Page 42 of Hard to Lose

The Center is an old YMCA property. It has a gymnasium in desperate need of some work along with some cracked asphalt courts outside and a baseball diamond on the far side.

The facility is worn and aged, but what it lacks in curb appeal, it definitely makes up for with the laughter echoing around and love emanating through its space.

“So the gist is this,” Ellie, Gunner’s counterpart, explains. “We run and facilitate sports programs for all kids on base to help us offer more to those kids who have lost their mom or dad.”

“And what do you think—” My words halt as Gunner runs by the window. He has one little boy hitching a ride piggy-back style and another chasing after them while Trey shouts at them from farther away. But it’s not the kids or the actions that catch my attention, it’s the expression on Gunner’s face. Pure freaking joy. And in all honesty, I’m not one hundred percent sure why it hits me so hard, but it does. He’s . . . beautiful. Selfless.

“Yeah, he’s kind of amazing,” Ellie says, breaking through my fog. I startle and look at her.

“What?” I ask, flustered.

“You were mid-sentence when he ran by and then forgot to finish what you were saying.” She shrugs and gives me a knowing smile. “So I figured I’d finish your thought for you.”

I clear my throat and force myself not to look out the window again, where it seems there’s an epic invisible battle of some sort taking place. “Yes. He is. Uh—where were we?”

“You mean before or after you were admiring him?”

I give her my best Dekker-glare but she just laughs. “Before.”

“Oh, right.” Another smirk. “I was explaining how we use managing the rec league to help pay for these kids.” She points to the six boys currently pretend-attacking Gunner. “Any child who has lost a parent in combat receives any and all that we offer at no cost.”

“Why?” It’s a simple word but it can ask so many questions.

“To help their remaining parent out. To give the kids some of what they are now missing. A father or a mother figure. We try to help ease the grief associated with losing a parent in a way where the kids don’t feel like they’re making the parent they have sadder.”

I nod over the lump forming in my throat. How many times did I bury my head in my pillow to cry at night so I wouldn’t make my dad more upset after we lost my mom?

“That’s amazing. So it’s just sports or do you—”

“It’s more than sports. We do community service events like park clean-up or facilitate them mentoring younger kids.”

“Mentoring younger kids?” I laugh. “They’re kids themselves.”

“Yes, but for kids who feel like their lives are out of control, the notion that they are ‘helping’ other kids gives them confidence that they’ve got a handle on whatever it is they’re struggling with. Kind of a reverse psychology type thing if you will.” She shrugs. “We also do a Trust-Fall Retreat once a year where we take the kids and challenge them to do outdoorsy things. Little do they know, all staff are trained grief counselors who push the kids to make them feel alive again. Everything we do is to help them cope.” Her smile softens as more laughter floats in from outside. “Why?” she restates my question, her voice filling with pride. “Because we can and because we make a difference.”

“What can I do to help?”

Ellie puts me through the rather simple paces. How to sign new kids up. What forms and waivers their parents or guardians need to fill out. The fees to collect. And once I have all that, how to categorize them so they can be put on teams according to their age group.

It’s only when I’m sorting through the forms I’ve pulled in for the day, that I look up to find Gunner standing in the doorway, shoulder propped against it, and his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he says after a beat.

“Hi. Everyone picked up?” I ask about the last of the kids who were waiting for their parents.

“Picked up? Yep.”

“Was it a good day?”

“Let’s see. I ran into you. I convinced you to work here. Joey laughed more than he cried today.” He nods. “That means it was definitely a good day.”

“Joey?”

“My human backpack today.”

“He’s a cutie.” His big blue eyes and spikey blond hair come to mind.

“He lost his father last month. Suicide bomber took him out at a roadside check. His mom is a mess.” He shakes his head as sadness owns his eyes. “I’ve been trying to do all I can to help him while she figures stuff out.”