The Girlfriend Game by Sierra Hill
Epilogue
Four Months Later
“If we get another pair of baby Nike sneakers from your teammates, you’re going to need to build an additional closet just for his shoes.”
I chuckle and flatten my palms in the air in a “what can ya do?” gesture.
“Well, duh. A kid can never have enough Air Jordans. That’s just crazy talk.”
I help my fiancée sort through all the gifts we received today at our team baby shower, coordinated by Logan Edwards. Piles and piles of tiny clothes, diapers, shoes, socks, weird plastic apparatuses that apparently are used to pump breast milk, and diaper disposal gadgets.
I’ll be honest. I never knew a baby required this much shit.
The room we’ve converted in Kendall’s condo is just temporary until our new home in Magnolia is built. The baby’s room will have a big bay window overlooking the water where, as he grows, he can watch all the boats and ships come into the bay. Where we’ll rock him at night and read him bedtime stories. Where my beautiful soon-to-be wife and his mother will quietly breastfeed him in the warmth of her arms while he coos, feeling loved and secure.
God, am I getting mushy or what?
But that’s okay because I have plenty of reason to feel joy in my life.
I think back to a year ago and the fifteen years before that when I was locked in a prison of my own creation. My heart was filled with self-loathing and my head was unable to process all the emotion that built into a silent rage and terror over time, where I’d stare at the ceiling at night feeling sick and tired, defeated, and empty. All the money and accolades I’d received as a professional athlete and all the awards and career highlights I’d racked up couldn’t save me from myself.
Those nights, when I was in my head, I thought of ending it because, at the time, I didn’t see another way out.
Thank God for doctors like Kendall. For friends and colleagues like Marek Talbert. Carver Edwards and Ansel Werner.
They came to my rescue. They were there when I hit rock bottom and they lifted me back up through their support and encouragement.
We all need those people in our lives. But not everyone is as fortunate as I am. That’s why Kendall and I have invested our time and money into continuing to build The Forester Foundation. To give back to those who need the mental health resources, but don’t have the financial means of getting it.
And next year, when I officially retire from the only career I’ve ever known, when I retire from the game of basketball, I will spend my days as the Executive Director of the foundation and my nights as a husband and father. I will become a family man whose priorities are on making the world a better place to live.
I sift through a box of tissue-papered items and pull out a baby jersey, holding it in the air to show Kendall.
“Aww, would you look at this? His first official team jersey.”
I swing the shirt around so she can see the front and back. On the front it’s the green and white Pilots logo and on the back, it says Baby Forester.
The sex of the baby isn’t a secret and we’ve been telling everyone it’s a boy since we found out three months ago, when we also announced our engagement. But we haven’t divulged the name of our son to anyone else yet.
That’s something special we’re keeping under wraps until he’s born.
August Ezekiel Forester. Or Gus, as we’ll likely nickname the little dude.
Whether he’ll take after me and someday play basketball or follow in his mother’s footsteps and become a doctor, or do neither and achieve his own dreams, the only thing that matters is that he grows up to know he’s loved. And to believe he is good enough.
Our only desire is that he live his life intentionally in a manner that serves others. And that he follow his heart when it comes to love.
Just like I did.
The End
If you orsomeone you know is in crisis, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (Lifeline) at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), or text the Crisis Text Line (text HELLO to 741741). Both services are free and available 24 hours a day, seven days a week. All calls are confidential. Contact social media outlets directly if you are concerned about a friend’s social media updates or dial 911 in an emergency. Learn more on the Lifeline’s website or the Crisis Text Line’s website.