LESSON III
Raymond Datugan
The Game of my Life
By: Bill Velasco
Dealing with loss
T
his long weekend is a means for us to
stop doing all the daily work we do
and remember our dead. It just strikes
me as ironic that we need an enforced
holiday for us to wind down, stop our daily
work and remember those who were once
part of our lives. I’m certain we’d find this
even more painful if were the ones who
needed remembering.
Sports is always a reminder of how
temporary everything is. The four words that
are said to have the capacity to make us
laugh when we want to cry, and cry when
we want to laugh are “This, too, shall pass.”
The towering achievement of today becomes
just the foundation stone for even more
indelible, remarkable standards tomorrow.
Back in the breaking the sound barrier,
leaving the earth’s gravitational field.
Now, targets of human achievement are
much loftier, beyond the realm of even
those daring pioneers. Such is life.
Sports serve as the laboratory for
humanity at least for those of us who choose
to experiment in it. The adversity of losing a
game or not being on the better team has
introduced many a man to him. The
discovery of our parent’s weaknesses and
mistakes, especially after they are gone, are
particularly sharp and hurtful. Nobody wants
to know that the people was valued,
cherished and placed on a pedestal, are
flawed idols.
The largest danger of sports, as in
life, is in comparing one’s self to others. The
Cliché goes that “there will always be
someone greater or lesser;” but it is the
former that sticks to our memories. The high
school bully who was stronger, the college
jock who takes your spot, the geek who
hoards all the medals, the controlling parent
who imposed there wills on us, the teacher
was too strict; all burned themselves into our
memories. And it is often very hard to
accept.
N
ever is comparison as painful as
when accepting defeat. Yes, we lose
games because the other team was
better, we had
Cliché goes that “there will injuries,
always be someone greater or couldn’t sleep
the night
lesser;” but it is the former
before, saw our
that sticks to our memories. parents argue,
and so on.
Often,
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circumstances beyond our control that deny
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us what we want leave scars that may never
heal. And there doesn’t seem to be anyone
to blame.
The loss of someone who has been
significant to our lives is even more
maddening because it means they can no
longer serve the purpose which we assign to
them. We can no longer tell them how
successful we can be, make them proud or
envious of us. For example, I’ve proudly
and written about how I found my biological

if I didn’t say I think about him every so often,
particularly at the times when I have question I
can’t answer, or responsibilities I struggle with.
The fact is, I can’t say for certain if he’s even still
alive, or if I should take time on this day to pray
he makes it to the next plane.
father in the US in 1988, and found some
of the answers about my personal make-up.
But after 1989, he disappeared again, and
this time, I haven’t been able to trace him.
I take comfort in the fact that I knew
him with all his foibles even for a short time,
and found some measure of closure in
staying with him for a time. But I’d be lying
if I didn’t say I think about him every so
often, particularly at the times when I have
question I can’t answer, or responsibilities I
struggle with. The fact is, I can’t say for
certain if he’s even still alive, or if I should
take time on this day to pray he makes it to
the next plane.
But there are few things I’ve learned
along the way that ease the ache, especially
if there is no completion with the departed. I
learned many years ago that you can say
what you needs to say, unburden what
weighs you down, and let it out, even if the
person is not there.
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on them. We make our guides for how life
should be lived.
We implant in our minds how they
should be, and find ourselves deeply hurt
when they do not live up to those
expectations we never discussed with them.
Having been on both sides of the fence on
this is a mixed blessing. I know how
crushing it feels to be disappointed from
both sides, and I know how debilitating it
feels to disappoint on both sides. And it is
never easy to move on from either.
They say that which does not kill you
only makes you stronger. But no hackneyed
saying covers the events in your life that kill
you a little every day. A disagreement that
demolishes a relationship, a bad decision
that shatters a friendship, a failure that
changes the way a child looks at his father,
losing your favorite game at the worst
possible time. Seeming mistakes we hope to
overcome, but sometimes we can’t help
going back to. We want things we don’t get
at the right time, and the feelings burn for a
long, long time.

It may be through a letter, a prayer,

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or even a guided dyad with an object or

person that represents them. You don’t need
the other person’s presence or permission to
move on, because it’s something inside you
that needs healing.
One other technique I’ve learned is
to realize that I am responsible for whatever
meaning I have ascribed to someone or
experienced in the past. Our parents are who
they are, and as infants, we naturally imprint