This story initially appeared on Behind the Whistle, the official blog of the IWLCA, and is being republished with permission from the organization. Corrine Drost is an assistant coach at Penn State.

When I was a freshman in high school, my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. By the time I was a freshman in college, my Mom was nonverbal. My only form of connection with her was through her seeing me and touching my face, giving me a hug or holding my hand. I cherished those moments, as any daughter would. But those times were married with the gut-wrenching fear of knowing that our days together were numbered and our physical connection would soon end. It was a seesaw of emotions that would follow me around for most of my college career. I was restless each fall semester as I battled two emotional extremes, the excitement for the year ahead and worrying if my mom would not remember me when I went home.

Being back at school meant that I lost the only form of connection with my mom. That loss crushed me at some point almost every day … but I knew I had a support system in my teammates and coaches. These people helped me to work through my fear of leaving home and losing more of my mom.

Game day was an opportunity to compete as well as an opportunity to connect with my mom. Walking into the stadium with teammates, I would immediately scan the stands to find her sitting beside my dad. It brought a moment of ease that I needed to shift my focus to playing the game. Win or no win, I was always eager to get to the tailgate and give her a hug. To me, it felt like an eternity since we last embraced, but to my mom, every hug was timeless. She would grab my face and not let go of my hand as if we had never been separated by her disease. Game day consistently proved to be the best day.

There were many moments where not a word was spoken between us. Moments of silence. Moments of knowing she was proud of me and that I was on the right path. Little did I know at the time that coaching was in my future. But I think my mom always knew it. Looking back now, I feel sure she always knew what my future held.

One of those many moments I now remember was my mom walking up to my college coach, Kateri Linville, and holding her hand. She did it again and again, tailgate after tailgate. I caught myself feeling slightly embarrassed because she could not speak — she could not say thank you in words. But those uncomfortable moments were ones where she said everything I needed to know with a simple connection. My mom knew that I was in the right place with the right people. My coaches, Kateri and Kristen Hopson, always created a space where they would just listen, ask thoughtful questions and provide perspective. I never felt safer and more scared at the same time. Playing lacrosse in college freed me up to lose myself in the experience and find a meaningful career path.

Throughout my mom’s decade-long battle, my dad would always say, “Mom is teaching us all a lesson.” It didn’t always feel that way. It felt hard. It felt like the person I loved most in my life was constantly changing, losing something, and none of it seemed fair. Kind of like how we all feel about living through a pandemic and the rapid spread of COVID. This virus is creating unknowns, forcing us to be adaptable and teaching us that the moments where we can play are meaningful beyond what we ever knew. Even if we didn’t ask for this. Even if it feels unfair.

As coaches, we learn how to win and lose. We win more when we take on challenges together, and we gain everything by creating connections with our people. My mom gave me the courage to return to campus and taught me that unknowns are part of each season of life. She showed me grace, appreciation, love and grit. These lessons are with me every day and are applicable in these weird and unknown times. We’re all longing to return to campus, to play, to see our teammates, to find normalcy. We need to have grace, appreciation for the present, love for the game and grit. We can still create connections despite these circumstances. Every time we walk out on the field it is a gift. My mom taught me how to show up, how to trust the process, how to lead during uncertainty and how to have fun. My hope is to lead like her.

We’re playing right now, we’re on the field. There is a stick in your hand and your teammates are by your side. Does it look different than you probably imagined? Absolutely. But we’re here, with our people. Let’s come together as a team, look at each day as a gift and find OUR win during COVID.