Mariano Rivera

I thought you might like to hear from Tim again, and judging by how much Mariano Rivera of the Yankees has been in the news the past week or so, I'd like to share a letter Tim wrote to him last fall.

But first, a little background. A woman named Heather, the mom of one of Margaret's friends, attended Jack's funeral along with more than 1600 other people. In the front of the church, on the communion table, sat a photo of Jack. Next to the photo was Jack's Yankees hat. Heather didn't know Jack, but she did know a Yankee, and she wondered if he could bring a little comfort to our hurting family. On her next business trip to see one of her business associates, the Yankee, she asked if he could sign a ball for us.

What Heather didn't know was that her client, Mariano Rivera, was Jack's favorite baseball player! She didn't know the Yankees jersey Jack wore had Rivera's name and number on it, or that Tim and Jack had been following Rivera's amazing progress in setting a new record in baseball at the time of Jack's accident. She didn't know that Tim had been contemplating writing Mariano-- a talented, humble, man of faith-- a letter of appreciation for being such a good role model for our son.

Here's Tim's letter as well as pictures taken from a Yankees/Orioles game one week before our lives changed forever:

Dear Mariano,

Thank you for sending an autographed baseball to my daughter, Margaret, following the death of her brother, Jack. I was so surprised when Heather brought the ball to Margaret because Jack loved the Yankees and was a big fan of yours, as am I.

As a life-long Yankees fan, I was excited, but not surprised, that my son shared my passion for baseball and the Yankees. My favorite part of the day was having a catch with him in the yard, such a peaceful time to share together, just the two of us. Sometimes we talked and other times we just enjoyed the sound of the ball popping in our gloves and the rhythm of the catch, back and forth, back and forth.

I remember at the beginning of the 2011 season, Jack asked me if I thought you would break the save record in 2011. I told him that I thought it would probably take two years, perhaps early in the 2012 season. But you had another remarkable year and by the end of August it was becoming clear that you would break the record this year. On August 29, Jack and I went to Baltimore to watch the Yankees play the Orioles. The Yankees won 3-2, and you got the save. Jack wore his Mariano Rivera shirt that night, and we basked in the Yankees victory and the opportunity to witness history as you closed in on the record. After the game, Jack and I talked about what a remarkable player you are—not just in terms of talent and what you have accomplished on the field—but also in terms of how you play the game. We talked about your interviews, and how you always acknowledge God and your teammates. You are a picture of humility in a profession that often promotes just the opposite. I thank you for that.

As you neared the record, Jack and I would check the sports page every morning to see if you recorded another save. We were both looking forward with great anticipation to the day you would break the record.

On September 8, Jack went out in the neighborhood to play in the rain with some friends and his sister. He got too close to a swollen creek, fell in, and drowned. The loss has been devastating. We miss our Jack so much—every day. But we are comforted by our faith. Jack trusted Jesus Christ as his Lord and savior and so do we. He had even told us before the accident that he was not afraid to die because heaven is such an awesome place.

I remember the day you broke Trevor Hoffman's record, I came home early from work to watch the end of the game on TV. It was an afternoon game, and if Jack were alive he would have been home from school watching with me. Watching you record the final three outs was bittersweet. I watched with tears in my eyes as you struck out the last batter—happy for your accomplishment but filled with sadness that Jack was not there to share the moment with me.

After Jack passed away, many friends and acquaintances from school, scouts, little league, and church came to visit and share with me special memories and stories about Jack. I enjoyed hearing every one. But it struck me that it should not have taken a tragedy for people to share these stories and remembrances of Jack. I would have preferred to hear them while he was still alive. I could have shared them with Jack to encourage him and let him know the impact he was making on others.

And so I thought of people that I would like to share memories and stories with, to encourage them, to thank them, and to let them know that they are making a difference in my life or my family's life. This list of people was exclusively family and friends, except for you. I thought about writing a letter to let you know that you are impacting the lives of Yankee fans, old and young alike. You are an exemplary role model—choosing to carrying yourself with class and dignity both on the field and off and, above all, choosing to put God first in all circumstances. That is how I want to live my life and raise my children.

I thought about writing you a letter for several weeks but never did anything about it, resigning myself to the fact that even if I wrote you a letter and tried to submit it as fan mail, you would never get to read it. And then Heather visited us with the baseball you signed for Margaret. Unbelievable! It was totally unexpected and delivered with perfect timing. Given the emotions your milestone save had evoked in me, receiving your autographed ball was like receiving a sign from God and a wink from Jack in heaven. I asked Heather if she could deliver a letter to you. She graciously said she would. I could not believe I had the opportunity to have my letter hand delivered to you. But then I remembered Jack's favorite bible verse: For nothing is impossible with God. Luke 1:37. Thanks Jack. And thank you Mariano for all you do, both on the field and off.

