A Mother's Day Present

This Sunday is a time of celebration, a time of recognition for a task performed well, a time to applaud and give heartfelt thanks for the joy you brought to so many lives. It is a moment of reflection, a moment to contemplate all that you accomplished, all the ways in which the world is a better and different place because of you.

Sunday is the day that Derek Jeter's​ number is retired. What, you thought I was talking about something else?

This is the first Mother's Day that my mom is not here, and there is much sadness. But I will forever be grateful for the thousands of smiles she gave me and her presence will remain deeply embedded in my heart. 

Yet, I digress. This piece is intended not as tribute to my mom, who is deserving of my words and so much more but contemplation of the existential dilemma I face. To be or not to be, that is the question. To be at my daughter and her fiancee's Mother's Day party with our family and his or to accept the kind offer of two tickets to watch number two take his rightful place among the gods.

I am 65, a Medicare recipient and far too advanced in years to have a baseball player deemed of such great meaning. Yet I woke this morning with more than a hint of sadness when I discovered that Jacoby Ellsbury had been cut down at home plate for the last out in a one run loss last evening. The heart of a six year old still beats fiercely inside me.

Number two took up much space in my life for two decades. How could I not give him one last standing ovation? And yet how could I be so puerile, how could I not find blood thicker than a $5 bottle of water at the Stadium? How could I not choose my present and future kin, who are my world, over 3465 hits and five World Series rings?

On Sunday night, if you get a moment to watch the game, and the camera turns to Section 321, see if you can locate me among the cheering throng. Or if all you can find in your search are two empty seats. 

Does number two come before or after number one?