Rounding Home: A Memoir of Love, Betrayal, Heartbreak, and Hope with an Intimate Look into Raising a Child with Severe Autism

by Sarah Swindell

  Back then, wives dressed up for games from head to toe, and my closet was stocked with all the things needed to be an official big league baseball wife. I tried to learn as much about baseball, and most importantly, pitching, as I could. Greg would tell me what all the stats on the back of his baseball cards meant and what the difference was between a good ERA and a bad one. It was a whole new world, and I needed to learn the language fast.

  As the season went on, I started to feel more and more at home at the ballpark. I had formed close friendships with many of the other wives. Unfortunately, there were the few “mean girl” wives who were not very nice, especially to a new young wife or girlfriend. I really never understood it, because at one time they were the new girl. There was one veteran wife in particular who seemed to enjoy picking and choosing who she was going to let in to her friend zone and whose life she would make as uncomfortable as possible. You would think grown women on the same team would treat each other nicely, but that was not always the case. At times it felt like I was right back in high school, dealing with a bully who had no reason to dislike me other than the fact I was new and young. When word got out I was writing this book, I had several wives contact me, asking me to please write about some of the women who were so rough on some of us, and I learned I was not alone. While I will never mention names, I am sure they will know exactly who they are. Hopefully, now they are a much better version of who they used to be.

  I also quickly learned baseball can be unforgiving at times, with the “What have you done for me lately” pressure. The press and fans loved the players who were on a hot streak and producing numbers, rightfully so. But when a player was struggling for one reason or another, they would be ripped to shreds, especially by a sports writer. Greg had a bit of a rocky start with the Astros and the press was brutal at times, even talking about his weight being an issue. I know it got to him, and it got to me even more. He had been in the big leagues for seven years at this point and knew about all the ups and downs of the sport.

  He would always tell me, “Sarah, you have to take the good with the bad.”

  But I would still get so unsettled when people bad-mouthed him after a rough outing. It was especially difficult sitting in the stands when things weren’t going his way, having to listen to people boo and say horrible things out loud within my earshot. It took everything I had to not stand up and tell them to go throw a little ball into a tiny box in front of thirty thousand people as they are yelling at you. It got better with time, but it was definitely hard getting used to. My heart broke for Greg when he didn’t pitch well, but he always managed to shake it off and go out again five days later with the same positive attitude. To this very day, Greg and I often look back on those days when he would tell me to “Take the good with the bad.” We would refer back to that simple statement many times over the years to come.

  During our three and a half years with the Astros, life was filled with so many incredible moments that girls my age could only dream about. I was crazy, madly in love, and Greg loved to spoil me whenever he could. He is a huge gift-giver and loved adorning me with beautiful jewelry, cars and clothes, no reason or special occasion needed. Once, he gave me a diamond tennis bracelet in the middle of the cereal section at a grocery store, just because he couldn’t wait one minute longer. Another time, right before a game was about to start in San Diego, he motioned me down to the dugout from where I was sitting in the stands. I could feel the curious eyes of fans watching for what was about to happen as I approached Greg, who always looked so good to me in uniform. He took my hand and placed a gorgeous sapphire and diamond ring in my palm. Again, just because. I will just say Tiffany should have been my middle name for a while, as I had more little blue boxes in my closet than I could count. After I had my third child, he picked me up from the hospital in a brand-new black Mercedes as my “push present” and I had to wonder what would have happened if I’d had twins!

  Greg not only loved to give things but was also a true romantic. He has the ability to make you feel as if you are the most amazing person in the world, which would surprise a lot of people because he is so quiet. He wrote beautiful cards and would always leave sweet little love notes around the house. He once wrote me a poem on a bunch of airline napkins. I still have it tucked away in a special place, along with the piles of cards I keep in a memory box.

  Hayley was four years old and thriving in her new magical world. She soon started calling Greg, or Gweg as she would pronounce it, “Daddy,” which melted his heart. Hayley rarely saw Sean, and the few times she did, she would cry to come home the moment she arrived at Sean’s trailer in New Mexico. This went on for years and was extremely hard on Hayley. At such a young age, she wasn’t able to comprehend why she had to make these visits. We tried to explain how important it was, but visiting a man she hardly knew was obviously difficult for her to understand. There were tearful and painful goodbyes as she begged us not to make her go. It tore my heart out to see her so upset. Even though Sean was her father, it was a vastly different world for her.

  I found myself making up excuse after excuse not to send her, but eventually Sean took us to court to force visitation despite the fact he had never paid child support. He won, and the visits resumed, even after Hayley told the court she didn’t want to go. I clearly remember watching Sean struggle to get Hayley into his rental car as her arms reached toward me, begging and crying not to go. It was heartbreaking for both of us, as we had no choice in the matter. Finally, Sean stopped forcing the visits, and they rarely spoke again until many years later; even that didn’t last long.

