Love hurts -- the reality of falling in love

(This is the second half of the story from "Falling in love -- This post is not what you think it's about.")

I moved back to Nigeria in 2006 and got to see the Tolars often. Never for much of a conversation, but I took what I could get. Though Coach had a track meet that day, Heidi was at my wedding. The next year Heidi and I were pregnant at the same time, and Julie was born just a few months before Timothy. They played together in the nursery as infants and young toddlers. We joked about arranging their marriage. And because Heidi had had a baby girl, I inherited all of her son's baby clothes that she'd kept just in case Julie had been another boy.

We left Nigeria in January 2009 when Timothy was 14 months old. That summer, I was given the opportunity to go to a Hillcrest reunion, so I took Timothy with me on the 4th of July weekend and flew to Chicago. I didn't realize until we arrived that the Tolars would be there. Timothy and Julie got to play together again, running down the corridors at the conference center in the hotel, taking trips up and down the escalator with other aunties and uncles. And I got to enjoy sweet moments with Coach and Heidi.

That weekend Coach told us all that he had been diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig's Disease). While this disease has been made well-known by the infamous Ice Bucket Challenge, I fear most people still don't really understand what it is or what it does to a person. The first thing  you should know is that it is fatal 100% of the time, usually within 3 to 5 years of diagnosis. The second thing you should know is that there is no known cure and only one approved treatment that slows its progression. The third thing you should know is that it kills the nerves that create movement in the muscles, leading to paralysis and eventually death. It's a disease that is uncommon and vastly under-researched due to lack of funding. (So if you did the Ice Bucket Challenge instead of sending in that check, please reconsider!)

I'm not Coach's family member. I'm only a former student. And I was devastated. Coach had been told he could hope to live for another five years but probably not longer. I couldn't believe it. My coach, the amazing Jay, who was young and fit and full of life--how could it be true? And such an illness to strike an athletic coach, someone who was always moving, always on the go! Looking at him then, you wouldn't have known there was anything wrong.

So in the midst of the shock and dismay, seeing him looking healthy as we parted company that July led me to think of him as still healthy and full of energy. I didn't hear news of them for several months. They returned to Nigeria to set their affairs in order, then came back to the U.S. to start clinical studies.

It was three years before I saw them again. My best friend and I found out about a fundraiser in San Antonio, the Fighting ALS with Jay 5k. She offered to help me fly there, so I left the kids with family and headed to San Antonio for a weekend in July 2012. It was amazing to see the Tolars again, and to see the outpouring of love by our Hillcrest community now in the States. It couldn't have been more obvious how much Coach and Heidi were loved. At that point in time, Coach could still speak, though his speech was slurred, but his movement was limited and jerky. I rejoiced and wept to see him. But in the crowd of people, I was too overwhelmed to do more than say a shy hello.

Another run was held the 4th of July weekend in 2013, and this time, I drove to San Antonio with my two kids. It was harder to see Coach this time. He spoke mostly with the help of a computer and rode in a motorized wheelchair. While I spoke briefly to Heidi, I'm not sure I even said hello to Coach. He was always surrounded by adoring people, and I just couldn't get up the courage to approach him. (In retrospect, how foolish!) 

This past June, I attended the Third Annual Fighting ALS with Jay 5k. It had been five years since his diagnosis, and I had been told that he was hanging on. I was eager but apprehensive to go--eager to see Coach and Heidi but apprehensive about how I'd respond. This time I didn't speak to Coach at all the day before or the day of the run. On Sunday, though, I got to visit the Tolars in their home for an hour. I got to hear Coach's jokes--told through his computer--and see him smile. I got to see the mischievous gleam in his eye when he teased me. 

And I got to say goodbye. That experience is private and one I shall treasure always.

In the weeks since that farewell, my heart has swelled with joy and excitement and fear and grief. When I close my eyes, I can see Coach running full-tilt into Jesus' arms, his contagious joy radiating from every part of his being. I can hear his laughter. I know that he is eager to have this race over. But what of those of us staying behind, staying here without him?

Even as I write this, I am laughing and crying. I'm remembering the jokes he told as we drove from Jos to Abuja in the summer of 2002, remembering the stories he told us in high school about the pranks he and his friends pulled when they were at Samford, remembering that subtly Southern voice. I rejoice in all the beautiful memories, in all the joy I have had in Coach. I thank God for every moment we had. And I weep that very soon, memories are all that will remain. I weep for Heidi and Jake and Julie, for all of Coach's family and friends--those left behind. I recently saw an old video of Coach on the basketball courts doing warm-ups with his team, and my heart filled to bursting. To hear that voice again! While we still have Coach for a tiny bit longer, we already miss his voice--the voice he not only used to call his varsity teams to order but also once raised enthusiastically in worship.

I am rejoicing and grieving. And I am dreading the day--all too soon--when I get the phone call, the text message, the email that says Coach has run into Jesus' arms. 

Too soon.

UPDATE: Our beloved Coach Jay Tolar has finished the race. He ran into Jesus' arms on September 7, 2014. My heart breaks, yet I am so thankful God loved me through Coach. Love hurts. But it is worth it.