Heaven and Earth Day

My best friend has been sending out postcards as a clever way to stay in touch during this pandemic lockdown. She has collected thousands over the years, and so her initiative is giving her a two-fer ; she spring cleans AND stays in touch. One of the postcards she sent me was a picture with the caption “March 27, 1980 Eruption of Mt. St. Helens, Washington.” More cleverness, since Helen is a family name. I am staring at the postcard and marveling at how pre-Google Earth, a photo, so clear and powerful, was taken. Score one for the Boomers.

Today is Earth Day, and this photo has me thinking BIG THOUGHTS. For one thing, why was a postcard made of a natural disaster? Do we have postcards for Hurricane Katrina? Also, the name Helen and eruptions, seem to go together..no? How did Earth Day come about? And most importantly, what did I do before I could type silly questions into a search bar and poof, get an answer?!

Earth Day…Earth….Heaven…God..

Ok, so that’s how I got here. God. I’ve been thinking about God. Yes, I do believe in Him. I’m a Boomer, after all, and the older we get, the smarter we are about life. Follow my logic; if I don’t believe in God, and I die, and He exists, I go straight down the toilet. If I do believe in Him, and I die, and He is no where and I am no where, well….that’s life. I’m not the only one who plays this game, a mental hedge of the ecclesiastical kind, you might call it. But actually, I have real and tangible evidence in the existence of God, so let me tell you my story.

I grew up with the deep understanding that baseball was not just Americas favorite past time, but a religion. Baseball could elevate your soul, or place you in the depths of despair. Baseball could inspire you, connect you with a broader community through good times and bad, lower your stress, bring you extreme joy, and redeem you. It could also do the exact opposite. Think Resurrection and Job. Baseball, as I came to know, “could help break the plane of ordinary existence”, as John Sexton wrote, where sinners and saints made the seemingly impossible happen. My unwavering understanding about the nature of baseball explains why as a teenage girl in the 1970s I would sit with my dad and listen to the recording of Bobby Thompson’s 1951 pennant-winning home run. The exultation expressed in that recording is from the highest order.

My father, the source of my fundamental belief in the existence of God, grew up in the Bronx, and was a NY Giants fan. He wasn’t just a fan, he was an obsessed, over the top, crazy fan, whose happiness from April to September was at the mercy of The Baseball Gods. When the Giants left NY, he followed them to the west coast. Literally.

He was drafted into the navy and was stationed at the Naval Hospital in San Diego. When his service was over he decided to stay, and set up a private medical practice, in part, I am convinced, because he was in the same time zone as the SF Giants. He had season tickets, and would take a commuter flight to watch games at Candlestick Park, and was the first one in our neighborhood to have a satellite dish.

All of this sounds nutty, but when you consider the Giants’ poor record from that era, it’s even more startling. In 20 years, from 1963-1983, only once did the Giants finish first in their division. So for 20 very long years, my dad walked through the desert, suffering and praying to be delivered from this evil. Why did he do this ? The answer is obvious to all disciples of baseball, Faith. Faith is why. As Thomas Aquinas told us, “To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary, to one without faith, no explanation is possible.”

His faith was rewarded like Jesus said “and whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive if you have faith”, and the Giants delivered in the form of three World Series wins, in 2010, 2012 and 2014. This is in and of itself unreal. The Giants have only won eight World Series in their 137 years of existence, so the fact that three came in five years, the final years of my dad’s life, is miraculous.

During the first two World Series, my dad was so nervous he couldn’t watch the games. He would get the final scores and then watch the taped games, where knowing the outcome made it easier. He told me that he was afraid of having a heart attack and didn’t want to burden my mom. He was a cardiologist so I suppose he knew what he was talking about. As it turns out, my mom died in 2013, somewhat unexpectedly, so I was happy that she had the chance to rejoice at two World Series victories, if not for her (it was never for her), but for my dad.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer on the day my mom took a fall, sending her to the hospital where she contracted pneumonia and ultimately died. Unbelievably, my father went directly from my mothers funeral to his first chemo appointment. For a year and a half I flew to San Diego, leaving a job and my kids as much as I could. It was a nice time for us, me and my dad, with lots of moments to reflect on life. Unfortunately, the treatments didn't work and the tumor in his neck grew, making it difficult for him to lift his head. We were were told that he might not make it to Christmas.

Then came the Giants post season 2014 campaign.

The Giants finished behind the Dodgers in their division, but managed to win the National League wild card against the Pittsburgh Pirates. They went on to win the Division Series against the Washington Nationals, and then the National League Championship Series against the St. Louis Cardinals, sending them to the World Series. Weeks of October were filled with hope and prayer, not for dad, because we knew we were coming to the end, but for the Almighty to give us one last game.

This best -of -seven- games 2014 World Series was a war. The Giants lead 3-2 after five games, only to drop the sixth playing away at the Royals stadium. I listened to the commentators in the final winner-take-all-game spewing on an on about how not since 1979 had a team won while on the road, and not since the 90s had a team come back after dropping game six. Blah and blah, and wonk and wonk they went, elevating my heart rate at each pitch. I was a wreck, physically, emotionally and yes, spiritually.

With the Giants leading 3-2, in the bottom of the ninth, an error allowed the Royals’ tying runner to get to third base, with two outs. This was the last out, in the last inning, in the last game for the season. I stopped breathing. Then Saint Madison Baumgardner forced a foul pop up, caught by Pablo Sandoval, to end the game. The Giants had done the impossible, and it all came out. Sobs, yells, jumps, shaking and collapsing on the floor. I called my dad, but could barely speak. “Dad. Dad. Dad. They won. They WON! You can watch the game…THEY WOOOOONNN!!!!”

My dad cleared his throat, “I watched it.”

“You did?” I was stunned.

“Well, I knew it would be my last game, and I’m glad it was a good one.”

GOD. BOOM. RIGHT THERE. “I knew it would be my last game, and I’m glad it was a good one”. Faith rewarded.

He died a few months later, and we buried him and mother’s ashes in the Earth, together. We placed a Giants hat in the grave as a final tribute. I miss my dad today, Earth day 2020, but I am grateful for all he taught me. Religion and Baseball and Faith.

It’s a day for big thoughts, and small remembrances and gratitude for all we have in this life.

Happy Earth Day.