A Story that will Bless everyone this season.

The following story was written by a Kaity Lohrei for a softball publication at our High School. Kaity was a senior centerfielder on the 2009 and 2011 State Championship Teams. Thru fate, she scored our team's winning run in the seventh inning in the 2011 with the help from her beloved Father Bob Lohrei. Kaity was our school's Valedictorian in 2011 and is currently a freshman at UNC. To give you more background on this outstanding young lady, Kaity gave her father's eulogy with the poise and words of wisdom/comfort of a seasoned preacher. She is one remarkable young lady. You will see this in her following story that should be a blessing to everyone.



The Winning Run for Bob

By Kaity Lohrei—Valedictorian of 2011 Senior Class

The past few years have been a whirlwind of emotion; at times, I was on top of the world, and at others, I was immersed in grief. I, like many others in this community, have been touched by cancer. (And when I say “touched by cancer,” I mean turned upside down, inside out, beat up, and hung out to dry by cancer). The positive thing that can be drawn from what happened to my family, though, is that I have been given the opportunity and the passion to beat it right back. I plan on doing that in some way—I just have to figure out how.
But I am getting ahead of myself. When it comes down to it, the driving force behind me striving for success is my dad, because that’s what he always did. When I say success, I don’t mean money, praise, or awards. I mean success in the raw form: success that feels like success even if no one is there to applaud or hand you a big trophy. Kind of like the success that we strive for as a team, because let’s be honest—Coach Sherrill doesn’t exactly hand out admiration on a regular basis, unless we’ve done something really, really awesome.
Dad died in September of my junior year, but he hasn’t left me. When I sat and really thought about it, I realized that a lot of the traits that I have been trying to adopt from my dad have helped me tremendously both while playing with this team and in life outside high school.
My dad was one of the most positive people I have ever come in contact with. When he had long, frustrating days at work, he came home, happy to see us. When he was handling the death of his own mother and father shortly before he was diagnosed with cancer, he was there to support our family members and spread his positive attitude. Even throughout his battle with cancer, when he had so much to complain about, he smiled. He was happy to be alive, and had a passion and enthusiasm for living that shone even in his darker times.
He was dedicated to our family, to his career, and to his faith. He was hardworking, often coming home late or completing projects for work or for our family on the weekends. He grew up without much money, but he helped my grandma out by getting a couple of jobs, and eventually worked his way to where he ended up—a valued, respected manager at a sales and marketing company in Charlotte.
He was sincere, inviting, and friendly. He welcomed any of our friends over to the house, and always greeted them with a huge smile and a big hug, even if it was the first time they had met him. Those who have ever spent time with him know that afterwards, you often left feeling great about yourself. He could walk into a room full of strangers and either be the center of attention, or the guy off to the side having a genuine conversation with one other person.
He was so encouraging. A day didn’t go by without him complimenting or admiring my brother and I, but he didn’t just fill our heads with happy thoughts. Instead, anytime we had a goal or an idea in mind, he would talk with us about it, coming up with steps to attain those goals, and encouraging us to do our best to reach them. He gave inspiring speeches to his coworkers at meetings, and he also came to speak to our softball team in 2009, to get us pumped up about the season.
It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows all the time; of course, we had our arguments, our misunderstandings. Honestly, I was a brat a lot of the time while growing up, or at least that’s how I see it now, looking back. Regardless, there is something truly special about the father-daughter bond. This bond means unconditional love. It means protection from boys that don’t deserve your heart, from flat tires, from insecurities. It means a constant source of advice about life, even if dads don’t know too much about “girl stuff.” Having a strong father-daughter relationship means, in some cases, that you have a model for your future partner—you couldn’t imagine marrying anyone who falls short of the values and good traits of the man whom you loved first.
As athletes, we are all so lucky to have an additional type of father-daughter bond. Every girl reading this has probably spent hours in the backyard or at a park practicing softball or another sport with her dad. I would even say that the majority of you have played on a team where your dad was a coach, and that is a wonderful thing! Some of you are still in that position now, and you need to cherish it. I understand that sometimes it’s frustrating to take their criticism and their advice, but seriously—take it from me—it’s worth it. Having extra time, time that should be fun and memorable, with your dad is worth more than trying to be right or to win an argument (FYI: Our dads already understand that, which is why they let us win most of the time). In return for their unconditional love, their protection, their advice, it is our job to give them respect.

 

