Golf and Grief

According to the National Eye Institute, only 5–10% of Americans are farsighted. I'm one of them.

For years, I assumed that would give me an advantage on the golf course. Surely I'd be the one who could keep an eye on that tiny 1.68-inch white ball, trace its flight, and help my group find the shots that wandered into the rough. Instead, I was the one asking, "Where did it go?"

Time and again, I lost track of the ball. Sometimes I never saw it at all. My depth perception was off, and I wasn't nearly the spotter I thought I'd be.

My golf girlfriends took me out and gave me the grace to be a lot of things...!

At my annual eye exam, I finally got an explanation. My ophthalmologist told me that the prescription I wear every day intentionally compromises my distance vision in order to improve my vision up close. If I wanted sharper distance vision for golf, I could wear a different prescription or contacts on the course. I decided I would stay with what I have (to be honest, I'm not that a serious of a golfer / good enough to do that).

I did however, find solace is coming to realize that what I was really seeking wasn't a new prescription—it was an explanation. And I got one: My vision, though compromised, is corrected.

Lately, I've realized that's how grief works, too. Death, loss, and sorrow have compromised my vision. They have changed the way I see the world, the future, and even myself. But, I see. In fact, I have resources to correct my vision. Even strengthen it. I'm lucky. And through this experience, I understand that golf has become an unexpected teacher. The purpose of this post is to provide three examples. I hope one or two will resonate with you.

Women Show Up
In the eulogy I gave for my mom, I mentioned the fourth station of the Cross: Jesus meets His Mother. In the time since my mom's death, the significance of the Ninth Station of the Cross has been revealed to me: Jesus meets the Women of Jerusalem. 

It is written that Christ encountered a large crowd of women who mourned and lamented Him. They wanted Him to know this burden was not His to carry alone. 

I joined the Olympic Club in 2013 and signed up for the Women's Golf Network. In 13 years time, I have played and competed against these ladies at home and on travel trips. It is a multigenerational group. We are single and married, with or without children. There are women who are new to golf and others who have played for most of their life. What brings us together is golf. 

These women get it, and that is evidenced by the number of cards, emails and messages I have received from them. They understand the special relationship between mothers and daughters. They know what it's like to lose a parent, and what my mom meant to me. Even though my mom didn't play golf, though she isn't someone they met, they mourn for me.

Grateful for ALL of the cards I received. These are just the ones from my golf girls...

There is no official grief committee among us, and yet I cannot describe how moved I have been by their words of sympathy and condolence, wisdom and kindness. This outreach is remarkable and it's important. I show up at my golf club to have fun and recreate. To be able to go there and know that people know a little bit about the heavy heart I carry makes it easier to be present and in the moment.

Truly, SO many of my colleagues and friends have done the same, but this golf group of women has taken me by surprise; I am grateful.

Look up and Out
The nature of playing golf means there's time to talk. I think it might be easier to open up and talk because both parties are often looking toward the pin and not at each other. Golf leaves its own room for conversation. Somehow that stance makes sharing a little easier. 

I asked a dear friend how he was doing after losing his dad. Some time had passed. He told me he had felt numb for the first few months. Those words stayed with me.

Everyone grieves differently. There is no right way to mourn. But he had given language to something I couldn't yet name. Since my mom died, I haven't had the same edge, the same zip, the same instinct to chase after things. Grief comes in waves. Right now, I'm still in the ocean.

When Jimmy came to my mom's funeral, I told him I finally understood what he had shared with me on the course. "I trust it gets better," I said.

He smiled and replied, "We'll talk."

We're due for another round.

Peripheral Vision
So much about golf is counterintuitive. Less is more. Slow is fast. Trying harder often makes you worse. And while golf demands that you keep your eye on the ball, good golfers rely on their peripheral vision as well. They see more than the shot in front of them. They notice the wind, the contours of the fairway, the hazards, the opening to the green. They hold the whole course in view.

Thinking back over the last seven months, I realized I saw my mom's decline the same way.

Walking down the hallway, I caught a glimpse of her caregiver helping her from the corner of my eye. In that instant, I saw how frail she had become.

Later, leaving the skilled nursing facility, I looked through the rehabilitation room and saw her working with a physical therapist. She was trying so hard to keep up. There were moments when I wondered whether she wanted to get better. That glimpse answered my question. She was fighting with everything she had.

It is brutal to watch someone you love die.

Maybe that's why we never really see it with near sight.We absorb it in glimpses. Out of the corner of our eye. A moment here. A moment there. Slowly, almost mercifully, our hearts begin to accept what our minds cannot bear all at once.