God Bless,



Tim Donaldson

Home Run

Tim told me our local little league would like to name a sportsmanship award for Jack. Right after I spit out my tea, I paused to think about whether this would be an appropriate way to honor our son. You see, sportsmanship did not come naturally for Jack.

But really, I cannot think of a more fitting tribute.

A lot of things came very easily for Jack--talking at a ridiculously young age, reading, math, Latin, logic, art, acting, and earning stellar grades.

But when Jack was young, we wondered if he would EVER be able to play a team sport. Sure, he had intense, laser-like focus, but the happy-go-lucky camaraderie of being on a team? Not in evidence. You could see this at his cub scout meetings where he would sit quietly while the other boys, who knew each other from school, would be squirming and giving each other wedgies. I blamed some of this on Tim, also an introverted, “mild mannered reporter” who hasn’t so much as once (voluntarily) farted in front of me in the past 20 years! I mean, if a dad doesn’t teach a son about lugees and farts, how is he ever supposed to fit in as a guys’-guy? “You and Margaret are good at being around people,” Jack would say. “Dad and I don’t really know what to do.”

And there were other issues.

You know the kid who might have fun at a party, or might leave wailing at the injustice of it all? Well I do. He lived in our house for a time.

Or the one who walked around by himself for a few years during recess because he didn’t know how to integrate himself into games?

The one who cried easily and bitterly when things weren’t “just so?”

Uh huh.

But around second grade, after I had decided Jack would be relegated to staying home doing origami with me, his love of baseball took off, fueled by sharing an obsession with his dad.
Jack did well in baseball, and was blessed to have warm, compassionate coaches he admired --the coarse, tough as nails types didn’t appeal to him.

But who can EVER forget that 4 month period (unfortunately spanning part of both a basketball and a baseball season) when Jack would go crazy about close losses. I’ve told you my guy was quirky, right?

Close wins, great.

Big losses, fine.

Close losses?

Oh dear.

My laid-back friend and mother of four said as she watched Jack freak the freak out after one close loss, “Don’t worry, gifted kids are just more sensitive, Anna.” Love you, Jen. Margaret said, “Mom, I feel kind of sorry for him and kind of embarrassed for us.” Amen, Sister. A sportsmanship award seemed as likely as being given a free trip to Fiji.

But here’s the thing: Jack grew and changed. Birthday parties became a pleasure. Recess found Jack not only playing games, but commentating them like a sportscaster, using crazy nicknames he made up for all his classmates, who loved and accepted him. He was a leader and inventor of neighborhood games which they still play today. Jack became more flexible and more forgiving of himself and others. All of this seemed like an impossibility to us in earlier years.

My point is, while it may seem ironic to name a sportsmanship award after someone who didn’t always exhibit it, the fact that Jack’s sportsmanship was so hard fought makes it all the more precious.

Jack’s final season of baseball illustrated this.

Here’s what he faced in a more competitive environment than before: Reduced playing time. An adjustment to a different sized field. A slew of kids who were bigger, stronger, faster , more talented and in many cases YOUNGER than he was. Practices every day, when often Jack would rather be home playing with friends or practicing for the school play.

The protective mom in me wanted him to play down a level.

No way. He was so stinking excited, and he chose the harder path.

And then, after several years of doing well in baseball, he found himself struggling to make a hit, to make plays in the field. But his shoulders didn’t sag, game after game. He did not complain about going to practice every day, as he might have in year’s past. He never railed against the injustice of it all--why could Joe and Kevin hit home runs, when Jack couldn’t even connect with the ball anymore? He calmly talked about his progress, or lack thereof, during our bedtime chats, and I silently prayed that his season would turn around. Didn’t happen. But he didn’t let it ruin his attitude, his season, or his love of the game.

I know I’m not writing about anything extraordinary. Kids play on teams all the time. They make sacrifices. They suck it up. But for Jack, an intense and sensitive kid, all of this was hard fought and notable. It was just ONE more way that we saw this amazing kid growing through struggle and growing into the best person he could be.

Here’s what we saw all season: a great attitude. Someone who threw himself into practice. Someone who helped carry the ball bucket. Someone who held his head high, even as the people on the bench and in the stands may have been thinking, “Oh, boy. Jack’s up again.”

After the season ended, he signed up for baseball camp, so that he could improve his game for fall baseball—a team he got to play with in only one scrimmage before the accident. I don’t know what, if anything, the other boys remember about Jack from that one measly game. Was it the fact, as one of his old coaches said, that “Jack was the only player who looked like he could fit inside his bat bag”? It surely wasn’t powerhouse hitting, but perhaps a big smile, a quiet nature, and, we hope, good sportsmanship.

Be Kind
Pay Attention
Think
Never Give Up
Play
Share Others’ Joy