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Her boys, two burgeoning MLB prospects, worked on their swings.
Her husband, one of the top high school baseball coaches in the country, kept a watchful eye.
And Colleen Fitz-Gerald, the rock of the family, went for a run, unaware of what lay ahead.
She began that day, the Sunday before Thanksgiving, on her usual three-mile circuit around her Florida community, passing a handful of neighbors who knew, loved or leaned on the family.
She ended it surrounded by her husband and her boys, lying in a hospital bed, devastating news moments away, as a doctor revealed the unimaginable.
Advertisement Colleen had two tumors in her brain.
Later, the prognosis worsened: She had high-grade glioblastoma an aggressive form of brain cancer that carries a median life expectancy of 18 months after diagnosis.
The matriarch of this baseball family the mom who was always around is now more than seven months in, unable to watch her two sons live out their dreams up close.
Nurses provide care from dusk till dawn.
Friends cycle through and offer support.
Her husband, Todd, periodically checks the GoFundMe to see if they can afford to keep paying for healthcare costs.
Its getting tight.
The nursing team alone costs $12,000 each month.
Other medical expenses can run them up to $20,000 in a given month.
They are simultaneously grateful for those who have donated to help, a list that includes MLB stars Roman Anthony and Jesus Luzardo, and know they must ask for more help, after dipping significantly into their own funds.
Through the chaos, Colleen who preferred her husband speak on her behalf for this story is steadied by the TV, waiting for her two favorite programs to come on each evening.
6:30 p.m.: Devin 8 p.m.: Hunter I think it helps her , Todd Fitz-Gerald began, as he searched for the right words.
I think it helps her keep going.
Shes so proud of her boys.
On a warm Sunday afternoon last fall, one of the most prolific high school baseball coaches in the country sent his two sons home for the day.
Devin, who in two months time would head to the Washington Nationals in a blockbuster trade that shipped MacKenzie Gore to the Texas Rangers, and who would soon become a consensus top-100 prospect in baseball, was working on his swing.
Hunter, who in a few months would begin the best season of his life in the Seattle Mariners farm system, was doing the same.
The Fitz-Geralds believe in effort and accountability, and Todd Fitz-Gerald, head coach at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High, figured there was no harm in letting his boys go home early.
He told his kids he would round up the remaining gear and tidy the field, knowing that his sons would straighten up the house by the time he got home.
Colleen Fitz-Gerald would make sure of it.
She was the one who drove her boys to visit their grandparents or hauled them off to tournaments in faraway places.
When Devin and Hunter came home from their games, she insisted that they did not discuss the results or fret over the process at the kitchen table.
If they wanted to build character and set standards, she said, they could do so through their chores and their academics.
That was permitted.
Advertisement Devin and Hunter said there is no better mom in the world.
Hunter said her smile is warm and contagious.
Devin said her steak and eggs, cooked before the sun is up, are perfect.
Her approach to life, passed down to the children, is simultaneously family-driven and fiercely independent.
Anyone who knows her, Devin Fitz-Gerald said, they love her.
As Todd Fitz-Gerald finished up at the field, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
I dont think Moms OK, Devin Fitz-Gerald said on the other end.
What do you mean? Todd asked.
Well, Im talking to her, and shes kind of looking right through me, Devin said.
Shes not really answering.
Todd rushed home and told his sons to help her sit down and get her some water.
Maybe, they figured, she pushed too hard on her run.
Maybe a nap would help with the nausea.
Hours later, Todd turned to his wife to start a conversation.
She began to have a seizure.
The rest of the day was a blur, between a rush to grab the neighbors who worked as first responders, to the rush to get her to the hospital, to the rush to get her a scan as soon as possible, to a slow wait until the moment the doctor asked if he could speak to Todd privately.
No, Todd replied, I want my boys here, too.
The family, together, learned of the tumors, though they did not yet have a full picture.
That came one month later, when they brought her back to the hospital after she began to feel ill again, where a new set of scans revealed that she had brain cancer.
Devin Fitz-Gerald sat in a conference room near the High-A Wilmington clubhouse, with an OPS over .900 and a promotion to Double A just a few days away, and suggested that the trade that brought him to the Nationals was divine intervention.
The Nationals had missed out on Fitz-Gerald before, as had the executives they hired away from other teams this winter.
His alma mater, Stoneman Douglas, was for kids with big-league dreams kids like Luzardo, Anthony, Coby Mayo and Anthony Rizzo who coupled those dreams with big-league frames.
He was always the smallest kid on the field.
But he always made up for it.
Advertisement Looking back on it, we knew he could always hit, and I think we undersold how his work ethic will translate (to) his future defensively, and his ability to just go right into pro ball and compete, said Nationals farm director Devin Pearson, who scouted Fitz-Gerald while he was still with the Boston Red Sox.
So I probably whiffed on him, Pearson said with a wry smile.
He and his peers did not want to whiff again.
As they formulated their plan for a megadeal with the Texas Rangers, they zeroed in on a former fifth-round pick as a main target in a possible return.
Fitz-Geralds first year in pro ball was cut short because of injury, but he impressed with a .910 OPS across 41 games at the lower levels.
They loved the contact he made in the zone, and believed he could add power in due time.
They loved the culture fit, too.
The trade reunited Fitz-Gerald with High-A Wilmington manager Ted Tom, the first college coach who offered Fitz-Gerald a chance to play Division I baseball at the University of Central Florida.
It gave Fitz-Gerald someone who he could lean on, who he could break down in front of without fear of how it might be received.
Even more crucial: Home was a 45-minute drive down Interstate 95.
He could see his mom again.