In Conclusion
Golf is a great game because it teaches you about yourself.  It teaches me to look up and out, to accept what is in front of me, to trust companions who walk beside me, and to notice what appears at the edge of my vision. Grief has undoubtedly compromised my sight, but it has not taken away my ability to see. Through faith, friendship, and the quiet lessons of the fairway, my vision continues to be corrected. Maybe that's what healing is—not returning to the way we once saw the world, but learning to see it anew.

But we do not grieve as people without hope, for Christ the Lord has risen to die no more. He has taken us into the mystery and the grace of this life that springs up from death. 
—Constitutions of the Congregation of Holy Cross, Constitution 8.118

My Heart Is Full, My Eyes Overflow—A Eulogy for My Mom

I haven't written much about Sports and Spirituality since my mom died on June 16, 2026.

I've still found joy in watching the World Cup, checking in on Wimbledon, and getting out for a few rounds of golf, but my routines—and my writing—have been on hold. My creative energy has been devoted elsewhere. I wanted to make my mom's funeral as beautiful and meaningful as the life she lived. Yet writing has always been one of the ways I make sense of life, and I realized there is one piece I have already written that belongs here.

Thank you to my dear friend Jackie for thinking to take this photo AND travel all the way from Raleigh

My mom was a sports fan. While she wasn't an athlete in the traditional sense, she loved competition, and faithfully followed the teams and athletes that mattered to our family. She valued sportsmanship. I could tell you the athletes she admired and who she disdained (one of them won Wimbledon on Sunday). I can't say I disagree with her grievances! 

More importantly, she taught me to see beauty—in people, in traditions, in faith, and in everyday moments. When it came time to design the program for her Mass, I couldn't help but choose a quote attributed to Mother Teresa: Together we can do something beautiful for God. That was my mom. Those lessons have shaped the way I understand both sport and spirituality.

The following is the eulogy I delivered at her funeral Mass. It was written to be spoken within a community of faith, but I hope it also serves as a prayer of gratitude—for my mom, for those who walk beside us through life's hardest moments, and for the people whose love colors our world long after they are gone. Whether or not you knew my mom, I hope you find it meaningful that his tribute can serve as a prayer in gratitude for her life and all who shaped, shared and celebrate it. 

Mark wrote the poignant obituary for mom.

Eulogy for My Mom
Good Morning. My name is Anne Stricherz. As many of you know, my Dad is the oldest of five boys. I follow Mark, my older brother. He shares the same name as my Dad's youngest brother—my Uncle Mark who is here today. When my mom was pregnant with me, she thought she was going to have another Stricherz boy. She rejoiced when the doctor told her, "it's a girl!" And I'm proud to say I am the oldest of seven more Stricherz girls (my cousins). The family is bookended by my cousin, Guy. My mom loved telling that story about me...

I'd like to begin with a quote that Father Greg Boyle uses in "Tattoos on the Heart." He writes: When you fill my heart, my eyes overflow.

I stand before you with a heart that is full. So, this is how it is going to be: there’s going to be some overflowing….there will be tears and I will get choked up, but I’ll get it back together. However, I might need a few moments.

My heart is full of gratitude because you are here. Thank you. 

I cannot say it enough. Thank you for being with us today, for the cards, the flowers, the text messages and emails. This road has not been an easy one…. but it was made possible because so many of you walked with me, beside me, ahead of me…sharing your wisdom. In a very special way, I have to extend my gratitude to two of my aunts: Irene and Wendy. Their shared wisdom from living with cancer, taking care of their parents. You model what family is all about.

Thank you to my mom’s wonderful, amazing, loving and outstanding caregivers. And thank you to our dear family friend, Jean for giving your time and presence throughout this journey.

My heart and my eyes overflow because I was given the gift of a wonderful mother. This is who we celebrate today. 

I can’t remember where I heard this, but someone asked, “Why do Catholics love Mary so much?”

The answer I heard is simple: "because she loved Jesus."

This has stayed with me… but in my mom’s final moments, we told her we wanted her to be at peace. I said "go to Jesus, be with Jesus."

I have to think I love Jesus and entrusted her to Jesus because HE had a Mother.

Think about that. A God who became one of us. Who suffered and died, And he too had a mother. What an incredible God. I imagine his eyes overflowed too.

Thinking about Jesus this way, I thought of a few events in His life and His relationship with His mom that resonate with me.

This photo cracks me up. My mom at my brother's wedding.

