How Shared Moments on the Court Shape Resilience and Remembrance
“Bumping into the box.” This is a phrase I recently picked up from another widow, and it hit home. Grief feels like a big box sitting right in the middle of your life. At first, it’s massive. You can’t help but crash into it every time you try to move. Bruised shins, stubbed toes, the whole deal. As time passes, the box shrinks a bit, and you sometimes find yourself navigating around it more easily. You still bump into it. Maybe not as hard, but it stings, sometimes worse than before.
In those moments, it’s an unexpected jolt of grief that sneaks up and catches you off guard. It’s opening the mailbox and seeing your spouse’s name on a piece of mail. It’s hearing a song that takes you right back to moments shared together. Or walking into a place you haven’t been since you were there with them, and suddenly, you’re back in that memory, the loss pressing in all over again.
I’m nearly two years out from losing my husband, Matt, and although the box isn’t as weighty as it once was, it’s still there. I bump into it regularly. Lately, I’ve had several run-ins with the box throughout our daughter Emma’s senior basketball season, which just came to an end last night at the regional playoffs.
Emma has always enjoyed sports, but she didn’t pick up a basketball in any formal way until we moved to Grand Rapids when she was in fifth grade. She joined a rec league with a bunch of her club soccer friends, and by her second season, Matt was recruited as their coach. He was a natural, and the girls hung on his every word as he transformed a group of soccer players into a solid basketball squad.
Even when Emma and our younger daughter, Maddie, weren’t playing in organized leagues, Matt was always helping them work on their game. They’d spend hours shooting hoops in our driveway or he’d take them to the Y, where they’d run through plays and practice free throws. For Matt, this wasn’t a chore. He genuinely loved every minute, and the girls did too.
Through middle and high school, even when Matt wasn’t officially Emma’s coach, he was always in her corner. Pre-game pep talks at the kitchen table, scribbled plays on scrap paper, encouraging texts before tip-off. After games, Matt was the first person she wanted to talk to for feedback on what she did well, what she could improve on and how to step up her game.
Last year, Emma had her first season without Matt, and I know she missed him. But this senior year? The box felt bigger. Her Senior Night a couple weeks ago was beautiful, yet bittersweet. She was all smiles, escorted by her siblings and me, but we all felt Matt’s absence. When Maddie got called up from JV to join Emma on varsity for the playoffs and their team clinched the District Championship last week, I could almost hear Matt’s voice cheering them on as they cut down the net. He would’ve been right there, grinning from ear to ear.
When grief catches you off guard in moments like this, here’s my advice: don’t bottle it up. Find someone who understands or at least is willing to sit with you and listen as you explain what “bumping into the box” means to you. Let yourself feel it, talk it out and don’t hold back from sharing.
That’s how you keep moving forward—step by step, bump by bump—instead of letting grief knock you flat and keep you there. Sometimes, the best way through is to simply remember that you’re not alone on the court. There are people ready to help you find your footing so you can take the next shot when you’re ready.
It's All Part of the Experience 