  Even after Hayley had initiated contact again later in her teens, Sean and his parents stopped responding to her. Looking back, I wonder if it was my fault she had to go through all that pain and confusion, because I was the one who chose to move so far away when she was so young. This is something I will always feel bad about. I wonder what would the outcome have been if I had forced the visitation issue, or not moved at all. Would they have had a better relationship? We have these same painful thoughts about Greg’s daughter. A true sliding-doors scenario we will never have the answer to.

  Sean and his family had no reason to stop all communication, especially once Hayley tried to reconnect years later. It was their choice, not ours. I think because Hayley and I have always been so close, having to leave me for an extended period of time was just too much for her, as it would be for any young child. I think she didn’t want to miss a single minute with her new expanding family, and she was about to become a big sister.

  Greg and I wanted a baby as soon as possible after we got married and quickly became pregnant. About two months into the pregnancy, I suddenly started bleeding heavily and later miscarried. We were both devastated—this was the first real-life setback we experienced together. However, two months later I got pregnant again. I was more careful this time not to celebrate too early, or tell very many people, just in case. After the third month, I felt I could breathe a little sigh of relief and get excited about the life growing inside me. At almost four months along, I started to show and wore my little bump with pride, glowing with excitement.

  At a routine doctor’s appointment, Greg and I were joking around as usual as the ultrasound technician started to navigate over my belly. We both noticed a look of concern form on her face and immediately knew something was wrong. I briefly thought, “Oh no! Twins?” It was when she asked to be excused to get the doctor that I got scared. The doctor came in and started the exam again. He was silent for a moment. That’s when I figured it out, before he even said a word. I didn’t hear the little heartbeat that had been so strong the month before.

  “I’m so sorry,” the doctor said solemnly. “The baby is no longer viable. You can wait for it to pass on its own, but I suggest a D&C. It will be much less traumatic than waiting for nature to take its course.”

  A D&C is not an easy procedure, and a very emotional one. The baby I already loved so much was going to have to be re
moved surgically. It was only a few minutes ago that we were laughing and joking around, excited to hear our baby’s beating heart and to see how much it had grown since last month.

  I felt like I was hit by a truck and started quietly crying. Greg was fighting back his own tears as he held my hand. I let it all out when the doctor stepped out of the room. I was sobbing and could not believe it was happening all over again when I was so far along. I finally got myself together and we started to leave the exam room, then something happened that I will never forget.

  One of the nurses came up to us with a shy smile and said, “I know this is a bad time, but could I please have your autograph?” We had just been told our baby was dead, and she wanted Greg’s autograph.

  “Are you freaking serious?” he barked back. Not waiting for a response, we walked out of the building, and Greg held me as we both cried for the baby we would never meet.

  Thankfully, two months later I was pregnant once again. This pregnancy was smooth sailing, and I didn’t have an ounce of trouble. I absolutely loved being pregnant and all the magic that comes along with growing a human in your belly. The bigger my belly got, the more beautiful I felt; and if it was up to me, I would stay barefoot and pregnant.

  Brenna Katelyn was born October 27, 1994, after a flawless delivery, and was a perfect little seven-pound beauty with a hearty cry to announce her arrival. I watched Greg hold her with such pride after they had cleaned her off and wrapped her tightly in the striped pink and blue blanket and little hat. She looked so tiny in his strong arms as he kept saying over and over again how much he loved us. My heart was filled with so much love, I thought I might burst.

  The off-season had just begun, and I was over-the-moon happy with my growing little family. I loved that Greg was home for a while to enjoy the kids, and he was an amazing help with middle-of-the-night feedings and diaper changes. Hayley was thrilled to finally have a baby sister, and Brenna hardly left her side. Things were certainly a little more hectic now with two children, but I loved it. I was incredibly happy and filled with an enormous sense of contentment and gratitude.

  CHAPTER 6

  ABOUT HALFWAY INTO THE second season with the Astros, I quickly learned more about another side of professional sports. Infidelity was all around me. It was the sort of a thing that if you saw it happening, you just kept your mouth shut. If one of the wives decided to travel to the city where the team was playing, there were silent rules she needed to honor, like not going to the hotel bar after games to make sure she didn’t walk in on something she should not see. Many times I would accidentally see a player with someone other than his wife in the hotel lobby, sitting in the bar, or walking around the city. I would just smile and turn away.

  Girls would hang around the hotel with a look about them that clearly shouted, “I’m here to snag me a baseball player!”

  One time, a scantily dressed blonde came up to me and a few other wives sitting in the stands and started asking if we knew where the family section was. She informed us that a certain player had left her a ticket. That certain player’s wife was sitting right next to me and firmly let that girl know it.

  It was just the culture to look away, to act like it was not your problem or your place to say anything. The first year into my own marriage, girls would call the hotel asking for Greg, not realizing he was married and that I was there in the room. Greg was no angel before me, but I know without a doubt that he was faithful to me his entire career.