1. The Wedding at Cana may be the story of his first miracle, but that only happens because she tells him to do it. Mary urges him to respond and his public ministry begins.

This is a great quality in a mother, and it was in my mom too. She knew when to urge and when to encourage.

While there was no turning water into wine,  in 2003, I applied to coach rowing at St. Ignatius College Prep. I got the job but I turned it down. I didn’t think I could do it. I didn't think I could handle my other job and coach at SI.

I had some familiarity with SI because my mom was from The City. She invited me to consider otherwise. She said her own Dad told her “never turn down a job opportunity” 

I took it… I began to love the community, my colleagues and Wildcat athletics. I applied to teach full time that same Spring for the following school year. Had I not coached, I would have applied when it was too late. I would have been an unfamiliar candidate. Twenty three years later, I am still part of that community. 

I have to say thank you to the SI community for the way it gave me the grace and space to take care of my mom throughout her diagnosis.

• to Father Jack the presider…we share an office….your support and ministry is such a gift
• to our acolyte/sacristan John. An amazing Immersion co-leader
• to you my colleagues and friends

Thank you mom! You get the assist. More on that stat later…

June 27, 2010. Didn't wash my hair for a week. Battle scar  makes me look tough.
Thanks mom for being there for me.

2. The 4th Station: Jesus meets His mother, Mary
Mary was at the foot of the cross but this example—of meeting her son on the way there— speaks to me because Mary knew where to be and when. 

In 2010, I had a cardiac event that changed my life. I spent a week in the hospital and my mom came every single day (many of those days with my Godmother who is here today, Valerie. Thank you). My surgery was moved from a Friday to a Monday. I was to be implanted with an ICD. It was expected to be a long surgery so I told my mom: "Don't worry about it. Stay with Dad. Take the day off. Come the next day…"

The surgery was seven hours long. In my recovery, I was brought back to my room and I remember as I was waking up, I saw my mom sitting right there in a chair, solo. She was rocking back and forth and looked at me so lovingly. I never would have guessed I needed her there as much as I did. She knew I would. Truly my heart was so full that moment, it still is.

My mom always said "I love you to the moon and back." 
I think this photo may capture that sentiment.

3. “May it be done unto me according to thy word”
While St Jospeh has no words in Scripture, Mary does. She has said “May it be done unto me according to they word”

Throughout my mom’s diagnosis, this was her approach.

She tried the chemo. She did the PT and was trying to get stronger but it was always with this knowing…that there may be another plan.

Although I don’t fully understand that, I think there is a grace in it.

I come from a family of teachers….and my mom was one of my greatest.

Sometimes we forget that Mary was a Saint. It’s just so obvious.
In 2019 I did a pilgrimage, the Camino de Ignaiciano. The way of Saint Ignatius. The Jesuit that led it kept waxing on about Ignatius…. He was the GOAT. The greatest saint. 

I told him Padre…discuplame. I get it, but he’s not the greatest. The greatest is Our Lady…Mary…Notre Dame! She is the original tabernacle. She was without sin… She is the mother of God.

Hard to argue that one. 

Whether or not its obvious, in her own way, my mom was a saint. And I hope this makes some of your laugh because Mrs. Stricherz could be tough. My sister and I have often said "her bark was bigger than her bite."

But, her sainthood is evidenced to me in her selfless love and devotion to my siblings and me and by extension to those of you here today. I guarantee whether or not my mom met you, she knew about you. She always took an interest in the people we care about….you—my friends…my colleagues… because you care about me.

The Patron Saint of Color
I was thinking if my mom was named a saint, she would have to be the patron saint of color.

Long before social media made color analysis and naming one's "seasons" popular, my mom loved this topic. I can’t tell you how many times over the years she would say “You know, I’ve thought about this, I don’t think you’re a summer.. I think you’re a soft autumn." She would take this topic almost as seriously as developing a plan for world peace. So in that spirit. I’d like to comment on three colors.

I love this photo. My mom is on the right.
I think my Grandma may have made her little outfit for my aunt's first communion day!

Green symbolizes my mom's Irish heritage. They love to say there are 40 different shades of green on the Emerald Isle. There are some things in life you simply can't buy, and culture is one of them. The traditions, stories, values, and understanding of where you come from are among the greatest gifts a person can receive.

From the very beginning, my mom made sure my siblings and I knew exactly where we came from. She always said, "Be proud of your Irish heritage." And she didn't just say it—she lived it.

Some of our greatest family memories were made in Ireland. Long before "River Dance" made Irish dancing famous, my sister and I were taking lessons because it was important to Mom that we experience the traditions of our ancestors. 

