Serena J.
Photography by Nia E. Jones
If you’re reading this, it’s okay not to know.
Snow flurries were still skittering to the ground, but the weather was warming. I had just nailed a crisp, solid seven iron onto the green, twelve feet from the hole. Suddenly, as I was aligning my ball for the putt, my dad’s phone began to ring. My putter hit the soft green as if it felt the impending shock.
In that minute, in that second, in that moment in time, nothing made sense. My golf coach, the one who introduced me to the world of golf and taught me everything I know, was diagnosed with lung cancer on December 25, 2017. When I learned the news, I was so devastated and didn’t know how to react; I remember pleading with God to wake me up from this nightmare. I was in disbelief for weeks, months, years. “It’s life,” I would try to tell myself. I tried my hardest to be okay with what happened and believe it was okay, but I couldn’t. I not only lost all motivation to play the sport we once loved together but also the ability to do anything. Knowing I couldn't wake up every Saturday morning anymore to play the sport I adored was the hardest thing ever. Eventually, my golf clubs began collecting dust. Every time I looked in the direction of my equipment, or any little thing that reminded me of him, I would completely shut down.
It's been about 6 years since I've spoken to him, and still, to this day, what bothers me is that I don't know a single thing about him presently. Did he beat cancer? Is he still alive? What is he doing now? Is he still teaching golf? Is he still playing golf? All of these questions have been haunting me for the past six years. It seems so easy to pick up the phone, to reach out, to ask simple questions, but that was, and still is, so hard for me to do when all he wanted was complete privacy. It’s hard not knowing, and some days are worse than others. It’s hard knowing you can do something about it, but at the same time you can’t. It used to eat me up inside and to be honest, at times it still does but I’ve gotten used to the feeling of not knowing. I soon came to realize that no matter where he is now, I know he is okay, and that he's going to be okay regardless.
Even if he isn’t here on this Earth anymore, I hope he has found peace. He always told me that no matter where you are, no matter what you are doing, you will always be okay. Though those words are very common, especially now, it means a lot more when it comes from people that truly care. He has given me not only the physical skills needed to play golf, but also the intangible skills such as strength, courage, and determination that I vow to carry and exhibit every day. So after many tear-filled nights, I finally realized, even though it was painful, my fate was to keep his memory alive and honor him by continuing to play the sport we loved so much and carry the many life lessons and advice he has given me.
Life is full of so many unknowns. Obsessing over the unknowns and trying to find answers to everything all of the time is not good for our mental health. Not being able to receive closure is okay. It may seem like it is the end of the world, but you have to keep moving forward. If you keep focusing on the past, you’ll lose the present. Embrace and appreciate the past, but allow yourself to be in the present, in this very moment. You may not see the path to take, but you can see your next step, so take it step by step. And at the end of the day, it's okay not to know.
Serena J., Virginia Commonwealth University
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