I know it to be true, I don’t really, truly believe it.

Today, trying to rouse him from bed countless times prior to game time was met with angry growls and him telling me to leave him alone. He eventually got up and was crying hysterically and nasty. This is now typically how his day and my day begin. He does get better as the medications he swallows begin to work but until then, it’s torture. I bring him coffee which he spills. I have to clean up the bathroom from the accidents that he had during the night. At this point, the pit is not only in my stomach, but it has travelled up to my heart.

I peered out the window at the rain and wondered how we got here.

What happened to those wonderful Sundays that I thought would never end? Oh, how I long for one more Sunday just like it used to be. I would enjoy every millisecond of that day and burn each detail into my memory so I would never forget that feeling.

Today serves as another reminder of how important it is to live in the present moment and to take absolutely nothing for granted. Sometimes, we feel that things, good or bad, will never end. But things do come to an end, and we need to savor the sweetness and take comfort in times of hardship that this struggle will not last forever...

New memories and traditions will certainly be made as life continues, but one thing I can say with absolute certainty is that those Sundays will forever be the best memories of my life.

Until next time, let's be sure to connect over on Instagram (click here)
Debbie