I wear this medal in honor of my Grandfather, her father: Michael John Naughton who was All Ireland for the one mile. It is my most prized possession. 

Her mother’s maiden name was Harley and I would tease her that Harley is an English surname. It doesn't sound Irish to me. She didn’t laugh. She and I took a 23andMe DNA test, and the results only proved what she always said. In fact the numbers were almost comical: Mom was 99% Irish and less than 1% Scottish. It was so specific it traced our family to the Inishowen Peninsula in north Donegal.

My friend Eileen will be handing out shamrock pins at the back of the church after Mass. Please take one as a memory of my mom.

I got the pin idea from my friend, Annemarie. Pass this idea on!

Blue: Blue is the color of Our Lady…as much as the Fightin' Irish are known for their green, the official school colors and blue and gold. Why? Because blue symbolizes Mary.

One of my great memories that my high school friends often recall is that when I got into ND my mom came to Carondelet and decorated my car with a big Congratulations sign. I parked in the ASB parking lot (where the Garventa Center is today). You had to walk by it on the way to De La Salle, so this was hard to miss.

That gesture is totally and completely my mom. She loved to decorate. She made life events and holidays meaningful and memorable. 

What makes the story even better is that she almost never got the chance. Back then, college decisions arrived in the mail, and the size of the envelope was often thought to be a clue. My acceptance letter came in a thin envelope, and my parents were convinced it couldn't possibly be good news. They even debated whether I should open it at all. They did and she felt badly about that. Hence the sign and the story.  

My mom accompanied me to Notre Dame the first time I even saw it. Arriving to campus sight unseen, my parents decided  in an effort to save money, she would move me in while my Dad stayed home. A few months later, my Dad and my Uncle Tim visited for a home football game. I think he might have gotten the better deal. 

Whether it was a sign or moving into Farley Hall, She didn't just acknowledge important moments; she turned them into memories. Thank you mom.

My nieces Grace and Lucy loved being with my cousin's daughter, Addison. 
I wish there was a special term for the children of our first cousins. We love her!

White: classic color of medicine. It symbolizes healing, compassion, cleanliness, hope, and the white coat worn by physicians and nurses.

Please look for the photo of my mom on the memory table. In this graduation photo from nursing school, she looks like a 1960s version of Florence Nightingale.

My mom was a public health nurse, school nurse, she taught Lamaze classes for years and worked triage. 

Many of you may have been triaged by her. She took that work very seriously. Whether it was my college roommate or current roommate, anyone who has been triaged by my mom (from the phone) always said she had a young sounding voice. She always said "it’s the only thing young about me." But that’s not true. My mom was so full of life and energy and that is why her cancer was so hard. I never really saw her get old. She went from driving down Stone Valley Road with her California stop to staying in bed and being cared for everyday. 

• My mom, a patron saint of color
• The final song of this mass is “For All the Saints.”
• And we profess in the Creed to believe in the Communion of Saints.

The Communion of Saints means that we are connected to one another in God’s love. I say this line with conviction. They are working for an with us and this was evidenced in this journey.

At Jim's funeral. My mom and Josie

Over a year ago, my mom and I went to Jim Duggan’s funeral. At that mass, we ran into our beloved neighbor Josie who is here today. My parents moved from the Walnut Creek house almost 30 years ago. It’s not easy to stay in touch with folks…but a month after that funeral they went out to lunch with two other friends from the neighborhood. These women visited my mom many times in her illness and she loved it. Jim Duggan was a saint. And he connected these women in God’s love. Jim gets the assist.

In one of our final conversations, when my mom was still able to talk, I sat with her and my heart was full…my eyes overflowed. 

She said "Why are you crying? " I told her how much I love her. I said "I miss our adventures." We went out to lunch and shopping, she was the best travel companion. And then I said, "I'm just so grateful. I have been given the best mom." 

Without missing a beat she said “I’ve loved being your mom.” 

I told her “I’ve always known that.”

My mom and I in Pasadena for a Christmas home tour.
As a soft autumn, she really thought that brown was my color.

What that we can all say “I’ve loved being your mom, your sister, your husband or wife, your teacher and your friend.” What that we could all say that based on our life’s work and our legacy?

My sister had the wisdom to sing to my mom. She would sing "Sunshine of my Life" or "Just the Way You Are." As she was dying she sang "Time After Time." I love this song by Cyndi Lauper. She is also known for the song "True Colors." I can't help but thank God for my mom, who colored our world.

Thank you, Mom, for coloring my world—and making it so beautiful.