Ten Years Ago

With this being the start of Florida/Florida State week, I thought I'd share a thought about one of my favorite UF-FSU games: 2014.

I have several games in this rivalry that I remember fondly (like 1996) and some I try to forget (like 1994). But 2014 is one that I cherish. It's not because of the score (19-24 boo!), any particularly memorable plays (maybe? I honestly don't remember), or the fact that it was the last game of an unsuccessful coach (whew!).

Like many UF-FSU games, this one took place on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. We had been at my parents' house in Orlando for the holiday, and I had planned for us to go back home to Lakeland sometime after lunch, before the game. While my dad had asked hopefully if we were going to stay, a late afternoon kickoff meant sticking around into the evening time before driving home. I didn't look forward to the thought of the nighttime shopping and attraction traffic on I-4 and how late we'd finally get back home--I work Sunday mornings, after all.

But the kids always wanted to stay and swim as long as they could. Lula didn't really care one way or the other, and my dad, well, he didn't come out and say "please stay," but when I told him I'd changed my mind and we'd stick around, he was as happy as could be.

The game was forgettable as a Gator fan. We were big underdogs after a poor season and, despite playing far better than expected, still couldn't manage much on offense and came up short--a common refrain during that era. And though we watched the game together, I'm not sure my dad was even awake the whole time. But when the game was done and it was time to hit the road, he was happy. And so was I. Sure, it was a little later than I would have preferred, but ultimately that was no big deal. Just like that game, no big deal.

Except, of course, that it was. After the fact. Because that was the last Gator game I'd ever watch with my dad. He hadn't been feeling well, but that was nothing new. A few days later, my mom took him to the hospital because he kept getting worse. Again, this was no big deal. After his stroke back in 2010, he was regularly in and out of the hospital. As a matter of fact, we almost had it down to a routine. He'd get worse for the first few days, sort of bottom out by the end of the first week, then the effects of the medicine would become more obvious and he would get better and better, finally being released usually around the end of week two. Par for the course in our family.

Except, of course, he didn't get better. Though I called a few times in those first days, it wasn't until he'd gone that first week without improving that I became concerned. So I drove over to the hospital. I'd be back to the hospital almost daily after that. He was awake very infrequently and spoke even less. As the days went on, we knew, finally, that this stay was different.

I remember very well being the one who sat with him alone in that room, asking him if he'd like to receive more treatment--explaining what that would entail and what it would lead to--or if he was ready for hospice. With a clarity he was rarely able to show by that point, he nodded yes for hospice. Would you like to stay here or in a facility, dad? Or would you like us to bring you home, I asked, already knowing the answer. "Home," he said, clearly and with no hesitation. Just like I knew he would.

So we cared for him at home that last week, with the help of hospice, family, and friends. In between shifts sitting in the bedroom with him as he slept or caring for him when something needed to be done, I often sat in his chair by the TV. The same chair and same TV we watched that UF-FSU game only a few weeks before. It occurred to me then how important that game really was. It was the last time we spent "normal" time together. The last "normal" conversations we had. The last Thanksgiving. The last football game. The last Go Gators.

He died peacefully Christmas Eve (he always loved Christmas), not long after I left for home and Christmas Eve services. And now it’s been 10 years.

I will think of him as we gather back in Orlando for Thanksgiving with family this week (he loved Thanksgiving too, but I think mostly for the food). We won't stay to watch the game Saturday night. It's a late game and again, I work Sunday mornings. But I will watch and, like every Gator game, think of him. And I hope we blow the doors off 'em.

This is a Gator team that started off pretty terribly this season but is now in the middle of a remarkable turnaround and is finally favored to win this rivalry again. But whether or not it's the spectacular Gator win I'm hoping for, I doubt I will remember it as fondly as that lousy 2014 game. Because sometimes a game is more than a game. And sometimes you need to let your schedule go a little and spend time with the ones you love, even if you run a little late. Trust me. It's worth it.

Love you, Dad. And Go Gators.