  While I saw it happen on every team he played for, there were many more good guys than bad; guys who loved their wives and were stellar human beings. Most of these guys gave generously to charities, visited sick children in hospitals, and worked hard to be the best they could be. On and off the field, they were role models to so many. Many of these retired players and their wives are still going strong, not part of the high divorce rate that plagues professional athletes. But I do understand how it all happens. Money and fame coming at such an early age can be a deadly combination to a young couple. I think this holds true outside of professional sports as well. Coming into such extreme amounts of money can give a false sense of “I can get away with anything I want,” no matter at what age it happens.

  I recently had a glass of wine with a couple of friends from the baseball days. We talked about how new players and their wives should receive some kind of guidance, even therapy, to deal with all the challenges they have no idea are coming their way. Being armed with knowledge ahead of time could save countless families from the devastating consequences that can develop from that lifestyle.

  On April 8, 1996, we welcomed Sophia Forest to our ever-growing family. She, too, was an easy delivery, perfect from head to toe and our first little blonde baby. Greg had the Astros game on TV during the entire delivery, and up until my three pushes, I was watching right along with him. I was only twenty-seven, and even though I was still young, I felt incredibly blessed and content with our three perfect daughters. I decided I was done with having children and had my tubes tied while I was in the hospital. Just like that, our family of five was complete.

  While life at home was everything I could ever wish for, Greg continued to struggle professionally with the Astros. Looking back, those numbers would be considered mega-millions-worthy in today’s terms, but I am sure the guys playing ten years before him felt the same way. Ultimately, in the third year of his four-year contract, the Astros decided to release him. I knew he was devastated, but with his calm demeanor he never let it show. It had to have felt like a punch in the gut, and my heart hurt for him. The team and the city he loved so much didn’t think he was worth it anymore.

  I clearly remember feeling like it was the end of the world for us all. I’m sure I was very dramatic about the whole thing. It also didn’t help that I was having a little postpartum depression, as I struggled with it for a short time with each baby. I knew we were going to be fine financially, but you just never know exactly when your career is over in baseball. Greg was only twenty-nine years old and out of a job halfway through the season. It was time for me to wake up and realize that things can’t always be as easy and glamorous as I’d gotten used to. We just had to wait and hope that another team would pick him up, and thankfully, one did.

  The Cleveland Indians signed Greg for the remainder of the 1996 season. He had started his career there ten years earlier, and he was excited to get back to the city where it all started for him. Me? I was not as excited that our home life was about to be flipped upside down. I was still trying to get acclimated to being a mother of three, not to mention a newborn. We ended up living in a hotel for a month in Cleveland since the season was close to being over. There was no such thing as Airbnb or HomeAway back then, so options were slim. Thankfully, I was fortunate enough to have a nanny and my parents come with us. It was so nice to have other adults with me while Greg was at the ballpark or traveling with the team. I can’t begin to imagine what the hotel bill was for our suite plus two other rooms for that month, but I’m sure it was a crazy amount that would probably give me a heart attack now.

  Living in a beautiful hotel for a while with a free cocktail hour every day at five o’clock, room service whenever you wanted, within walking distance to all the shops and restaurants in downtown Cleveland sounds like a dream come true to me now. At the time, I thought it was the most traumatic thing in the world. Granted, I had three small kids with me 24/7, but I also had a babysitter and my parents to help me out. Sometimes I just have to shake my head at the things that got me so stressed out back then. My twenty-seven-year-old spoiled brain just didn’t get it. Looking back, I have to say it was pretty damn fun. If you ask Hayley, living in that hotel might be one of the top ten favorite memories from her childhood. She still talks about piling her little plastic plate high with endless cheese and cracker choices and her Shirley Temples, always with three cherries.

  Greg’s second time around with the Indians was not nearly as stellar as the first. I could see he was actually
starting to doubt himself and his abilities. It was hard to know what to say or do to make him feel better. Even though I was busy enough with the kids and mommy stuff to keep me occupied, I was nervous about what was next for our family. Was he done? Would another team sign him? He was still young, but newer talent was constantly showing up, knocking the older guys off the block.

  We were both glad when the season ended. We were so ready to go home to Houston and just enjoy three months off with no stress about what was happening next in the unpredictable world of baseball. The last year had taken a mental toll on him. He was ready for a much-needed break, and we were ready to have Daddy around. I was tired of living out of a suitcase, juggling children in a city I never truly felt comfortable in, for a team that really didn’t seem to want us there.

  During the off-season in 1997, Greg was offered a small contract with the Minnesota Twins. Okay, small in the baseball salary world, but we were grateful and excited that they were giving him a shot. I had never been to Minnesota, but I was no stranger to the long-distance lifestyle by this point in our marriage. I stayed in Houston until summer so Hayley could finish school. The three months apart was brutal, but if you need a little spice in your marriage, the long-distance thing will do it. When I was able to go and visit Greg, we were like wild teenagers. Thanks to my parents coming to stay with the kids, I could travel to wherever the team was playing all over the United States. Sometimes I would be waiting in the hotel room when he came in after a game, with something sexy on, sprawled on the bed with room service and wine.