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By Shane Gilreath
Grief is an odd thing, isn’t it? It’s a bit like a noose that never completely lets go of its grip. Just when you think you’re liberated, it grabs hold again with a menacing clutch. That seems the story of my life since losing my sister in April. Though I’d lost my older brother when I was much younger, my relationship with my sister was different. My brother and I were of much different ages. He was practically a man when he died and I still merely a child. At that juncture in life, those years might as well be decades, and he and I did not have the same experiences – family, life, or otherwise – that Shelley and I would have. She and I were closer in age and spent a lot more time together. Looking back, it seems like much of that time was spent on a tennis court, so over the weekend, when Maria Sharapova was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in Newport, Rhode Island – introduced by Serena Williams, no less – I couldn’t help but feel the pull of both grief and nostalgia. Though neither of us were superfans of either player, in that way sports often happens with spectators choosing a side and sticking to it, I’m positive that every time Sharapova shared the court with Williams, we were cheering for the Russian. In Newport, however, I found Serena absolutely endearing as she helped induct her fiercest rival into the Hall of Fame. She put aside the competition and relaxed into herself outside of tennis. (It’s something that intrigues me as athletes – or fame of any kind – subsides.) Hers was a beautiful, well-crafted, mature and poignant speech that called on the great yearning that we feel when we know that something is over, even if it’s something as seemingly simple as a tennis career. Adding the visual to sentiment, the event was beautifully orchestrated as the haze of the day’s final light set, cast shadows on the green of the court lawns as the sun itself set over the Rhode Island coastal town. In those moments, I couldn’t help but think longingly of yesterday; not only of the wonderful memories that any tennis fan will hold – in Melbourne, Paris, London, and New York – but of the countless hours I spent on court with my late sister. Those are memories cherished, and always will, as my family comes to terms with the reality that these moments will spring from no where and we will always be reminded of what – and who – are no more.