Sunday morning I put on my lucky orange pants for the last time this season. I didn’t know it at the time of course, although I had an inkling. That is, after all, the nature of the post-season – survive and advance or lose and go home.
One year ago, I stood in a similar stadium, watching Virginia play the very same team, and there wasn’t a single part of me that believed it would be the last time. Hope is a funny thing that way.
But one year ago, I didn’t know what I do know. That you cannot will something to be simply because you believe. One year ago, I hadn’t yet listened to the voices of the paramedics performing CPR on my dad. I hadn’t held my child and told him everything was going to be okay, even though I knew it wasn’t. In my head I knew. But my heart still believed in the improbable. As my brain was busy calculating the ugly logistics of death, my heart was exhilarating in the moment that was surely ahead of us when the doctors would joyfully tell us of the medical miracle that they had performed.
