u/RequirementNo9841

LISTEN UP, YOU LOONS! CHUG YOUR 7 BREW COFFEE, PUT ON YOUR FAVORITE JERSEY, AND GET READY FOR SOME ABSOLUTE CHAOS ON THE EAST COAST TONIGHT!

WE ARE MARCHING INTO NEW ENGLAND TO FACE THE REVOLUTION, AND WE ARE BRINGING THE ULTIMATE DRAMA. THAT'S RIGHT!! WE HAVE THEIR PRECIOUS OLD PLAYER, TOMAS CHANCALAY!

TALK ABOUT AN ANIME BETRAYAL STORYLINE! WE TOOK CHANCALAY, AND TONIGHT HE IS GOING TO ABSOLUTELY DESTROY HIS FORMER TEAM'S HOPES AND DREAMS! YOU JUST KNOW HE IS ITCHING TO SCORE A BANGER, HIT A CELEBRATION RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE REVS BENCH, AND LEAVE FOXBOROUGH IN TOTAL SHAMBLES! THE SCRIPT WRITERS ARE COOKING FOR THIS ONE!

“mother’s day at twenty-something”

Mother’s Day

makes him feel younger

than grief already does.

Not in a nostalgic way.

In the kind of way

where he suddenly feels seventeen again—

standing in dress clothes

a few days before graduation,

trying to understand

how someone can die

while the world keeps decorating

for celebrations.

He remembers everyone else

talking about parties,

summer plans,

college,

their moms taking pictures afterward.

And all he could think was:

“mine is gone.”

Not just gone from the earth.

Gone before they ever really got

the chance to fix things.

Because she had moved years earlier.

He stayed behind

to finish high school,

living with his pastor,

trying to build some kind of stability

out of whatever pieces were left.

So Mother’s Day

doesn’t just feel like grief.

It feels unfinished.

That’s what kills him about it.

Not having a mother to celebrate—

but having all the “maybe someday” moments

ripped away before they ever happened.

Maybe someday

they would’ve talked more.

Maybe someday

they would’ve figured out

how to be close again.

Maybe someday

he would’ve gotten older

and understood her better.

Maybe someday

Mother’s Day

wouldn’t have felt so awkward

and distant

and painful.

But she died

before “someday” ever arrived.

And now every May

feels like standing

in front of a future

that no longer exists.

He hates going online that day.

Hates the smiling photos.

The long captions.

The “love you mom forever” posts.

Not because he’s bitter—

he wishes he was bitter sometimes.

Anger would feel cleaner.

Instead,

he just feels hollow.

Like everyone else

was handed a language

he never got to learn fluently.

He walks past card aisles quickly.

Doesn’t linger near flowers.

Because there’s something humiliating

about realizing

you have no one to buy them for.

And what hurts most

is how invisible

this kind of grief becomes

when you get older.

People stop asking.

They assume time fixed it.

But time didn’t fix it.

Time just taught him

how to carry it

without speaking.

Mother’s Day still cracks him open.

Still makes him wonder

what kind of man

he would’ve become

if she had stayed alive long enough

to actually know him as one.

Would she have come to his games?

Would she have called more?

Would she have been proud

of the life he tried to build

out of all this pain?

He’ll never know.

And that’s the grief

he can’t escape.

Not just losing her—

but losing every future version

of her too.

So every Mother’s Day

he carries around

this quiet ache

that no one really notices.

An ache shaped like phone calls

that never happened.

Like hugs

that came too early

or too late.

Like graduation pictures

where someone important

should’ve been standing beside him

but wasn’t.

And underneath all of it

is still that same seventeen-year-old boy

trying to survive the strangest season

of his life—

watching everyone celebrate their mothers

while he quietly learns

how to grieve one

he was still hoping

to find again.

j.k.

“i never took the coins, but it feels the same”

He keeps coming back

to Judas Iscariot.

Not the story people tell

in quick summaries -

but the moment after.

The weight.

The realization

that something sacred

had been handed over

by his own hands.

He knows

he never stood in a garden

and pointed Him out.

Never pressed silver

into his palm.

But it still feels like betrayal.

Because what do you call it

when your faith

starts slipping

and you don’t know

how to stop it?

When the God

you used to feel

so clearly

now feels distant -

and part of you

doesn’t chase Him

the way you used to?

That’s what breaks him.

Not just the distance -

but the way

he feels responsible for it.

Like somewhere along the way

he loosened his grip.

Like he missed something.

Like he let something holy

become… less.

And now he’s standing

in the aftermath of it

feeling like Judas must have -

not in action,

but in the realization

that something between him

and God

isn’t what it was.

His faith doesn’t feel whole anymore.

It feels cracked.

Shattered in places

he can’t quite reach

to put back together.

He still shows up.

Still prays.

Still sings.

But it feels like

he’s holding broken pieces

trying to remember

how they used to fit.

And the worst part -

the part he doesn’t say out loud -

is the fear

that maybe this is his fault.

That maybe

he betrayed something

not with a moment,

but with a slow drift.

With distractions.

With doubt.

With not fighting hard enough

to keep it alive.

He whispers prayers now

that sound like confession

even when he can’t name

what he’s confessing.

I’m sorry.

For what?

He doesn’t even know.

But it feels like

he’s standing

on the wrong side

of something sacred

that he never meant

to cross.

And still -

still -

he doesn’t want to leave.

That’s what hurts the most.

Because if he didn’t care,

this wouldn’t feel like betrayal.

If he was done,

he wouldn’t be this afraid.

But he is afraid.

Terrified, actually.

That one day

he’s going to wake up

and whatever fragile thread

is still connecting him

to God

will finally snap.

And he won’t even know

when it happened.

So he clings

to what’s left.

Even if it feels broken.

Even if it feels quiet.

Even if it feels like

he’s the one who caused it.

Because he would rather

hold onto shattered faith

than let go of it completely.

And somewhere

in the middle of that fear

in the middle of feeling like

he’s already failed

there’s still a voice in him

that won’t stop saying—

Please don’t let me lose You.

j.k.