An open letter to the mother of Derrick Rose:
Dear Mrs. Rose,
I was sad to hear the news that your son, Derrick, had gotten hurt again. To take almost a year to heal only to not make it to Thanksgiving is heartbreaking. My season ticket holder (shared with eight other dudes) husband is devastated. It's all he's been talking about for days.
I'm not sure if people are thinking about you in all of this, but I am. Witnessing the play on the court, the pit in your stomach when he was escorted to the locker room, the slow realization that "this is happening...again?"
Some may say, "It's just basketball. He's not dead!" But any mother knows the agony in seeing her child hurt, the wish that you would gladly take on this injury so that your baby wouldn't have to.
To the NBA, Derrick Rose is the youngest player awarded the MVP.
To Chicago, Derrick Rose was supposed to be the person to take us to our next three-peat.
To you, this is your baby.
In all of the numbers, stats, reports, Derrick becomes a number and not a human. A what-could-have-been instead of what is. I guess he is a number to you: #4.
I'm only the mother of one son, and I stand in awe of you for raising four. Yesterday, my kid went the whole day without pooping his pants. In 23 years, if he is half as kind and humble as your son, I will be so proud. MVT (most valuable toddler) today; MVP tomorrow.
You did everything right, and so did he. Derrick controls the controllables: he works hard, he doesn't flaunt his money or talent, and if he does party, he keeps it off of Facebook and Twitter like any son who respects his mom would do.
After the press conferences and interviews, where he has to appear as a mature, strong adult, I hope you let him cry on your shoulder. Perhaps you say nothing; you just listen, you just hold, you're just there. You are MOM. You are the constant. His body may let him down from time to time, but you never will.
How do you tell your 25-year-old baby that there's more to life than basketball? Every mom has had this conversation, no matter how good or bad her child is at something.
You know his whole life is basketball. But that's not your whole life. He is your son first; point guard second.
Mrs. Rose, I hope you know that the city of Chicago aches for your son in a way we don't ache for
Jay Cutler others. If he wasn't the stand up guy that he is, this wouldn't be the case. Bravo to you, mama.
Social Butterfly Mom
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