On my desk in my little apartment in Naples, sits the candle Emily gave me for Christmas. A very fitting reminder to me of what a light she was to my life and to the lives of everyone that knew her. I light the candle each morning and spend a few moments with her before I begin my day. Although these moments of peace are fleeting, it is during this time where I find the most comfort. I'm hoping God can miraculously make sure the wax won't inch any lower and I can continue this for as long I need; or I may be going to the nearest CVS pharmacy to replenish the "Chestnut Clove", three wick candle. She accidentally left the receipt in the bag, (good one Em), so needless to say I know where to find it when the time comes.
Although I only knew Emily for a short seven months, she left an impression on me that would take most relationships a lifetime. That is just the kind of person she was. The definition of a soul that can change your life just by interacting with her only once because of the love that seeped from her bones. Em texted me so much throughout the summer before my arrival to Naples, asking me if I'd found a house yet, expressing how excited she was to meet my dog and my family, and that she couldn't wait to meet me. I can't tell you how comforted I felt moving over 1000 miles away from everyone and everything I knew, knowing there was an Emily Acosta waiting for me in Florida. The day she arrived on campus, she asked if I'd meet her and her parents for lunch; what an impression she made on me as I walked through the doors of IL Primo Pizza and Wings when she greeted me with a big hug. Her small gestures of kindness in my first few weeks here were what kept me going as the homesickness lingered during my initial adjustment to Ave; even texting me when I got sick within the first couple weeks, and asking me how I was feeling. She truly cared about people in a way that took an extra effort on her part. I have her texts saved from Thanksgiving and Christmas, long and thought out words of her appreciation and love. They made me tear up then, reading them now is both unbearable and comforting at the same time.
I'm not sure how I will walk into the gym without seeing her smile at me every day, or who I will pick on during practice. I remember saying on more than one occasion, "We can't end this drill until Emily makes a shot...". I want so badly to see her smirky grin again, as I try and block her shot when she drives in the lane during practice, or give her a hard time about making a right handed layup, or even watch her pick on her teammates in a way that only Emily could. I'll miss seeing the intensity on her face during a timeout, watching her skip and jump in the air after she made a three as she ran back on defense, or hearing her give her teammates never ending boosts of confidence. On the board in my office, her name is written in the time slot on Mondays at 1pm, to meet with me for the bi-weekly meetings I have with my players. I can't seem to make myself erase her name. I doubt I will muster up the courage to do it, and will instead just spend that time each Monday talking to her, telling her things I wish I would have told her more in those meetings.
I had several family members who came down to visit me during the season. Each one of them always walked away saying something about Emily. Every time. She was always the first one to walk up to them and start a conversation. Em and I both share a love for kiddos, and watching her interact with my nephew when he came to meet the team made my auntie heart swell with joy. Even when my family and friends would watch the games streamed online, her spunk on the court made an impact on them without even knowing her. I would get texts after games saying, "I love watching #23 play, what a joyful and spunky kid! So fun to watch her!" And the best thing about knowing Emily is, you didn't just witness that passion and joy on the court, you witnessed it everywhere you saw her.
You never really know until you lose someone how many things will remind you of them when they are gone. I could probably write a book about all the ways I'm reminded of Emily as I go throughout my day now. I've found myself going out to eat more, at all the restaurants she always told me I needed to try. She was such a food junkie; her last text to me in fact, was what she wanted to eat after our last game, and of course she wanted extra hot sauce. I try and make room for a little humor each day, as she was one of the funniest humans I've ever met, always making jokes, but in her special way that made you feel loved and harassed all at the same time. I can't put on a green T-shirt without smiling; I'm wearing one now, it is St. Patty's day after all. I catch myself making a conscious effort to smile at every person I walk past, as one of Emily's favorite things to do was make eye contact with a stranger and smile at them. Her smile was one of her signature features, that and her shoes. When I lace up my sneakers in the morning I remember her telling me, "Coach, those are fresh", so I wear them with a little extra pride. Of course the number #23 will never remind me of anyone else but Emily Acosta, and we plan to retire her jersey as I don't think anyone else on the planet can wear that number the way she did. No one was quite as "tuff" as our #23.
Em's life was lived to the fullest, and although that is something so many people say about someone after losing a loved one, I can truly say she took advantage of her 20 short years here in ways that most people take a whole lifetime to figure out. The way she demonstrated love to every person she interacted with is something we all should take note of. She made people feel important, everyone from her teammates, her family and friends, her classmates, the employees on campus, and even perfect strangers. Heck, she was even friends with the cafeteria staff on campus. For Emily, there was always an opportunity to love someone, no matter how different from her they were, and always an opportunity to make people laugh. For so many people, whether we consciously do it or not, there is some sort of ulterior motive we have when we interact with people. This was not the case with Emily. She always had love and respect to give. Always. It seemed her goal every day was to make someone else's day a little better no matter what she was going through herself and I find that completely remarkable.
As many of you know, writing is how I make sense of things, and I finally felt able to write a little about Emily, but I also wanted to thank all of my family and friends from back home for all your texts, phone calls, and mail you've sent to myself and the team in the recent weeks since the accident. Your prayers, acts of kindness, and virtual hugs have brought me comfort, so I only felt it appropriate to share with you a little about the girl and the team you've been praying for. We are now in a strange time where we are trying to create a new normal and figure out how to navigate through our days. Your continued prayers for the team, Emily's parents, and her family and friends, that all will find strength, comfort, and peace during the months ahead, are greatly appreciated, more than I think you'll ever understand.
At Thanksgiving this year, I had the team write why they were thankful for each teammate, and then gave each player a copy of what was said about them. I recently pulled up what each teammate said about Emily, and through several tears I was reminded in just a few sentences, how great of person she was and what an impact she had on our program:
Beautiful words Megan, continued prayers for you, her teammates, her family and all others who are missing Emily. Thank you for sharing!
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