Losing Jenny has turned my world upside down. My beliefs, which aren't all that pious, are better summarized as
Karma, but given the circumstances my "beliefs" are failing me horribly. Jenny was innately good. Losing her just doesn't add up. She radiated happiness unlike anybody I've ever met.It helps knowing that she and her family have such a strong faith. They're hurting in a way I will never fully understand, and their belief in God gives them some measure of control; sadly, that knowledge only exacerbates the guilt, confusion, and frustration that I'm feeling.
It's impossible to think about Jenny and not recall her most prominent characteristics. Her goodness, her work ethic, her tremendous potential, and her selflessness. I think of these things, and I remember how much she enjoyed life. I'd regularly look at her and think to myself, "she just gets it." She experienced life in a way I can both envy and aspire toward. She loved the journey more than the destination. She loved the process as much as the final product. Jenny loved preparing for games as much as winning them. She genuinely found fulfillment in helping her teammates improve, which I'm certain transcended lacrosse. This was her way.
I'm just a narrow-minded coach. If we lose, I feel I've failed my players. So it struck me in a weird way when I found Jenny smiling after a loss this fall. I found it equally odd that I felt compelled to smile with her. Jenny was very competitive, but she had the ability to put things in perspective with a smile (yet another amazing quality of hers). A smile from her conveyed her appreciation for being an athlete, and her love for the game, her teammates, and us. Suddenly, I felt a little embarrassed.
It was impossible to get upset with this girl because her heart was always in the right place. As her coach, it was my job to be critical, but I was powerless against her undeniable benevolence. Often, you'll hear coaches say they yell at players because they love them; they yell because they genuinely want them to get better. I never once yelled at Jenny, I couldn't, and that's one of my biggest regrets. Jenny made mistakes on the field. She got frustrated at times, just like everybody else, but she so passionately wanted to do well I just never felt the need. Tomorrow we will have our first practice without Jenny.
Life's cruel joke. If I could have one more practice with her, I'd make sure to yell at her.
Knowing Jenny she would accept my criticism, thanking me eagerly, and rush back to the end of the line waiting to get another crack at it. What more could a teacher ask for in a student?
Our team is missing her. I'm missing her. I want so badly to frame this loss in a way I can feel at ease with, but a picture can never be complete if you're missing a piece of the puzzle. Maybe that's the point. Jenny would say life is finding beauty in the picture, even when there are missing pieces. I bet Jenny loved puzzles.
