Happy Memorial Day, Mitch Daehling
Reworking "The Emotions of Memorial Day"
I wrote this article four years ago and I wanted to revisit it because I am, once again, lucky enough to cover a National Championship on Memorial Day. A lot of things have changed in four years. So I wanted to reflect upon this article I wrote for Inside Lacrosse a lifetime ago.
“This is my favorite day of the year. I have trouble sleeping the night before the championship games. I’ll never play in one; I’ll never coach in one. But I have covered over a dozen of them and the feeling is the same every time. It’s exhilarating.
This year, that feeling is gone.”
Two things.
I did coach in a championship game. Two, in fact, since this article went up. At Hopkinton, we lost a championship game in 2022 and we won a championship game in 2023. We’re in the playoffs right now. I wrote this when I thought I would never coach again. I was wrong.
My feeling of exhilaration is not gone. I thought it was when I wrote this, but it was just muted. Dormant. Covering lacrosse championships on Memorial Day was the greatest honor of my life to that point other than being a captain for my high school and college teams. Now the greatest honor of my life has been coaching my boys at Hopkinton for the last four years.
“I wanted to talk about another thing that happens on Memorial Day. Another emotion that is just as overwhelming. There is a moment, right before — and then during — the Star-Spangled Banner that I struggle to hold back tears. That moment is when I remember all the people in my life — my uncles, my father, my college roommate, and former lacrosse teammates — who have served this country and fought for my privilege to cover the upcoming game. They helped fulfill my dream without anyone even knowing that was what they were doing. That’s not why I have to bite my tongue to keep from full-on weeping, though.”
My dad always wanted me to go to the military. And now I know why. I had no discipline - but I had drive. When you combine the dearth of one and the abundance of the other - bad things usually happen.
But then I found lacrosse. Lacrosse found me -however you want to put it. Everything started to make sense. Life got so much better. Brighter. It opened doors so big I didn’t think I could reach the handle, much less turn it.
It got me here. It will get me to the next great place I go.
“I mostly think about Mitch Daehling and struggle to hold it together. Mitch was a spindly kid from western Massachusetts who played for me when I coached at Daniel Webster College. The school doesn’t even exist anymore, and it seems like a lifetime ago, but that team was my life for six years. When people asked me if I had kids, I would always say, ‘Yeah, I have about 22 of them, it’s horrible.’
Mitch was the kind of kid who wore ripped jeans and NoFx shirts to practice and changed into his gear on the field. He hadn’t played much lacrosse before coming to the school, but he was interested in joining the team anyway. He was my LSM for two seasons and worked harder than everyone else, even during sprints, of which my teams did many. Mitch left the team and the school to enlist in the military. We didn’t talk about it; it just kind of happened.”
This…I regret not talking to him about it. Not because of what happened next, but so we could have one last awkward exchange. I loved that about Mitch. He was quiet and never really responded to my jokes in practice or on the sideline, except for an occasional smile. Damn, he was a good kid.
“Mitch was killed by an IED in Afghanistan on May 14, 2013. We all go through life knowing that, eventually, people we know will die. Usually, the first experience with death is with our grandparents or teachers. No one teaches you how to deal with losing one of your players. One of your kids. One of your boys.
So, every Memorial Day, I think about Mitch in that precious moment, right before the anthem. Right before the beginning of the end of the season. I thank him for his sacrifice, I take a deep breath and I sit down to watch my favorite game on earth. Well, there are no games this year. No championships to win. So, I thought I’d tell all of you about Mitch Daehling. He was a good kid. He played the game hard. He lost his life.
Thank you, Mitch.”
Great. I’m crying in the press box again.
Happens every year.
Thanks for subscribing. Thanks for reading. Have a great Memorial Day. Thank your soldier friends. Hug your family. Tomorrow is not promised.