Bittersweet

My mom was interested in a lot of things. She was passionate about a handful, especially in the realm of sports and politics.

Rafael Nadal, her favorite tennis player. When my mom died, I found a scrapbook she’d made with clippings of articles about his matches.

The Los Angeles Lakers, her favorite basketball team. My mom had a ton of Lakers memorabilia, and going to exhibition games when they came to San Diego was a highlight of my childhood.

The Los Angeles Dodgers, her favorite baseball team. When I was a kid, we would spend summer afternoons having picnics in front of the TV, watching Dodgers games with the creaky old box fan blowing to keep us cool. And when she was sick, my mom enjoyed watching Dodgers games when she was stuck in bed.

A woman’s right to choose, combatting climate change, expanding educational opportunities. My mom was passionate about liberal causes and, as an old hippie, wanted to leave the world better for me and Michaela and all who might come after us.

And she hated Donald Trump.

As crappy as this the last few months have been, there have been little things here and there that make me happy, knowing how happy they would have made my mom.

Rafa won the French Open. He is, after all, the king of clay.

The Lakers won the NBA championship.

The Dodgers won the World Series.

And yesterday, barring monkey business with the Electoral College, Joe Biden was declared the winner of the 2020 presidential election.

All of those things are bittersweet. I celebrate them for my mom, but I wish desperately she was here to celebrate with me. Today is seven weeks to the day my mom died. I’m hoping with more time, there will be more sweet than bitter.