Part 2

My dad and I shared that bond, although I was one of the many kids who didn’t take constructive criticism very gracefully. We still shared a lot of quality time with one another, especially driving to and from softball tournaments, just him and I. The summer before my junior year of high school, I could tell those times were coming to an end. It was much too hot for Dad to sit out in the sun all day, and he was getting too weak for those long weekends away from home. Eventually I started riding with teammates to tournaments, but it wasn’t the same without my dad cheering or taking pictures from behind the fence.
It was the summer of 2009—the summer after we won the first state championship since Coach Sherrill came back—and I am so thankful that my dad was able to come out on the football field with me as I received my state championship ring in August. The pride was written all over his face, and he was elated to see all of my teammates together. About a month later, on September 25th, he passed away, but not without a fight. The last words he was able to say to me were, “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay,” before I left for school that morning. That afternoon my family gathered to say our goodbyes. He was unable to talk to us, but I know that he heard every word that was said. Seeing him in that condition shattered my world, but the words he had spoken that morning gave me some peace. He left this world that evening, with my head lying on his unsteady chest.
Fast-forward about one year and nine months later, and I’m five feet in the air, unable to contain my excitement. I had just stepped on the plate and scored what would eventually be the game-winning run in the 2011 state championship. Regardless of the outcome, that weekend was rough. When I tell the story of our victory—and believe me, I tell it often—I don’t really enjoy mentioning the games we played the night before, that I was thrown out stealing three times (I
think the only three times I had been called out all year), or the fact that Coach Sherrill was disqualified midway through the second game. So, usually I don’t. In a way, that’s how I tell dad’s story to most of the people I know; I find myself hitting the high points and leaving out the bad parts. In reality, there were so many bad parts of his illness and his death that are left unsaid, but what’s important is that those bad times serve as motivation for taking advantage of the opportunities that follow.
The next day of the state tournament wasn’t easy, either. After losing the first game to North Davidson, we fought hard and were tied 2-2 in the seventh inning. Naturally, following my poor performance the night before, I was a little uneasy as I stood on second base. I had a quick chat with my dad, though, and I realized that this was the moment I had been working for throughout the past four years. Nothing was going to get in my way—there was no way I would let down my girls, our coaches, our community, or myself.
There is really no other way to describe it, other than perfection. After Christina’s hit to center, as I was rounding third base, the only thing running through my mind was “RUN, Kaity, RUN,” and I’m sure similar thoughts were going through everybody else’s minds as well. But when I reached the plate, I was overcome with this extraordinary feeling of fulfillment and elation. Every hardship of the season was not completely forgotten, but instead seemed more like experiences that were used to grow. I could not keep these feelings inside; I literally jumped for joy into Taylor’s arms, then into several coach’s arms, and finally into the arms of all my teammates. After another half of an inning, we were officially champions. There is surely no sweeter way to end a senior year, to win a state championship with my dad watching me proudly from above—the best seat in the house.
As I was in the process of writing this, a good friend of mine pointed me in the direction of this man named Jimmy Valvano, a legendary North Carolina State basketball coach and ESPN commentator. In 1993, 11 days before I was born, Valvano gave a powerful speech at the ESPY awards ceremony after receiving the Arthur Ashe Courage & Humanitarian Award, only eight weeks before he died of cancer, “I always have to think about what's important in life to me are these three things. Where you started; where you are; and where you're gonna be,” he said. In a way, a new chapter in my life began the day my dad died. I count that as where I started, filled with grief and uneasiness about the future. Where am I now? Well, I would like to say that I am in the “RUN, Kaity, RUN” stage, where everything seems to be falling into place, and the hope of reaching home plate is stronger than ever. I hope that “where I’m gonna be” will be a place where I can make a difference in the lives of other families and individuals facing cancer, a place where I can both make my dad proud and honor his memory. To me, that degree of success, like the feeling of a state championship victory, is immeasurable.
Despite the hardships, I count myself lucky to have experienced so much. Remembering the times that I have been overwhelmingly happy has kept me sane while going through a lot of adversity; remembering the times that I have been so acutely dejected has kept me grounded, greatly lessening the moments that I take for granted.
I’m going to conclude with another quote from Jimmy V, one that seems like it could have been written by my dad, because it’s how he lived. He says that there are three things that people should do everyday: “Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that's a full day. That's a heck of a day. You do that seven days a week, you're going to have something special.”
Girls, enjoy the time spent with your fathers and the rest of your families. Laugh with them, talk with them, and occasionally cry with them. I’ve learned from my dad that it’s important to appreciate the small things, but not to base your happiness upon those things. Instead, hold on to the things that matter; Hold on to your faith, your love, and your enthusiasm for living

As the Alexander Central Coach, I would like to remember 2 fallen softball leaders in dedicating this essay to Comet/Mr Paul and Cardinals Founder Mr. Ray Chandler.

 

Stunningly beautiful. Made me smile, made me cry.

God bless Ray, Paul, Kaity's dad and all their families, especially this Christmas season.

 

Thank you so much for that post, Coach Sherrill. And thank you, Miss Lohrei; your Dad is proud I'm sure.

I was at the ejection game and memories of it weren't good at all. But this story replaces those bad memories. My memories now will be of a real champion.

Thanks, and Merry Christmas!

 

Thanks Monte and Miss Loehri ............... VERY TOUCHING to this Dads Heart ............Wishing ALL my Softball Friends and Family A Very Merry and Blessed CHRISTmas and Happy New Year !!!!!

 

Nothing could be more touching than what Coach Sherrill posted, but this adds a face and voice to it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QzNDjQgRhqA

 

The Leap

The Leap she is talking about.


https://180664074836755807-a-alexan...BKmYYOtvugXCn4m5CrtBu5ihI2zQ==&attredirects=0

or you can go to this website and look about a third of the way down the page.

www.alexandercentralfastpitch.com

 

This is a very inspirational ! Thanks for sharing . I shared this story with everyone from all of our teams here in Virginia. So many people were very moved by Kaity's story. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone especially to the Loehri Family from the Virginia Rowdies Elite

 

Monte- Thanks for sharing this amazing story. I don't know Kaity and her family, but now I feel like I do. I hope you will allow me to share this with others--I already have with my family. It's one of the best posts I have ever read.