Coach Audrey's Note:
There are moments in life that shape who you become—not just as an athlete, but as a person. Moments that feel like the game stops, the air goes still, and everything you thought you knew changes. That’s what happened to Carissa. This is her truth, her pain, and her power. This is what it looks like when you choose love through loss. And when you let that love become the fuel that drives your why.
Less than 48 hours before my 16th birthday, I died.
Not literally, but emotionally, as I lost my best friend, my reason for everything—my PopPop. Diagnosed with cancer in 2020, I was terrified I’d lose him, just like we lost my aunt four years earlier. But I refused to think about that, convincing myself he would survive, that he’d be there for all the milestones we’d planned together: graduation, teaching me to drive, walking me down the aisle. But those plans would never happen.
I’ll never forget the day my dad sat us down to tell us PopPop was sick. I had already seen his emails, but I was in denial. When the news was confirmed, it hit me like a truck. I could feel the warmth spread through my body, a lump forming in my throat, but I kept it together. My younger sister and cousins were watching me, looking to me for strength. So, I pretended to be strong, even though the pain was unbearable. Everyone praised me for how well I was handling everything—surgery on my ankle, missing my tenth-grade basketball season, and seeing my grandpa grow weaker each day. I was the one they didn’t worry about, but deep down, I wished someone would see through the act. Watching him change so quickly was painful. He didn’t look like the same person anymore.
Basketball was our thing. Growing up, we would always go to games together. He was the only one who could convince my parents to let me skip school for basketball tournaments. I can still smell his Dunkin’ order and hear the old-school R&B music blasting from his car. I played basketball for him, knowing it reminded him of my aunt, and that made him happy. When I got injured, I felt like I’d let him down when he needed me most.
The night he passed, my sister and I went to visit him. He was in pain, screaming, but when I touched him, he calmed. At that moment, I knew it was time for him to let go. I whispered in his ear, “It’s okay, you can let go. I got them. We’ll be okay. I’ll make you proud.” An hour later, my dad called us downstairs to tell us he was gone. The news hit me again, my body went hot, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. I cried for a few minutes, then wiped my tears and comforted my sister. I asked my parents to wait until my older sister was home to tell her, as I didn’t want her driving frantically in the rain.
The car ride to the nursing home was full of rage. Earlier that day, my dad and I had been planning my birthday, and now, I wouldn’t be able to celebrate it with my PopPop. I was angry. “Why didn’t he fight longer?” “Why him?” “I should’ve spent more time with him.” All these thoughts consumed me, but when I saw him one last time, I kissed him and smiled.
Despite the chaos in my mind, I knew he wasn’t in pain anymore. He was with my aunt, reunited, at peace.
At home, I blasted music all night, unable to sleep. I didn’t want to face the reality that I’d never be able to call him again. When I saw him in the casket, it still didn’t feel real. But when they closed the casket, it hit me: I would never see him again. A part of me was buried with him. I became irritable, impatient, and quick to anger. But over time, I learned that I couldn’t stay mad at life. My PopPop wouldn’t want that.
So, every day, I keep him in my heart, striving to achieve the goals we had talked about, no matter the obstacles. I know he’s watching from heaven, proud of the person I’m fighting to become.
—By Carissa Fredricks
Coach Audrey’s Notes:
This is her truth, her pain, and her power.
This is what it looks like when you choose love through loss.
And when you let that love become the fuel that drives your why.
You hear me say it all the time—your why has to be bigger than the game. Bigger than wins and losses. For Carissa, her why was family, love, legacy. When her PopPop passed, it wasn’t just losing a person. It was losing the heartbeat behind her passion. And that can shake any athlete’s foundation. But this is where purpose is either lost or reborn.
That’s the tough part of being an athlete—you learn to “play through it.” You learn to hide the limp, bury the tears, smile for the team. But healing doesn’t happen in hiding. Grace means letting yourself feel the loss, even when you’re the strong one in the room. And truthfully? That’s one of the bravest things you can do.
We talk about energy all the time at The Edge—protecting it, directing it, owning it. Carissa turned her pain into presence. She didn’t numb it. She faced it. And now, she’s using that love to fuel the journey forward.
That’s it right there. That’s the real victory.
Showing up. Choosing love. Turning pain into purpose.
And her journey is just beginning! 
—Coach Audrey Taylor
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