A Bittersweet Part of Life: The Truth About Senior Year and Thinking You're Ready

Published: November 20, 2019

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“Ahh the good old days…you’ll never get it back, but that’s the bittersweet part of life I guess.” The voice of the ER nurse trailed off as she turned to exit the room. She paused and looked back at me once more, revealing a regretful smile in the florescent light of the hall, which, in its eerie midnight silence, shocked my half-frozen figure. Her response was just as simple as the phrase which I had uttered only moments prior, while holding the still shaking hand of my unconscious boyfriend. “The boys tried their very best… but we lost, so it’s all over now.”

In the early hours of this morning, I reflected on the emotions that had run through my veins as the final buzzer sounded on my last night in red. Staring at a blank Word doc, coinciding with my lack of thoughts, and nothing moving but a tiny flashing line on the screen, as though screaming at me to make some kind of effort to write what I felt. In my opinion, the very essence of that empty screen perfectly summarized my thoughts on this past weekend.

The truth is, moments like these where the underdog doesn’t win, the villain gains the upper hand, and the ending isn't happy, the story can be told in two ways: sugar coated or straight up.

I won’t sugar coat this one.

I videoed my feet as I turned the infamous corner into our dear Tommy Owen Stadium this past Friday night, unaware of the fact that the next time I would walk that alley, I would be a former MBA cheerleader.

Despite their efforts, despite not quitting, despite overcoming injury and setback, the boys lost. They didn’t get what they deserved, but they got what life gave them. And the boys weren’t the only ones letting the tears run rampant that bitter night. We too, the cheerleaders, parents, and coaches, all felt that uncomfortable lump in our throat form when the brisk November wind directed our gaze to the scoreboard, clock, and harsh reality that this was it.

Click. The timer on the scoreboard counts down from one minute. Take it all in. Click. 45 seconds remaining. Make it slow down. I turn, tears flooding my vision. Click. It’s over. The dreaded “We love our red” chant was initiated by my fellow seniors and I, as we turn to shake the hands of the enemy. I was numb to the notion that it was rapidly coming to a close.Suddenly I'm pulled from my numb state as someone yells, “KATE, you have to go… it’s Zach!”.

Though blurred in my mind I know I was squatting by his side, begging him to open his eyes. With no such success, I planned to immediately follow the line of cars on its way to the ER. However, just short of turning my key, I stopped. I broke. Realizing that once I pulled out of that parking lot, I would leave everything I had worked for. I would close this chapter of my life forever.I just needed five more minutes, just as Scotty McCreery had said I would. I wasn't ready to be done yet.

I would, however, start my car and pull off, leaving a football field blurred by the tears pooling in my eyes in my rearview mirror. I would stop the one thing I had given up everything else for. I would close the chapter.As painful as it was, that nurse I spoke to later that night was right, these are, or were, the good old days… the days we all wished would go faster, but when they ended wished we could start from the beginning again. These are the moments we think will last, but in actuality fly by, just as our parents said they would. These are the days we’ll never get back.My bow now hangs on my bulletin board as a figment of the past. The boys lockers have been emptied, helmets cleaned, jerseys returned, never to be worn by their Team 120 owner in a mid-field huddle again. Things change, and life moves on, but that, I guess, is the bittersweet part of life.