BACK TO THE BENCH: THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE AND LOSS

I received some horrible news this last week about a pickleball friend and former tournament partner who ended his life. He’s the fourth man in my local pickleball community who has done so in the last 18 months. This was shocking news to everyone, as it came out of nowhere. He is the last person anyone would’ve expected was struggling, and we were all stunned and incredulous.

The last memory I have is captured on video of him singing God Bless America to kick off our annual Fourth of July pickleball potluck. Several days later, my pickleball GroupMe thread is still active with stories, memories, and tender moments from everyone who knew him.

It seems there’s nothing that brings a community closer together than collective grief. And for me, there’s nothing like a friend’s or loved one’s death that gives me pause to reflect on how I am showing up in this world, especially with the people who are closest to me.

I’ve written before how my favorite part of a pickleball facility is the nearby bench. A place to lace up your court shoes. A place to rest after a close and drawn-out game. A place to catch one’s breath.

As someone with a disability, the bench is a refuge for my legs to take a break and replenish. But beyond its utilitarian purpose, the bench has become for me a place of care, connection, and catching up with others.

I’ve had countless conversations with tournament partners, friends, new acquaintances, and family members of players on the bench. And while surface-level small talk about weekend plans, future vacations, latest paddle purchases, and what the pros are doing are the easiest conversations to have, I have found that the bench can also become a safe space for people to really open up.

To take risks. To put their heart on the line. To be vulnerable. To share their feelings.

I’ve been fortunate to share the bench with a handful of people who have divulged their relationship struggles with me. With consent, I will always offer advice and support.

One such acquaintance who was lamenting his divorce has now become a great friend who I play with regularly throughout the week. Our conversation that started on the bench during open play moved to the parking lot after our club closed for the night.

He will text me occasionally with a voice message telling me how he’s feeling really good and hopeful and working on himself. Even today, he was sharing updates with me during our game in between points.

And for a moment, his well-being was more important to me than pickleball.

There is something meaningful and life-giving about playing my favorite sport while talking about life and relationships at the same time. I think it adds another level of humanization to our already social sport.

I remember having a lengthy conversation with my late friend earlier this summer after playing a few games. We sat side-by-side as he shared some familiar—and frankly, common—life struggles, topics I could empathize about from my own lived experience.

I wasn’t there to solve his problems, but instead, to listen and offer advice and comfort as he navigated next steps. Deep and intimate conversations are pretty standard for me, so I never would’ve expected his tragic departure a couple months later.

The Questions That Follow Loss

I think it’s pretty human after an unexpected loss to question if there’s something that we could’ve said or done to alter the outcome. And I’m not sure that question can—or will—ever find a satisfying answer.

I don’t think we can ever truly know what is going on in a person’s life at any given moment.

Here’s what I do know, however: Life is messy and complicated. I’ve heard it described as “brutiful.” Brutal + Beautiful. That really resonates with me.

But life is also a training ground for kindness, understanding, service, empathy, and goodwill. We are wired for connection and are deeply interdependent. And in our modern world that prides itself on hyper-independence, we need each other now more than ever.

My life partner is a suicide survivor, and she shared with me a quote she read that really hit home:

“Grief is not the enemy—grief is sacred. It reveals what we love. It keeps us human.”

This weekend, my community will come together and grieve the loss of an incredible man who we loved and who loved others. It’s certainly the most human thing we can do for now.

Back to the Bench

Maybe that’s what I’ve come to understand about the bench.

We spend so much time focused on what’s happening on the court—the wins and losses, the points we’re chasing, the next game waiting to be played. But life puts all of us on the bench at times.

And some of the moments that matter most happen there.

When we sit beside someone.
When we listen to understand.
When we make room for honesty, vulnerability, grief, or simply being seen.

May we all take care of our people and let kindness, connection, and love be our guiding light.

About the Author

Daniel Singer

Daniel Singer is a senior designer at Pickleball Central and a certified relationship coach. He is an avid pickleball player and plays with a rare disease called Charcot-Marie-Tooth. He resides in Orem, Utah.