A espresso with my Dad

The pandemic has thrust us into an unprecedented confrontation with human mortality. Each day, the relentless tally of lives lost serves as a stark reminder of the fragility of existence. This daily exposure to death has been an awakening for many, forcing us to grapple with the idea of mortality—an idea we often prefer to ignore until it demands our attention.

For me, this confrontation has been profound. The thought of people succumbing to a shortness of breath is both shocking and raw, emphasizing the vulnerability of human life. This realization has prompted deeper reflection on how we spend our time, energy, and joy. It has made me question the purpose of our actions and how we can better invest in the moments that matter.

Coincidentally, on May 4, 2020, my father passed away. His death, amidst the backdrop of a global health crisis, has made this reality even more personal and poignant. My father, already weakened by a long illness, faced his end with a suffering that I hoped would be as gentle as possible. In his final moments, he expressed his pain and perhaps a desire for release, a poignant reminder of the terror and mystery that often accompanies death.

Growing up in a Christian world, I find solace in the concepts of faith, heaven, and a better world beyond this life, despite my unresolved issues with these beliefs. In times of loss, such ideas offer comfort and a semblance of peace.

My journey in tennis took me away from my family at a young age, severing the umbilical cord that tied me to my origins. This separation was initially difficult and felt unfair, but over time, it taught me self-sufficiency and resilience. Distance changed our relationships, and those who stayed behind held onto memories of me as I once was, while I evolved in ways they could not see.

My father was a good man, and I hold no regrets in our relationship. His last message to me, expressing his unbearable suffering, felt like a final goodbye. His protective nature, his care, and our shared moments over espressos—rituals that will forever remind me of him—are etched in my memory. His DNA, both literal and metaphorical, inhabits me, shaping who I am.

Tennis was a shared passion between us, a gift from my father. His approach to the game was simple and pure, focusing on effort and enjoyment rather than perfection. This perspective has influenced my own philosophy as a coach, where I see varied parental figures shaping their children's lives in different ways. My father's presence at my early ATP tournaments, his lack of pressure, and his enjoyment of the game created a nurturing environment that allowed me to thrive.

As I reflect on these experiences, I am curious about the potential for crises to inspire genuine changes in how we live. Life remains a mystery that I strive to understand, though I often laugh at the futility of this quest. Perhaps the true lesson is not to seek understanding but to cherish the life we have, to fully immerse ourselves in the human experience, and to never forget our mortality.

To my father, who has now embarked on his own journey, I say: Safe travels, Dad. Your legacy lives on in the passion and values you instilled in me.