Opportunities missed, renewed in Cubs' World Series win

Somehow everyone has stories. So many stories. This huge phenomenon of the Cubs' ultimate victory has caused many tears of initial joy and then later tears of wishes for those who missed it.

There's a sense with Cubs fans that we have journeyed together and even through our mutual irrational love, we hoped, but some of us never fully believed, the Cubs' win would come. But, we remained loyal. We struggled. We smirked at embarrassing losses and with our unconditional love, we chanted, "Next year" and we hoped it was true.

My husband was one of those that just missed it. Not by moments but by six years. He was a lifelong Cub fan. I watched baseball only because of him, and then became one of the fans who fully understood the love and belief in the underdog. Hoping against hope but ready for painful losses and for the most part, taking those losses through gritted teeth. Never abandoning. Truly and irrationally, unconditionally loving.

My husband and I endured and loved the Cubs together. I had trouble watching games after he died. This season was the first year I really rejoined the world of Cubs loving. This is the year we all did.

Yesterday on the day of the parade, my older son who had gone to school instead of the parade entered and said, "In grief group today at school, I realized that I'm thinking a lot about Dad. He would've loved this. It makes me sad that he missed it."

My eyes watered. "Yes, he would've I said. Yes, he did."

I've thought that so many times this season. My son saying it aloud gave it legs, made it move and made it real in the room with me. No longer an inner thought to chase away. My husband, Ted, would've really really loved this whole season.

We would've loved it together. We would've watched the games together. All four of us. I would've known more stats. My boys would've sat downstairs with both parents and we all would've yelled, jumped, laughed and cried together. We would've. I can see it, hear it and feel it. It's right there just out of reach.

I realized after my son's statements, not only did my husband miss it, but we also missed it. We missed that foursome hugging and screaming and celebrating. We missed putting aside any differences, forgetting politics, worrying about work. We missed a family embrace of two boys, a man and a woman celebrating grown men playing ball and winning. We missed it. We all four missed it.

My husband died suddenly at the age 45 when my boys were nine and five. They are now 15 and 12. They've been through a lot. Therapy, anxieties and learning to shave from a woman who only has experience with legs, learning to tie a tie for events which require I stand behind and try about five times before I get it right.

But, we're a good team. The three of us are awesome. But, every day I wonder what that team of four would look like now. I push those thoughts away.

My boys need me standing up and functioning. They see my tears too often as it is.

We have avoided the cemetery where my husband is buried. I don't go regularly. Part of it is because I believe if he continues anywhere on this earth, it is here in his boys and in this house we bought a few years before he died.

My older boy's comments, though, really hit me. How does one include his father? How does one bring him in? The series is over. His life is over. Our lives aren't. We need something to bring him in even if a little late.

The conclusion of this baseball season, created an opening for us that we need to resolve or at least try.

Today, I took my younger son to a Walgreens. We got a flag with the blue W on white. The small kind. It can get stuck in the dirt by his father's tombstone. We got some magnets that we plan to tape to the tombstone. At some point weather will mess this up, but for now, it's just a way to tell him: The Cubs did it.

All of those missed games from accidental naps, all of those almost wins, all of those bad calls that we blamed some losses on - all transcended. The underdogs are the champs.

So, Ted, your boys and I will be there. I know it's been a long time since we went to the site of your burial. It's so painful. But you missed it. We missed you in the celebrations. We all missed that.

The three of us made it to that "next year" that we always spoke of and hoped for. I don't know that you'll see us, hear us or learn anything from our visit but we need it. We need to try to tell you. We need to hope. We need to include you. Just in case.

Ruth Arnold lives with her two sons in Skokie.