Just to see her smile, that much was awesome, Fitz-Gerald said.
At night, he called and checked in.
In the in-between moments, Pearson, the farm director, checked in to make sure Fitz-Gerald knew that he had someone to talk to; he had gone through something similar with his own mother.
Over a few weekends, Fitz-Gerald returned home and tried to make the most of the time that sometimes felt as though it was slipping away.
But I know she loves to see me, and loves to see what me and my brother are doing, talking to her every day, playing every day, Devin Fitz-Gerald said.
I think this is what makes her happy.
Advertisement Devin Fitz-Geralds journey is not that of a cant-miss prospect.
But strip away the size and leave the stories, perhaps it should have been.
His childhood is littered with examples of his familys influence, on the field and off.
Just ask around.
Luzardo, the Philadelphia Phillies All-Star starter, played for Todd Fitz-Gerald eight years before Devin was a freshman at the school.
As he tells it, there was always a little kid around the field, one who hopped the fence and took groundballs with the other infielders, trying to soak up what he could.
That was Devin, the eager brother of Hunter.
The local area scouts knew him a year or two later.
It was not because he could hit though he certainly could do that but rather because, when he was 10 years old, his dad sent him out to local games to scout upcoming opponents.
The kid ran up to them, one at a time, and asked if he could borrow their radar gun.
That was Devin, the son of Todd.
Then, when Fitz-Gerald was old enough to start playing in tournaments, the family packed up and bolted for some prospect-filled extravaganza, where he would be the smallest player in the field, his mom the smallest woman on the sidelines.
That was Devin, son of Colleen.
I tell myself I am 6-foot-3, said Fitz-Gerald, who is listed at 5-foot-10.
If Im that confident, I know I can play with anyone.
Years later, perhaps unsurprisingly, he leads his teams pregame hitters meetings, no matter who is older or taller.
One of the organizations hitting coaches said he had an advanced mind.
His defensive coach in Wilmington said he has never, ever checked out, often returning to the dugout with an exact idea of what went right or wrong, just as his dad taught him.
Even Fitz-Geralds locker is a callback to his moms doctrines.
Everything, he said, has to be perfect when he departs for the day.
The batting gloves have to be in the same spot.
The cleats must be touching, the back heels must be lined up straight.
Each shirt must be on a hanger and should be creased at the mid-point of the shoulder.
He needs it to be spotless.
Just like Mom.
I like things to be really neat, Fitz-Gerald said.
Thats just how my brain works.
There is the rhythmic, at times monotonous pattern of the minor-league baseball season.
The schedule demands routine and consistency because those are the adjectives that flood the vocabulary of those who make it to the majors.
Advertisement Fitz-Gerald honors his mom, or at least takes after her, by sticking to it.
Her condition obviously makes that more challenging.
Each day, Devin said, is its own day.
When his head hits the pillow at night, he says a little prayer.
Eight hours later, he wakes up with the same thought that has wracked his brain every morning for months.
I hope Mom is okay.
Talking to her keeps him grounded, but only for so long.
In a sport that demands certainty, he wakes up with almost none of it.
Its tough, Fitz-Gerald said.
Not everyone really knows what youre going through.
The people who are here watching the games ..
they dont know whats going on.
I try to go out there and be the same guy.
I try to put a smile on my face.
But at the end of the day, Im trying to play for her.
Colleen Fitz-Gerald had surgery in December.
Forty-two days of chemotherapy and radiation followed.
The fourth round of chemotherapy finished in May.
For months on end, the days were spent doing immunotherapy and physical therapy.
Like her son, Colleen has always been an independent person, which makes this particularly tough.
For years, helping others was her purpose.
Now, she needs someone to help her dress and shower.
The tumors affect the sensory part of her brain.
Shes still strong, but her brain doesnt allow her to use that strength.
The family will try anything to keep her healthy.
They try to keep her weight up, though she was already petite before this.
Todd Fitz-Gerald spent most of May researching a possible cure, then waiting for the first major follow-up scan in June.
How many people are helping, with my dad and my grandma, the nurses that are taking care of her I think thats what helps me, Hunter Fitz-Gerald said.
Just knowing the level of support and amount of people who are willing to help and want to help.
The best thing she can do now is stick to the routine, just like her son.
Advertisement Devin and Hunter call in the morning.
Devin will ask what shes had to eat and how shes managing the pain.
Hunter will check in to see if she has had a chance for some fresh air.
Around 11:30 a.m., Todd comes home from work.
Television, lunch, physical therapy and more doctors appointments will follow.
Often, friends and family those whom they have aided in years past float in and out.
Theyre always there to help within the community if theres a kid that needs some help on or off the field, Luzardo said.
The family is always there.
Baseball has always been secondary to family.
Its a standard Colleen set years back, and the family carries on now.
When Fitz-Geralds team won the state championship this spring their sixth in a row the team went to celebrate with families and coaches, as they always have.
This year, as his team rejoiced in the distance, Todd Fitz-Gerald drove straight home to be with his wife.
In June, it felt as though Colleen and Todds nightly prayers were finally answered.
The first major scan brought encouraging news: The tumors had responded to treatment and had shrunk.
Its an uphill battle, but shes a fighter, Todd Fitz-Gerald said.
Shes getting stronger every day.
The next round of chemotherapy began on Tuesday night, and the round after that will follow in August.
The boys will have a chance to travel home during the All-Star break to finally see her again in person.
They are holding on to hope, and they are clinging on to the central idea, one that has persisted through even the hardest of times: That Devin can get through this because he is her son.
And that Colleen can get through this because she is his mom.
Baseball is what we do, Devin Fitz-Gerald said.
Its not who we are.