No matter how you may have heard about this story, this is how it really went that day:
It was Christmas Eve. I was off of work for the winter holidays. I was off-duty from managing anything and everything related to my mom because my cousin was visiting and she wanted time with Mom that afternoon. Cool! I set up a tee time and loaded the clubs to hit Mission Trails.
I was worry-free. Mom’s care at the facility was going well and I figured we’d celebrate Christmas and the new year before making any decisions beyond that.
I was so carefree that day that my swing was on target. I hit the 2nd and 3rd holes in regulation. I had a par on the 2nd hole after opening the round with a par on a long par 5 1st hole. The 3rd hole give me grief with a my par shot lipping put of the hole.
I tackled the 4th hole like I owned it.
Anyone who has played Mission Trails before knows that the 4th hole starts with an elevated tee shot aimed at an equally-elevated green nestled in the side of a hill that makes anything that isn’t perfect roll down that hill into running water. I teed up from the whites on that elevated block of grass and ripped a shot that felt like it just absorbed all my power into it. I lost sight of the ball in the trees and i figured I was chipping from the ravine down below.
I went in search of my ball along with the rest of my foursome. I didn’t see it near the ravine and I continued to ride along the ravine, hoping that it hadn’t rolled down with so much momentum that it went on the other side of the ravine.
Leave it to me to leave the positive thinking back in the car while on the golf course.
“Hey, Man!” one of my foursome called out from just above the green overhead. “Your ball is up here.”
I made my way up there with haste. In my thinking, “up here” had to mean on the fringe or even on the side of the hill just above the green. As my cart eased into position behind the others, I could not believe my eyes. My ball was about 10 feet from the hole.
I walked up to the ball on the green to mark it, but the reality of it all was that I was checking to ensure that this was really my Pinnacle Rush with my mark on it. It was mine. I left my marker there and commenced to cleaning my ball as I pondered how my TaylorMade Burner 3 wood had proven worthy of its weight in my bag.
After the other guys worked their way onto the green with some nice chipping and pitching, even a recovery shot from behind some pine trees, we started working our way to getting the ball into the hole. I was up third with a straight but bumpy 10-foot ride to the hole. I stroked it a little too heavy and it rolled and bounced its way right beyond the cup.
I settled for a birdie.
And how does that sound?
Me. . . settling for a birdie. . . as if, you know.
That’s when I got the call.
Mom had just passed.
I had leave. I excused myself from the foursome and wished them the best as I rolled the cart at a high speed back to the clubhouse. I dropped off the cart in an obscure spot and facing the wrong way near the bar that is perched above the green of the 18th hole. I drug my clubs to my car.
I wanted to change my clothes or at least my shoes, but I couldn’t do it.
I just cried for a moment.
Breast cancer had defeated my mom after a long and hard fought battle.
She was gone now. And I felt like someone had punched me in my gut and gave me the whooping of a lifetime.
The plan is to host 2 golf tournaments. One golf tournament in December to honor the passing of my mother and the other in August to celebrate my mom’s birthday. The tourney in December would focus on a drive for donations to the American Cancer Society (San Diego), while the tourney in August would focus on supporting minority education in the greater San Diego area (a cause that my mother thrived to support throughout her lifetime in San Diego).
Subscribe to this blog and stay updated as we prepare to launch these special events in honor of Mom.
MyBreaking90 